Chapter 3
I blinked at Tessa, then at Firth. “What do you mean he has amnesia? How could that have happened? I just saw him like two hours ago, and he was fine.”
“We believe that the victim hit him with a spell before she died,” Officer Hernandez said.
“I don’t know if amnesia was the intended effect or just a side effect, and it’s difficult to track since the victim’s magical trace is disappearing as we speak, but there’s a lingering magical resonance on your husband.
I’m assuming it isn’t yours.” He raised a dark eyebrow.
“No, of course not.” I tucked a strand of black hair behind my ear.
“Charlotte is Unmarked,” Tessa explained.
“I see.” He rubbed his scruffy chin.
“Did they say amnesia?” Lenora said too loudly. “Did you hear, Fern?”
“Pipe down,” the sprite’s trilling voice sounded. “I can’t hear a thing with you yapping next to me. Now I’ll have to send some magic over if we’re going to hear anything.” A second later, tiny glowing balls of light, like iridescent fireflies, made their way to us, crackling softly.
Officer Hernandez sighed and shook his head, tugging his cap lower. “We’re going to need to take your husband to the station while we get things figured out. We’ll have a bit more privacy, and I think it’ll be better for everyone.”
“I understand,” I said numbly.
“I’m sure this isn’t easy for you.” Tessa took my hand, her grip gentle but her tone sharp.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I clung to Tessa’s hand.
“Not exactly. Things are pretty confusing.” A line appeared on Tessa’s brow. “Before the magic faded completely, we picked up traces of his magic on her, and her magic on him. There’s even a marking of some sort on his hand, but we’ll have better luck identifying it at the station.”
“We’ve also found traces of fibers on Dahlia that appear the same color as your husband’s jacket,” Officer Hernandez said.
“With Pastor Collins’s memory missing, it makes things a bit trickier, but we’ll figure out the truth,” Tessa said.
The officer who’d gone into the house came back and nodded toward Officer Hernandez. “I was able to confirm her story. There are traces of her all around the house.”
I perked up. “Can you use your magic to confirm Firth’s innocence?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said with a frown.
“Oh.” My shoulders slumped.
Officer Hernandez patted my shoulder once, then turned to the rest of his team. “Let’s wrap things up here and move out. We’ll take him to the station to have a healer look at him there while we study the magical traces on him before they disappear completely.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I said, my head still spinning.
“Not at the moment.” Officer Hernandez’s attention snagged on an officer standing under the fairy lights on the path to Rosings Parks. “It looks like the officer I sent to check on Rosings Park has returned, so I'd better talk to him”
“Okay.” I nodded once.
Tessa gave me a quick hug, then she and Officer Hernandez started to walk away.
“Can I come to the station too? I don’t think I should leave Firth alone,” I said.
“I understand, but considering his state right now, it might be better to simplify this as much as possible.” Officer Hernandez gave me a sympathetic smile.
“It’ll be okay, Charlotte.” Tessa squeezed my hand. “He isn’t under arrest, and this way we can look into his amnesia.”
I sighed. It wasn’t like there was much I could do even if I went, especially since he didn’t even remember me. “Okay, but can I speak to Firth before you go?” The words slipped out before I even knew I’d wanted to.
“Of course, but you better hurry,” Officer Hernandez said. “We’re going to head out soon.”
I walked to the police car where Firth sat in the back, alone and forlorn.
“These blankets are 78% whisperwool,” he said without looking at me.
“That’s good for regulating body temperature, and they’re remarkably plush and exceedingly comfortable.
I like that.” His fingers smoothed the material with rhythmic strokes that seemed just a little too fast, like a broken metronome.
“Lady Catherine uses whisperwool for many things. She says it’s hypoallergenic.
” His voice was flat, almost detached, as if reciting these facts would keep him grounded or maybe erase everything that had happened tonight.
“Firth?” Despite myself, it came out like a question.
He tensed and grew still, but after a long moment, he went back to stroking the blanket, the motion slower now.
Slowly, his attention rose from the blanket.
His lips lifted in a small smile as he took me in, and a frown tugged at my own in response.
Why was he so happy to see me when he was stuck in such a bad situation?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier,” he said.
“It’s Charlotte. Charlotte Lucas. Or, um, Charlotte Collins.”
