Without any warning, the attention turned to me. Before I could anchor myself back to reality and hold my breath long enough not to choke on my own lungs, Mystique’s hands were on my face. Warm, soft. A comforting scent of lavender wiped my senses of patchouli. Her fingers grazed the small cuts littered across my cheekbones and forehead from the accident.
I became a child with a fever, or a treasured doll in the hands of a careful child, afraid they would accidentally rip its arm off. Mystique was the mother. Her earthy eyes bore into me vacantly, and for a second, we weren’t on this planet anymore. I nervously tried to see past her unsettling honeyed irises, through the pinpoint pupils for any kind of explanation, but they wouldn’t give me a single hint as to what she was thinking. Or where they would be taking me.
With my face in her tender hands, she was looking through me. Stripping me bare with her eyes, rubbing the hurt from my wounds. She saw everything I’d seen in my lifetime and became me long enough to grasp it.
I don’t know how much time passed during this strange ordeal, but she eventually dropped her hands, covering her mouth with one before whispering something… maybe in French? I was slowly remembering where I was and what was going on. If she had put a spell on me, my eyes were now rolling forward from the back of my head.
“Darling,” she mumbled between her ringed fingers.
Erich had seen this before, and given the lack of reaction, this was normal. He was neither worried nor relieved as he stood nearby with his hands in his pockets. I glanced over Mystique’s shoulder in an attempt to meet his gaze and get an explanation, but my reflexes weren’t quick enough before Mystique started to speak.
“So much pain and darkness,” she spoke under her breath as she slowly backed up. She then turned to the wall of shelvesand quickly grabbed a handful of different items. “You are not well, child.”
The comment was unnerving, and my lips parted slightly as I reached for the correct words floating in my mind on how to ask what she meant. Before I could string the sentence together, Erich spoke.
“She’s been through a lot.”
He was speaking for me. And it wasn’t because I couldn’t speak—it was because I didn’t dare pour my heart out to this mystery woman. Ring leader. Circus animal. A common pattern that followed me constantly on our road.
“Indeed she has, baby,” Mystique murmured. She was still grabbing items and whispering to herself as she glanced at labels. Some of the bottles she picked up made the cut; others were set back on the shelf where they belonged. Once she had an armful of tonics, she collected them and left the room. Her voice echoed throughout the main room as she passed through the beaded curtains. “I’m not sure where you pick ’em.”
I finally had my chance to glower at Erich. My knit eyebrows and narrowed eyes told him all he needed to know about what I was feeling.
“She can help,” Erich explained, and I snorted.
He raised an eyebrow in response to my skepticism. He freed his hands from his jean pockets. “She helped me. More than I could ever give her credit for.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. If she were in the room, I would tread carefully on what to say next. “Witchcraft is your answer?” My voice came out quietly through gritted teeth, and thinking through my next comment caused the frustration I was burdened with to overflow. “Sure, let’s mix up some eye of newt and toad legs to cure whatever feelings I might have. They’re apparently verydarkfeelings, for that matter.”
The “Hallmark Movie” Erich who hugged Mystique was gone, and I was left with the man I had known for months. In his true, icy fashion, his stormy eyes drilled holes into my skin.
We were at a standoff, and I dared him to say something with my defiant eyes. He took the challenge. “How dense are you?”
I was shot in the heart. Like a dog that had been scolded for peeing on the floor and now had its tail between its legs as it realized what it did was wrong. The truth was, I didn’t know what Mystique’s nonsense was. I only knew that it made me uncomfortable. And I was in no mood to be there with him.
Erich’s shoulders fell, and he turned his head to the side of the room toward a shelf of books. He exhaled softly, and I examined the side of his face as he closed his eyes and forced himself to backtrack on his harsh words. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. It was the first apology I’d ever received from him. His softly closed eyes and tense jawline told me he had more to say, but didn’t.
Mystique came back into the room carrying a metallic shot glass with a strange, brown liquid in it. I watched as she came up to me, nearly forcing it into my face.
“Drink,” she urged, leaving me little to no choice but to follow her orders.
It tasted herbal. It was vile, but I choked it down in order to avoid being difficult. I forced a smile. I was unsure of the reaction she wanted from me as I swallowed her concoction, feeling the warm, murky cocktail trickle down my throat and threatening to come back up. Was I supposed to like it? Was it a test?
She nodded grimly, then turned to speak to Erich. “Time heals most wounds.” Again, I was an afterthought. Or, more accurately, I was a toy Erich brought home to be fixed. Maybe her potion caused me to spontaneously combust, and I waswatching their interaction from the other side of the realm. “But this will help speed some. It won’t take away what happened, but it will be a better tool to put her in the right mindset. More reason to forget the past.”
She sauntered off to put the shot glass away. I didn’t want to show Erich how awful I thought the drink was. I wasn’t sure my bruised ego could handle another sharp insult in response to my whining. I could still taste it on my tongue as I stood there waiting for what was going to happen next. Water would have been nice, but my quick recon of the room confirmed it was not coming that second.
Mystique came back, her long silk skirt flowing behind her as she beelined for Erich. She murmured words I didn’t understand or couldn’t hear. She was grooming him—brushing his hair back, spitting on her fingers and rubbing invisible smudges off his face, straightening out his jacket
I wasn’t jealous of Olivia or Mystique so much anymore as I was jealous that Erich had these people to come back to. I had become possessive over Erich. He was the only home remaining in my life I could come back to if I left or got lost. Yet he had something so much better than just me—he had a mother.
I thought I had a mother too, at one point. But after seeing the affection of a real mother, I wasn’t sure. My mother never coddled me when I was hurt. She wasn’t the first person I told when I didn’t feel well. She wasn’t who I sobbed to when I went to the bathroom and discovered blood on the inside of my underwear and skirt. Mystique was someone who nurtured her children and loved them. She was someone I needed in my corner as I grew up, not the squadron of hired help and my older brother. I was robbed of a mother’s love, left with a woman who paraded me around like a show pony in public, but shut herself off with alcohol and narcotics in private.
I continued to stand there awkwardly, wondering what was expected of me as these two caught up. I couldn’t search around so much anymore. I’d seen everything I needed to. There was only so much I could continue to look at. Yet I didn’t want to be nosy either—I had no business digging around.
To spare me another minute of painfully existing there, the door opened. Mystique’s hands dropped, the newcomer turning off the cooing and touching by entering the picture.
Erich turned his head to see who was there. I watched the scene unfold like I was front row to a real-life soap opera as his eyes widened and his smile slowly disappeared, replaced by a tightened jaw. He straightened his posture and held his breath. The preparation for war.
