Chapter 26 #2
“I only knew the stories that were passed down through my family, and what was easy enough to find out through simple research,” I say.
Her glare deepens as she sits across from me on her knees with crossed arms. The tears are drying, but her cheeks are still flushed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tease, hoping to break the tension even the slightest bit.
“You’re lucky I’m even looking at you,” she retorts with a tilt of her chin.
“That’s true,” I murmur, moving closer to her. “If I had a clue about who you were before coming to Briarhollow, I promise I would have told you everything.” Then I add, “If I could have.”
Renata side-eyes me, but she was just as weak to our destinies as I was. We could have gone a hundred years without seeing the other’s face if that was what fate wanted.
“Everything?” she asks. “Or everything about your family history?”
“Everything, Renata. All you have to do is ask—or simply listen.”
She pulls back, and I’ve already lost this conversation.
“You’re making it sound like I’m being dramatic when you have no idea what’s going on,” she argues. I imagine if she were standing, she would stomp her foot in frustration.
The image is cute, but my patience is depleting quickly.
“And you do? Know what all of this means?” I throw my arms out. “Please, enlighten me.”
She snaps her mouth shut. I can see her biting the inside of her lip, and the sadness etched across her features. I’m immediately flooded with guilt, remembering how her mother would yell in anger and condescension.
The desire to reach out and comfort her grows, but I don’t.
Not when she’s standing across from me, looking at me like I’m the enemy.
Maybe she believes Barrett killed her ancestors and by extension, cursed her.
I’m not Barrett.
Her eyes move past me, and the deep resignation she feels is tainted by her fear.
I turn around, finding the ghost from her inn and a woman who looks exactly like her.
A doppelg?nger.
Those nights since she arrived in Briarhollow—I saw those too. The details that were hidden before.
I only saw the ghost—Nestor, she called him. Which means the woman must be…
“What do you want, Petra? Huh?” Renata yells, throwing her arms out. Her voice cracks when she shouts, “What else do you want from me?”
Neither answer, only tilting their heads in unison.
They can’t talk, but it doesn’t surprise me when she pushes to her feet and stumbles toward them, finally willing to acknowledge them in hopes of an answer.
One she won’t receive.
Sitting in the same spot, I watch her for a few seconds.
I’m not sure what else to do until the other woman finally opens her mouth, shouting back at Renata.
It’s silent, no matter how loud it appears she’s trying to yell.
When she reaches forward, her hands go right through Renata’s body, and I’m on my feet about to take a step toward them.
Before I can, a person appears right in front of me.
My own face stares back at me.
The shock pushes me back a few steps and I realize it isn’t me, only someone who looks nearly identical to me.
To anyone else, we very well could be twins.
I notice the small details—like the faint scar that runs through his left eyebrow, and the lack of ear piercings.
Glancing past him, Renata is talking quieter but just as animated, to her ancestors. She’s clearly safe though, so I turn my attention back to my doppelg?nger.
“Barrett,” I greet him.
He bobs his head in greeting.
My earlier thought echoes in my head, making me nauseous.
I’m not Barrett.
“I know you can’t talk to me,” I tell him, partly amused by Renata, but mostly sad for her. For me. For all five of the souls currently in the meadow. “But can you tell me anything?”
His eyes stay focused on me and I take that as a maybe.
“Am I supposed to be in Briarhollow?” He nods. “With her?”
I tilt my chin in Renata’s direction, and Barrett finally turns around to watch the scene behind him.
As soon as he does, grief paints his features, and the pain of losing someone radiates from him. I feel nearly every ounce he does.
He stares for a long moment, his eyes bouncing between Renata’s doppelg?nger and Nestor. I can’t tell who he’s more sad to see, or if there’s even a winner of the title. The love he has for each one is different, but neither is stronger than the other.
As the seconds tick by, the grief begins to settle and something else takes over.
Anger—no, rage.
Pure, unadulterated fury begins to radiate from his noncorporeal form. It’s bitter and feels like sandpaper when I try to swallow it down. I can’t tell who he is staring at but the longer his gaze lingers, the more raw his emotions become.
Finally, he looks back at me and nods gravely, confirming that I should be here with Renata.
It doesn’t bring me nearly as much comfort as I thought it would. If anything, it’s like lighting the final candle in a summoning circle—and I don’t think I want what’s coming next.
Usually it’s Renata who uses the charm to wake herself up from a dream, but neither she nor her doppelg?nger looked too keen on ending their pointless argument, if that’s what you could even call it.
I would’ve taken Nestor with me if I could.
