Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Iget to Wanderlust early, leaving Ash in her nest of blankets. After last night, I need to talk to someone and that someone, for better or worse, is Betsy. Gods help me.
She doesn’t even look up from where she’s scribbling in one of her endless tomes. I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, wondering if it’s just a regular ledger or if it’s a special one.
“If you keep glowering like that, boy, the books may wilt.”
“I’m not glowering.”
“Mm. You do always look like you’re halfway to punching someone.” Pause. “At least you have good bones.” She flicks a glance at me. “I mean that literally. I could use your femur in at least three wards.”
I consider that. “Maybe I am.” Not touching that femur comment. “Have you written any more stories for Brett?”
“Yes, actually. I wrote another… chapter, we’ll say, after the attack in the alley.”
I had assumed as much, as other than the rumors, no one has actually seen Brett around in some time.
“Do I want to know?”
She spares me a single glance. “Probably not.”
I push off the frame, pacing across the shop floor. The wood creaks under my boots.
Betsy doesn’t even glance up this time. “What is it?”
Here, I think. Here is someone I can slip the leash with.
“She’s running out of time!” I roar. “Every day she spends here, every day she doesn’t remember, the Hollow Order digs in deeper.” I pull at my own hair until my skull burns, hoping the sharp pain will bring me an answer. “She’s not ready.”
She finally closes her book, meeting my eyes. “She’s healing. It takes time.”
“We don’t have time! You’ve felt it too — I know you have. If she doesn’t wake up, doesn’t remember–”
Betsy cuts me off, her voice gentle. “Then she stays Casie.”
It cuts to the bone. My body stiffens, hands curling into fists that I can’t use.
“No,” I spit. “She’s Ember. She’s always been Ember. She’s my–”
“She’s herself,” Betsy says, not unkindly. “Casie, Ember… Ash,” she shoots me a knowing look. “Whatever name she carries, she’s a girl with a broken heart and too many scars. Push her too hard, Flint, and she’ll break all over again.”
I exhale sharply, running a hand over my face and turning away. Hearing my worst fears spoken out loud has a cold feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.
“I can’t lose her,” I manage. “Not to war. Not to forgetting.” I swallow hard. “I can’t lose her again, Betsy. I just can’t.”
The silence is heavy. I can feel Betsy studying me and the moment drags on and on.
She sighs, slides off her stool, and crosses to where I stand.
She draws me over to one of the sofas and gestures for me to sit next to her.
I do as she asks, but brace my elbows on my knees, dropping my face into my hands.
“The memories aren’t gone, Flint. They’re locked away so she could survive the trauma of tapping into the Wound. You know that. I know you want to dig them up with brute strength, but some things need a more gentle approach.”
“I know that Betsy. But I also know the time we have left for that finesse is shrinking rapidly. What happens to home if she’s Casie? What happens to her?”
“Then she lives here, with Annemarie and me, until her mortal life expires.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that I feel terror wrap around the base of my spine. She’s not supposed to have a mortal life. She’s supposed to have a life that spans the centuries. With me. In Goira.
“No.”
She scoffs. “The choice is hardly yours, boy.” Her tone reminds me to tread carefully. Her voice softens, as if in apology. “I love her, too.”
“Can’t you just write her back to normal?” I whine, even though I know the answer.
“You know I can’t. Even my powers have limits.” She sighs. I can feel her frustration even without using my own powers. “If it were that easy, we would have been home a long time ago.”
“Then tell me how. Tell me what I can do.”
Betsy seems to think, her gaze unfocused on something in the distance only she can see. “She needs to feel what she felt before. Not the battle, not the Wound. The parts of herself she trusted most. Her joy. Her magick.” She pauses. “Her love.”
I swallow hard. “Her love for me?” I think back to the wave of love I felt flooding through the link last night.
Betsy smiles, but cuffs the back of my head. “Don’t be thick. She never stopped. It’s still there. So is her magick. That’s what you need to awaken. The rest will come in time.”
I think back to that moment last night, that glow of silver in her eyes. “I think it might be happening already.” I say slowly.
“Do tell.”
“There was a moment last night,” I begin, fighting the urge to squirm. “Her eyes changed, just for a moment, like they do when she channels.”
Betsy seems to consider. “What were the circumstances?”
No. Nope. I don’t fucking think so.
“It’s… private.”
“I see.” Oh, this silence is grossly uncomfortable. “Is that why I found a belt and a bra in the stacks this morning?”
I’m more than twice her size and somehow she makes me feel like a little boy caught with my hand in the cookie jar. I feel my face heating and refuse to meet her gaze.
“I see,” she says again.
I resolutely keep my eyes on the rug, but I can feel my shoulders inching closer to my ears.
She finally takes pity on me. “Help her use her gifts. Help her remember her gifts. I know she’s asked you questions about home — use it. You can tell her about pieces of herself without overwhelming her.”
I consider her words. I’ve been so careful with what I’ve told her of home. Maybe I’ve been too careful.
“I’ll try.” I lean over, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. “Thank you, Betsy.”
She pats my knee and stands. “You’re a good boy. Believe that everything will be fine. Tell yourself that. Words are spells after all, boy.”
She would know.
My hand is on the doorknob when she speaks again. “Forgetting something?”
I turn, confused. She’s holding a black lace bra and a belt in one hand, a smirk on her face.
“Fuck,” I mutter, quickly grabbing them from her hand and turning to flee.
Her delighted cackle follows me out the door.
I wake with Calida in bed instead of Flint, her head a heavy weight on my belly.
My body feels deliciously sore from our marathon the night before, but I have zero regrets.
I need to speak with Flint about that Jedi mind trick he’d pulled.
It was intense. Not bad-intense, but I think if we do that every time we make love, I could very well die.
Well, at least I’d die happy.
I gingerly extract myself from my blue baby and pad naked to the shower. The scratches and bruises from my attack have faded. The new bruises on my neck and hips from Flint bring a sexy little thrill. Almost like badges of honor.
I’m pulling on soft yoga pants and a support tank when I hear the door. I brace until I hear Flint call out “I’m home!”
The delight that single, simple phrase stirs in my chest is immeasurable.
I love this man, I think.
Holy shit.
I stop, one hand on the door, one pressed to my heart. Do I?
I meet my own gaze in the mirror.
I think about the last few months. The fun, the chaos, the stability that he’s brought to my life. The strength he’s helped me find. The devastation he’s held me through.
Shit.
I do. A grin breaks free and my heart surges in my chest. I love him.
Oh, shit.