“Charlotte,” he repeated my name softly, as if committing it to memory. He tilted his head as if the sound of it was as comforting as it was puzzling.
“You really don’t remember anything?”
“I remember a few things.” He paused. “I think.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
He frowned. “I remember a booth selling everlasting mugs and a Ferris wheel, but I’m not sure.”
My mouth fell open. That was from the Autumn Festival. “You’ve forgotten everything from the last few months?”
“I’m not sure. Some things before that feel a bit spotty too.” His hand twitched back to his cuff again, revealing a glimpse of a black mark on his palm. “Did you say we just got married today?”
“Yup.”
“Fascinating. It seems unusual for people to get married and not remember it.” He smiled, but then cocked his head.
“I hope I do a better job planning our honeymoon next time.” His grin faltered at my pursed lips.
“Not that I want us to get married again. Or that would be fine, I suppose, since I don’t remember the first one, but I don’t want us to get married to other people again.
” He sighed and met my eye for the briefest of moments before his gaze darted away again.
“Sorry, I can’t seem to get the words in the right order. Was I this awkward before?”
“Yes, you were, but that’s okay.” The necklace he’d given me before the wedding warmed against my collarbone, the tiny quill pulsing gently like a heartbeat. My hand rose to cover it, and I resisted the urge to smile. Now wasn’t the time for that. “Do you remember anything else about tonight?”
His fingers slipped through his strands of hair and left them even more disheveled than before, but he paused halfway through the gesture like he’d lost track of what he was doing.
“Not really. My memories feel fuzzy and incomplete.” He glanced toward a cluster of glowing white mushrooms that pulsed softly under a frosted tree as if they would give him answers.
“I heard you tell the officers that I went to Lady Catherine’s today, which feels like the most normal thing I’ve heard since I woke up over that woman’s body. ”
“Wait, you woke up over her? Like you’d been knocked out?”
“Yes, I don’t know what happened, but it sounds like I was hit by a spell and that might’ve knocked me out. The officers think it was from that woman—Dahlia.”
“Sounds like it.” I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to think things through. “Did you hear the officers say they’d like you to go back to the station with them?”
“Yes. They were very clear with their expectations.” The furrow between his brows deepened with his frown.
“They’ve asked me to go to the station with them to see if they can get a better read on the magic residue while it still lasts.
I’m sure they still have questions, but they haven’t read me my rights or restrained me, so I’m categorizing my status as… pending.”
“You really didn’t hurt that woman?”
His eyes widened. “I would never! I… I can’t explain it, but everything in me is against that idea.” He held a hand to his stomach as if the idea made him sick. “I even avoid hurting bugs if I can help it.”
I stared him down, searching for any signs of guilt.
His eyes, which, under closer scrutiny, were not quite hazel, not quite green, met mine straight on for a moment before looking away, and his round cheeks flushed.
Despite the lack of eye contact, I still found it hard to believe he could be guilty.
“But you don’t remember anything, right? Like if you know her or not.”
“No,” he admitted slowly, his hand returning to trace the cuff of his sweater. “But everything in me recoils at the idea that I might’ve hurt someone like that. Plus, if I had done something like this, I doubt I’d return to the scene of the crime covered in evidence.”
Was he telling the truth about the amnesia or was it his attempt at getting out of trouble for the crime he’d committed?
Tessa returned. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, but we have to get back to the station.”
“I understand.” I stepped away with one last look at Firth.
He shrugged. “I wish I knew the right thing to say at a time like this.”
“Me too.” I studied him from the corner of my eye.
Lizzy would’ve scoffed at him claiming he didn’t know what to say, but she’d never seen this side of him.
Was his softness now another effect of the amnesia, or was this the real Firth?
Yes, he gave those fiery sermons on Sundays, but he probably spent just as much time agonizing over every word beforehand.
And maybe his flamboyant compliments were a kind of armor—his way of masking how hard it was to find the right words.
The police cars rolled out of the driveway one at a time. Firth’s gaze caught mine, and then he was gone.
For a moment, I simply stood there in the falling snow, stealing a moment for myself just to breathe and think. I tugged the blanket tighter around my shoulders to ward off the confusion and fear swirling around me even heavier than the falling snow. What would happen now?