“Yeah,” I force the word out. I don’t want to talk about Mom, but they deserve to know why there’s a specter in our room. “Herradiant word was echo.” I clear my throat. “She was powerful. I’m not surprised there’s still a trace of her here.”
The echo flickers and splits to show Mom and me playing on the floor of this very room. I’m holding a doll, making the wings flap with my other hand while I lead the toy through a variety of aerial maneuvers.
Mom throws her head back and laughs, then runs her fingers through my hair.
Alistair steps closer to the scene—his curiosity overriding his caution. “How does she do it?” he asks. “It’s incredible.”
I gulp and focus on him instead of the projection. “Her presence always carried a weight,” I explain. “Moments of strong emotion became more than memories; they embedded themselves in the room they happened in. In this moment, she was happy, and the room remembers. I think my return activated them. The echoes want to be heard again.”
“She’s not actually here?” Ciprian asks.
“She’s long dead,” I say bluntly. “Her magic just outlasted her.”
“I wonder.” Malach tilts his head as he studies the echo. “If she haunts him.”
My heart is sore, and the vault in my head is rattling, threatening to burst open and drag me inside to face this and every other memory I’ve tried to bury.
Swallowing, I watch as Mom pulls me into her arms, peppering my face with kisses until younger me giggles. I close my eyes to create some separation, but that’s a mistake, because the memory hits me in full color. The pink of Mom’s cheeks, the lavender blooms on her dressing gown. I smell roses and barely stop myself from plugging my nose.
It’s not real. She’s not here, and I’m not smelling her. I’m trapped in a memory; a memory madea thousand times more potent because of her radiant word.Stop,I beg.Don’t do this to me. I got out. I deserved to get out, and you’re dragging me back in.
Mom doesn’t respond. I don’t expect her to. She’s not here, after all, and she never will be. If I trick myself into relying on her echoes, I’ll be disappointed all over again. I wince. That was cruel. She was as victim as much as me, and soft in a way I never had the opportunity to be.
It’s not fair for me to expect her to have been what I had to become to survive.
I’m violent. I eliminate problems in a pragmatic way that’s often devoid of emotions. And my anger is never far away. I inherited those traits from someone, but it isn’t the ghostly angel playing on the floor in this memory.
“It’s fading, darling.” Riven squeezes my upper arm, sharing a slice of calm that I desperately need. “She’s gone now.”
I nod, opening my eyes and scanning the room to be sure.
It’s white, boring, and devoid of echoes. My heart sinks.It’s better this way.
“I’m sorry about that.” I step around Riven to tug the bedspread down. “I hope it won’t happen again, but this estate is saturated in her magic. You may notice other echoes.”
Fuck, I sound like a tour guide—overly chipper and ruthlessly bland at the same time.
“You have no need to apologize, angel.” Alistair kisses my cheek. “We don’t mind her echoes.”
“They’re sweet,” Luca adds. “Seeing you with her is nice.”
I wince before meeting his eyes. “The echoes form around any strong emotions, not just good ones. You may see other things.” Luca’s hazel eyes widen as he hears what I’m not saying. They could witness scenes a whole lot worse.
What will they think of me if they do? Will they see me the same afterward?
“We can take it, Celine.” Ciprian nudges Alistair to the sideand drops his forehead to mine, his expression uncharacteristically grim. “Don’t worry about us. Nothing we see here can change how we feel about you.”
It’s the perfect response, and I force a smile. The echoes are painful, in part, because I don’t appreciate the reminder of my weakness. These experiences made me who I am—a fighter—but I wasn’t always that way. And there are some things I don’t want to share.
Even Malach, who spent a lot of time in this house, doesn’t know the full extent. Is it wrong that I’d rather keep some scars private? I already wear my emotions on my wings; do I have to bare my soul, too?
“Could you—fuck.” My hair is skimming my neck, and I can’t stand the feeling. Fed up, I yank it on top of my head and secure it in a knot. “Sorry,” I mutter. “But if you see an echo, could you maybe turn around and not watch? I don’t?—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Riven says firmly. “I will avoid her echoes.”
I nod and force a smile. “Thanks.”
The others agree too, but their worry is as obvious as Mom’s lingering magic.
