“It’s a fitting name,” he corroborates. “But people with magic are trouble.I’mnot saying they are. But if I were you, I’d keep the whole thing to myself.”
With that, he walks off, and for a moment, I’m knocked back. Ron didn’t seem to judge me, but—
Coco.
She’s with Hercules, throwing the ball for him to fetch. Hercules runs past the ball and begins chewing grass. Coco sees me and waves. I wave back.
She can see ley lines, which means she may have ma—Wait. If she has theMword, then she’s not safe.
From out of nowhere, a protective instinct uncoils in my gut, taking over my body. The thought of people turning their backs on her, hurting her, angers me.
There’s no way I’ll let that happen to Coco.
I know.I know I’ve got amnesia and that I don’t remember our history.
But wehavea history. I feel it. Every bone in my body tells me so.
She’s a good person, someone who cares about others, who wouldn’t harm anyone.
I’m not sure what this is—instinct, memory, fate—but I won’t let anyone hurt her.
A chill skates down my spine. If she is magic and they find out, would they treat her like a unicorn?
Or like a monster?
Chapter 18
Coco
I split my time between the office and the construction site, guiding Stone on the best material choices—researching whether they’re strong enough, tensile enough, and if they’ll work with ley lines.
Stone hired a dozen more men, and construction is at full speed to make up for the time lost from having to start again from scratch.
It’s all going great. Almosttoogreat.
When Stone’s not helping the guys and deciding what to do next on the site, he’s playing with Hercules.
I have to admit, seeing those two warms my body all the way to my toes. As if to counter that warmth, Cristina asks daily if I’ve figured out what the lunaria bloom is.
I haven’t.
And to be honest, I haven’t tried.
Is that bad? It feels like it should be bad, like I should be thrown into some kind of purgatory, but every time even a twinge of guilt pinches me, I see Stone do something like pick up Hercules and laugh, and I remember how fragile this is.
How important it is.
Days slide by quickly, and Stone, Hercules, and I get into a rhythm in my tiny cottage. Stone makes breakfast. I make dinner, which isusually sandwiches or some kind of chicken dish, which is all I know how to make. He crashes on the couch and I sleep in my bedroom, relishing how quickly the project is taking shape.
The new limecrete set quickly, as if the earth itself helped us play catch-up.
Hopefully, the resort will be finished close to schedule. Fingers crossed. By the time Saturday rolls around, I’m exhausted. From intercepting the questioning looks the guys throw at Stone to tiptoeing around the fact that he has amnesia, there’s been a lot to stay on top of.
What do you mean Stone’s different? He seems the same to me. Oh? Why are we getting along now? We found a compromise. That’s all. Of course he seems like the same Stone.
So when my mom calls bright and early, I’m not thinking about anything other than sleeping in.
“Good morning,” she says cheerfully.
