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The memory evaporates like smoke. Then…darkness. My body collapses into the arms holding me, limp and drained. I feel the past has reached through its veil to claim its due.

THIRTEEN

September 18, 2010

Be careful the monster that brews within…”

— VICTOR LAZARUS

The feeling of warm lips tickle mine until I awake with a slow blink and the world returns. I’m surrounded by softness, cocooned from the cold by layers of thick blankets and feathery pillows.

It’s daylight outside. Or whatever, sorrowful excuse for sun exists here.

I groan. My head is foggy, limbs heavy, and my bones ache under the pressure of fresh memories. It came rushing back, sometime between last night and now—childhood, parents, the old New York City apartment. Everything until my teenage years, gleaming sharp and near.

I wiggle free of the soft blankets and lean against the headrest. Voices murmur beyond the door.

“She’s in a delicate place,” Kieran murmurs. “Don’t push her.”

“I’d like to see if she’s delicate for myself. It’s the softest flower that might be the most deadly,” comes another voice, sharper. “And do you want to tell me why she’s here to begin with?”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Kieran responds.

“Well, whatever history you and Valen have, she doesn’t deserve this. Your vengeance is petty cruelty,” the other voice responds, clipped.

A warmth spreads across my skull, and the pain dulls enough for me to slip out of bed and plaster my ear to the door. I pause, careful of my movements. Silence greets my curiosity as if they know I’m eavesdropping.

Sighing, I turn my back to the door and rest against the cool wood. Rotted chunks crumble against my back and I have to stand to avoid tiny splinters.

Studying the room shows me gaudy crimson accents, a yawning fireplace, and tall windows webbed in iron tracery. Grand, yet ugly and covered in grime. Then I see it. A mirror. Tucked in the corner is a massive, gilded thing, angled toward the bed. And there I am, beholden to its frame. My lips still tingle from the ghostly kiss that belonged to someone I no longer know.

I touch my face, mesmerized. This is me.

It still didn’t explain the absence of other mirrors. However, I can’t help but feel an inkling of joy. A smile creeps across my lips. I don’t know how I got here, but I know this much: I’m safe. For now. Until I can find a way out of this place. Better being here with the kindness of Kieran than being trapped with a strange, unsettling man. Or being trapped out there in the extreme weather.

Slowly, I approach the mirror and kneel in front of it, then place my hands on the massive frame, peering closer. My now pale, freckled, olive skin is offset by silvery green eyes and not a single scar, but many that dot the ridge of my cheekbone. I raise a hand there, tracing the small ridges. What if the mystery man from my memories is the reason I’m here? What if the memory is not a comfort, but a warning? Stop. Memories are experiences we can learn from. Still, a flicker of hope sparks in my chest. It could mean there’s someone out there looking for me.

The door clicks open. Behind me, Kieran steps inside, searching the bed, then finds me crouched before the mirror. A quick study of his features makes me realize maybe that man from the vision might not be Kieran Lazarus.

“Marisa,” he breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re awake. I’m glad.”

Before I can speak, another voice interrupts. “She pushed too hard last night.” A man stands in the doorway, leaning on a cane.

Kieran gestures for him to come in. “Dr. Arik Marlowe—our consulting physician.”

I rise, catching the man’s gaze. We’ve met. The day I woke up. The memory is vague, but he had a black dog trailing behind him.

“Everything alright? Did something else happen to me? Well—besides the obvious.” I ask, fidgeting with my curls, curious about my blackout episode.

Kieran moves to rest a comforting hand on my back. My muscles tense.

“We just need to monitor you for a few days,” Dr. Marlowe says. “Last night’s blackout was your mind hitting its limit.”

I give a brief nod. “I gained years of memory overnight. But my teenage years feel…vanished. Like they dissolved into mist.”

Dr. Marlowe’s eyes flicker toward Kieran. Without a word, Kieran steps out, leaving me alone with him.

Dr. Arik Marlowe is tall and lean, with ‌impeccable fashion taste, from the artful way his hair is styled to the carved wood cane he dons in his left hand. He radiates an older brother charm that I’m grateful for.