Sitting in the same spot, I watch her for a few seconds. I’m not sure what else to do until the other woman finally opens her mouth, shouting back at Renata. It’s silent, no matter how loud it appears she’s trying to yell. When she reaches forward, her hands go right through Renata’s body, and I’m on my feet about to take a step toward them.
Before I can, a person appears right in front of me.
My own face stares back at me.
The shock pushes me back a few steps and I realize it isn’t me, only someone who looks nearly identical to me.
To anyone else, we very well could be twins.
I notice the small details—like the faint scar that runs through his left eyebrow, and the lack of ear piercings.
Glancing past him, Renata is talking quieter but just as animated, to her ancestors. She’s clearly safe though, so I turn my attention back to my doppelgänger.
“Barrett,” I greet him.
He bobs his head in greeting.
My earlier thought echoes in my head, making me nauseous.
I’m not Barrett.
“I know you can’t talk to me,” I tell him, partly amused by Renata, but mostly sad for her. For me. For all five of the souls currently in the meadow. “But can you tell me anything?”
His eyes stay focused on me and I take that as a maybe.
“Am I supposed to be in Briarhollow?” He nods. “With her?”
I tilt my chin in Renata’s direction, and Barrett finally turns around to watch the scene behind him.
As soon as he does, grief paints his features, and the pain of losing someone radiates from him. I feel nearly every ounce he does.
He stares for a long moment, his eyes bouncing between Renata’s doppelgänger and Nestor. I can’t tell who he’s more sad to see, or if there’s even a winner of the title. The love he has for each one is different, but neither is stronger than the other.
As the seconds tick by, the grief begins to settle and something else takes over.
Anger—no,rage.
Pure, unadulterated fury begins to radiate from his noncorporeal form. It’s bitter and feels like sandpaper when I try to swallow it down. I can’t tell who he is staring at but the longer his gaze lingers, the more raw his emotions become.
Finally, he looks back at me and nods gravely, confirming that I should be here with Renata.
It doesn’t bring me nearly as much comfort as I thought it would. If anything, it’s like lighting the final candle in a summoning circle—and I don’t think I want what’s coming next.
Usually it’s Renata who uses the charm to wake herself up from a dream, but neither she nor her doppelgänger looked too keen on ending their pointless argument, if that’s what you could even call it.
I would’ve taken Nestor with me if I could.
Barrett disappeared right after our interaction, and I doubt I’ll be seeing him again.
Renata’s frustration is valid, but she is too driven by her emotions. I have over a decade of evidence to know she’s an intelligent, level-headed woman. The actions I’m seeing contradict that.
It would help if I knew what exactly she and her coven have figured out so far. I doubt she’ll tell me.
As I slip on a clean pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt, I consider how unethical it would be to ask Gale what he knows—or what he could find out. It feels wrong—almost as wrong as when I consider using my magic to persuade Rowyn or Clementine to tell me something.
That brings up the age-old internal debate I am constantly arguing. Even if I’m using my magic for the right reasons, does it justify their potential?
I can’t think of a situation when it would—even now.
