Ice splintered through Bridget’s veins. Memories of her brief time at the hospital in Connecticut flashed through her mind. Wires, pain, confusion. Too many questions about brain bleeds and contusions that she couldn’t answer. Bridget’s throat tightened. She’d already taken a risk checking into the emergency room with a fake name, but now someonerecognizedher. She needed to get out.Now. Too busy scanning the room for the best way to get around him and through the exit door, she almost missed his next statement.
“Yeah, I finished up my clinicals last semester at the hospital there. It’s where I grew up. You’re the ghost.”
“Thewhat?” Bridget sputtered.
Andrew reared back in surprise at her outburst. “I’m sorry, but it’s what all the nursing students started to call you. You were in a coma for like a week. I think most of the doctors were surprised you even woke up… especially when the paramedics told them the man who found you in the woods had been doing CPR for over ten minutes by the time they got there. And then when youdidwake up, you disappeared into thin air. Like a ghost.”
Hearing her experience with the gate narrated to her so casually sent a tidal wave of dizziness over Bridget. He knew too much. And that was dangerous. Especially because of what she’d done right after she’d left that hospital, still far too weak from surgery. Hands shaking, Bridget hopped out of her seat. “That wasn’t me.”
“You had the craziest CT scan I’ve ever seen and that zodiac scar on your hand…” Andrew’s voice trailed off, his dark eyes narrowing on the blood staining her shirt. “Isn’t that where you were shot? Did something happen?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Professionalism creeping back into his voice, he said, “It doesn’t look like…”
Before he could finish his sentence, Bridget shoved past him and rushed toward the double doors that led to her freedom. If the bullet shaped scar on her side was indeed infected, she’d have to deal with it herself. Or with over-the-counter medication.
“Wait!”
Rush hour traffic drowned out Andrew’s plea the moment cold winter air hit her face. Slipping just a bit, she sprinted down the icy block, not daring to look back. Not until the hospital was out of sight and all she could see was the familiar skyline of the Back Bay.
Finally stopping to catch her breath, Bridget bent over and braced herself on her knees. She groaned, realizing the right side of her shirt was now damp with something other than sweat. She’d have to stitch it up herself tonight if she was going to make it through her morning run. A habit she’d forced herself to develop, even when she’d barely been able to pick up a cup after leaving the hospital. It’s what she knew Cade and Finn would do to keep up their endurance against the effects of magic.
As if her thoughts summoned him, a black Audi zoomed by on the street in front of her. Manhattan. Hungry Pies. Waiting on the curb for Cade to pull up in that exact same car. Unwanted images of heroldlife struck her core. Legs shaking, she almost fell to the ground. Within seconds, longing, despair, and anguish wrecked her mind. Not that it really ever left.
During the last four months, she’d saidI’m fineto every doctor, shrink, and cop who questioned her. She repeated the two words to every person that asked about her scars or gave her a funny look when she flinched at the sight of diners. Even if her body had healed, for the most part, there was a truth she could barely admit to herself. She wasn’t fine.
She wasn’t fine at all.
Chapter two
It took Bridget exactly three minutes and forty seconds to get to her feet and swallow back the tears stinging her eyes. And then seven minutes and two seconds to walk to the entrance of the Boston Public Library. She counted every breath and every step. As she waited at the crosswalk, she counted exactly how many times the person in front of her swiped right or left on his phone. It was a trick she had learned over the last few months. If she counted, she didn’t have to think. About Elyria or Cade or what he happened to be doing at that very moment.
Five months. Five long months since she’d come back through the gate. Every day she woke up expecting to forget.
Every day her memories remained intact.
Bridget still hadn’t figured out why she remembered. And perhaps she never would. When she couldn’t sleep, which was most nights, she mulled over every possibility. On her worst nights, she tried to convince herself it didn’t matter. Sheremembered. Thewhywasn’t important. Even if her memories were both a blessing and a curse, she wasn’t erased again. She found Nylah. She still remembered Cade’s face. That was something she would never regret or take for granted again.
But memory came with a cost.
Remembering meant she knew what was coming for her.
It meant that every dark corner held a potential threat, or that every noise was the sound of a Fae or Witch running toward her, or that every knock on her apartment door was Finn, or Castor, or anyone that might be able to find her and let her know all was well in the land she hated that she missed.
Remembering meant that every day, she waited for the return of someone from Elyria.
Even if he couldn’t come himself, Bridgetknewthat Cade would send someone. To check on her or to make sure that she was safe and had found Nylah. But she also knew that whoever Cade sent would be followed by someone working for his father. She knew it better than she did herself, at the moment.
It was only a matter of time.
It was one of the reasons the library had become one of her frequent haunts. The more she learned about artifacts, runes, and gates, the better chance she had of staying one step ahead. So far… she hadn’t found much. But there was a promising book she’d finally tracked down that she was going to check out today. One about legends and stones in Ireland. No almost emotional breakdown on the sidewalk or mishap in an emergency room would deter her. Not when the spring solstice was only two months away.
A fact shedidwish she could forget.
Bridget wiped the slush from her boots and stepped through the Boylston Street entrance of the Boston Public Library. The scent of paper and lemon-scented disinfectant hit her at once. She weaved around a dawdling family near the info desk and made her way to the glass elevator, jabbing the “Up” button with practiced ease. Then she froze.
Out of the corner of her eye, something flashed. Bright blonde hair caught the light. Hair that was all too familiar.