Barrett disappeared right after our interaction, and I doubt I’ll be seeing him again.
Renata’s frustration is valid, but she is too driven by her emotions. I have over a decade of evidence to know she’s an intelligent, level-headed woman. The actions I’m seeing contradict that.
It would help if I knew what exactly she and her coven have figured out so far. I doubt she’ll tell me.
As I slip on a clean pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt, I consider how unethical it would be to ask Gale what he knows—or what he could find out. It feels wrong—almost as wrong as when I consider using my magic to persuade Rowyn or Clementine to tell me something.
That brings up the age-old internal debate I am constantly arguing. Even if I’m using my magic for the right reasons, does it justify their potential?
I can’t think of a situation when it would—even now.
By the time I get down to the main atrium, I’m still questioning my magic and how to get closer to Renata.
I’ll be going down this spiral all night in between re-reading the town’s history again.
There’s some useful information there, but it all feels manufactured somehow, like it isn’t the full truth.
Lying next to the pile of books on the counter is a note with something long and thin wrapped in thick, brown paper. Instantly I recognize the handwriting—Gale’s.
Archer,
I know you’ll find this before I’ve returned in the morning. I’m sorry I kept this part of the library hidden from you. Now you know that Rowyn is involved, and I needed to protect her. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, but I needed to be certain of your intentions toward this town and the coven.
Many people have scoured through these texts. Maybe you will see something we didn’t.
See you tomorrow.
Setting the note down and lifting the top half of the paper, I find a skeleton key. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it other than the intricate design of stacked books at the top.
It leads to the lower, restricted area.
Most town libraries have one, unless the town is too new for any hidden secrets. Briarhollow, at only about three hundred years old, has more than its fair share of secrets, I would bet.
With anxious anticipation, I make my way to the back of the room and try the lock.
The click of it is one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard—with a few exceptions, like the silky teasing of an onyx-eyed beauty.
I’m overwhelmed with where to start, finding hundreds of books down here. My eyes snag on a pile placed perfectly near the bottom of the stairs. Reaching out, I grab the first book.
The Heart, Mind, and Soul of Briarhollow: What’s Left of It
Dated January 1934—eight years after the curse was inflicted.
Glancing down, I look at the next book in the pile.
Tales of Generational Curses, dated June 1874.
There are two more books in the pile, but I don’t bother reading the spines. I sweep up all three and place them on top of the one already in my hand.
Sending a silent thank you to Gale, hoping the wind carries it and bestows upon his dreams, I run back up the stairs. Taking two at a time, I don’t want to waste another second.
I’m positive there’s something in here that will give me more clarity, even if Gale and past librarians were unable to find it themselves.
Maybe my connection to the curse will fit the pieces together.
As I turn the corner to the desk, I take a deep breath and resolve myself to trust my magic through this journey. It’s the only way, even if it feels unnatural.
I’m surprised to find Sybil sitting on her typical stool, hands folded in her lap and glazed eyes fixed forward. Even when she’s in a trance, she’s never been one to sleepwalk, so I don’t have to worry about startling her.
“Bil, you awake?”
Blinking a few times, she turns in my direction, and a smile graces her lips. Despite her zoned out state seconds ago, she’s fully here with me for the time being.
“Couldn’t sleep—I felt like you needed me.” A layer of concern clouds her features, but she tries to hide it. “Is everything okay?”
Sliding into the seat on the other side of the desk, I nod. “Everything is fine.” Biting my lip and flipping the book open, I tell her, “There’s a lot I should fill you in on.”
Sybil knows I’ve always been interested in the history of Briarhollow and our family. She’s never had much interest, so I’ve never bored her with the details I have learned. Since she’s been consumed by her magic, I haven’t wanted to add any stress or confuse her with too much information at once.
And Renata… Well, she was always mine. I’ve been happy to share every aspect of my life with Sybil, but my dreams and the no longer faceless woman were always my secret—too precious and complicated to share with anyone.
Now that I’ve met Renata, our dream state isn’t good enough.
Sybil’s eyebrows furrow at the same time her owl familiar, Echo, lands on her head. Unfazed by the disruption, she shrugs. “Tell me when you’re ready, I trust you. Plus,” she adds ruefully, “Who knows how long I’ll be here?”
I laugh easily. “I’m ready, if you promise to help me read through these after.”
“I’d help even if you didn’t want to talk about it,” she says and leans forward, grabbing the top two books from my pile.
“Fair enough,” I agree. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”
Her encouraging nods quickly morph into a confused flinch when I add, “Eleven years ago.”