Chapter 1
“Acelina.” My mother’s eyes fill with tears as she looks me up and down. “You’ve grown. And you’re so beautiful, even with the bruises.” She steps forward, and my heart beats even faster. I should move away. I should scream for Jacques to come in and break the spell I’m obviously under.
But I can’t.
Because real or not, I don’t want her to go away yet. I haven’t laid eyes on my mother in years. It’s been so long since I last heard her voice I started to forget what it sounded like.
And now she’s here.
But she’s not here. It’s not possible.
Her fingers brush against my skin, sending a shock of electricity through me. Her touch is comforting yet cold, and my own eyes start to flutter shut, wanting to surrender to the comfort of my mother because I could really fucking use it after the day I’ve had.
Then it hits me and I jerk back. My mother is here, trying to soothe me. My dead mother.
“Who are you?” I ask, taking on a defensive stance.
Mom’s eyes soften and she looks at me almost with approval, as if my questioning makes her proud.
“It’s me, Ace. Mom.” She pushes her hair back over her shoulder and I see the little cluster of freckles on her neck.
They’re pale, hard to see in the dim light, and form the rough shape of a heart.
She used to tell me I’d get my own heart-shaped mark on my neck someday, but only if I spent enough time in the sun.
“Though I think I should be asking who you are. You’re not the little girl I tucked into bed all those years ago.
I don’t think that Sleeping Beauty nightgown you loved so much would fit you anymore. ”
Her words send another jolt through me, and when I blink, I see us on that night…
the night she died. I wasn’t able to remember the details before, but now they’re rushing back.
I pulled the nightgown out of the dirty laundry, insisting it didn’t need to be washed just yet.
It was long, pink, and silky, with itchy lace sleeves I put up with every damn night because I felt like a princess in that silly gown.
I open my mouth only to snap my jaw closed.
This is my mother. It has to be. Who else would remember something like that?
Hell, it’d been blocked even from my own memory.
Suddenly, emotion hits me in the chest like a dagger, and a sob bubbles up from deep inside me.
I put my hands over my mouth, not used to crying, and blink away tears.
“Oh, Ace,” Mom soothes, moving forward. She takes me in her arms and her embrace feels both natural and wrong. “I’d tell you it’s okay, but it’s not.” Her arms tighten around me, making me realize even more how cold her body is. “There’s so much I need to tell you.”
I straighten up, wiping my eyes, and take a breath. “Yeah,” I say with a nod. “And I have a lot to ask you.”
“I’d imagine so.” She smiles warmly and extends her hand to the couch. “Shall we?”
I turn and take a step in the direction of the couch when Hasan comes into the library.
“Ace?” he asks, deep voice rumbling right through me. “Are you all right?”
My mother is standing a foot behind me, but Hasan’s eyes are on me. I freeze, rooted to the spot, looking from him to my mother. He can’t see her. My mother brings a finger to her lips, signaling me to keep quiet. I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Ace?” Hasan asks again. I flick my eyes to him, and in that half a second, my mother disappears. Hasan strides forward, putting both hands on my shoulders. He’s concerned, looking at me as if I’ve lost it.
And maybe I have.
Because I’m standing in the middle of a fancy library in this century-old house trying to decide what makes more sense: a half-man, half-gargoyle standing before me or my dead mother wanting to have a chat.
“Fine,” I finally say, though my voice is hushed and flat. I close my eyes, unable to keep a tear from rolling down my cheek. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I swallow my emotions, squeeze my eyes tight, and take a deep breath. “I look like shit, I know,” I say, and open my eyes. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“You do look like shit, but that’s not what I was referring to,” he counters, raising an eyebrow. He slips his hands down my arms. “You’re shivering.”
“It’s cold in here.”
It’s not cold in here at all, but Hasan doesn’t press. He wraps his arm around me and steps in, cradling my head against his firm chest for a moment before taking my hand to lead me out.
“I can restart the movie,” he says, looking down into my eyes. “We can watch it together.” Hasan isn’t an emotional or cuddly person. He expresses his love by being protective, and when we’re physical it’s because we’re either sparring or having sex.
I must really look like shit.
“Yeah,” I say, and fake a smile. “I’d like that.” I take another look at the spot where my mother was just standing. She was there. She talked to me. Touched me. Noticed the cuts and bruises on my face.
I didn’t dream her or imagine her.
She was too real.
So why couldn’t Hasan see her?
“Are you hungry?” he asks, picking up the remote from the coffee table. I take another glance into the library and sit on the couch next to him. I’m not anything other than stunned right now.
“Uh, yeah. A little.”
“Me too.” He smiles. He’s always hungry. “I’ll find something.”
My head moves up and down as if I’m on autopilot. “Thanks.”
His large form disappears into the kitchen and I stand, peering through the dark living room into the library.
“Mom?” I whisper, and close my eyes. When I open them, she’ll be here. One…two…three.
She’s not here.
I spin around, heart still racing. The tightness in my chest is gone, but I can’t shake the bad feeling that’s clinging to me like a dark storm cloud. I hold my breath as I wait, hoping she’ll appear again.
But she doesn’t, and I sink back down onto the couch, trying to commit everything about her to memory.
She looked just like she did before she died, right down to the loose curls hanging around her shoulders.
I close my eyes and can almost feel the silky fabric of my favorite nightgown.
The printed picture of Aurora was fading away, and there was a tear along the hem.
Mom fixed it twice but it kept tearing somehow.
Another memory hits me, making me dizzy.
I open my eyes and grip the arm of the couch to keep from pitching forward.
Someone moves through the hallway above me, and I look up and see Jacques looking down at me from over the balcony.
Foregoing the stairs, he spreads his great wings and glides down, landing next to the couch with grace.
“Cookie’s Week,” I say, eyes once again filling with tears.
“Cookie’s week?” he repeats, cocking his head. “What does that mean?”
I turn my head down, letting my hair fall over my face to hide my tears. It’s dark, and a normal person probably wouldn’t notice. But Jac isn’t normal. Like the others, he’s able to see in the dark as clearly as he can in the day.
Wiping my eyes, I find the little composure I have left and look up. Jacques’s brows come together when he sees me crying, and he rushes over.
“It’s the book my mom read to me the night before she died.”
He stops short, large wings blocking out the light from the TV. I think he sometimes forgets I can’t see in the dark. “You remembered?”
I blink, eyes readjusting to the dark. “Yeah. Something…something jarred my memory.”
He sits on the couch next to me, taking my hand. Jacques is the only person I’ve told everything to…and the only one who believes me. Something took my memories from the night my parents were murdered.
And now I’m getting them back.
“What was it?”
I swallow a lump in my throat and look up at him, knowing I need to tell him everything, even if his response is what I fear the most and he tells me there’s no way I was talking to my dead mother.
I tuck my legs up under myself, cold for real this time. Goosebumps break out along my arms, and Jac pulls the blanket off the back of the couch, spreading it over my lap. He wraps an arm around me, kissing me gently on the top of my head.
“Take your time, Ace,” he whispers, knowing how hard this is for me.
And it is hard, but mostly because I don’t know how to say this without sounding totally insane.
I need to keep my emotion out of this and state the facts.
I need him to help me figure this shit out, and I want him to be as unbiased as possible.
But I never get a chance, because the front door opens hard. Thomas rushes in, half running and half flying.
“Good, you’re up,” he pants when he sees me. “You have to come out and look at this. You too,” he says to Jacques. “Get Hasan while you’re at it.”
“What is it?” Jac asks, sounding annoyed with Thomas for being dramatic.
“Someone opened a rift.”