Chapter 35
Julian slapped his hand on the bar, rattling several glasses. “If we’re not getting any answers here, then let’s go find him.”
“You won’t,” a woman’s voice said nearby. “Dane only appears when Dane wants to. And while he’s often here, he’s not welcome tonight.”
Julian and Brett turned in her direction.
The woman moved toward them with a calm confidence that had people stepping aside without seeming to realize it.
She appeared to be in her forties, though Brett knew appearances in Driftwood Pointe could be deceiving.
Dark hair streaked with silver framed a sharp, elegant face, and her tailored burgundy jacket and skirt looked understated but expensive.
Silver rings glinted on her fingers as she stopped beside the bar.
Brett slid off the stool and stood. “Hello, Elara.”
“Good evening, Brett.” Her amber eyes softened when her gaze shifted to Julian. “It’s good to have you back, my dear Julian. We’ve missed you.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “What does that mean? And explain how you and the bartender know me.”
The corners of her mouth lifted, and she appeared untroubled by his frustration. “All in good time. But don’t worry. You’ll leave here tonight with the answers you seek.”
“Elara owns the pub with Rowan.” The words felt strange in Brett’s mouth now. As if anyone actually controlled the Hex & Hearth. Most days, it was more like the place allowed people to come inside.
Behind the bar, Rowan set Brett’s usual drink, a Glasshouse, in front of him. A friend had introduced him to the lemony gin-based cocktail not too long ago, and it had become his go-to order at the pub.
“Why don’t you two come eat dinner with me?” Elara said. “I have a story you both need to hear.”
Julian looked ready to refuse.
Brett didn’t. He’d brought Julian to the Hex & Hearth for a reason. Deep down, he’d known answers waited there, even if he couldn’t explain why.
The aroma of food drifted through the room, rich and savory, while Elara’s invitation hung in the air. Without another word, he grabbed their drinks and followed her toward a table near the hearth with Julian close behind him.
Their meals appeared moments after they sat down, despite neither man having ordered. Thick porterhouse steaks rested beside baked potatoes, loaded with butter melting into the center, and roasted Brussels sprouts, caramelized with garlic and bacon.
Julian eyed the food warily before looking across the table at the unoccupied space in front of Elara. “You’re not eating?”
“No.”
That seemed to be the only explanation she intended to give.
Brett almost laughed at the visible frustration that crossed Julian’s face. He’d learned a long time ago not to rush Elara. She always answered questions eventually, but in her own time and in her own way.
The woman lifted a glass of red wine with effortless elegance. “But please enjoy. You’ll think more clearly on a full stomach. Then I’ll satisfy your curiosity.”
The scent alone made Brett’s mouth water. He cut into the steak while Julian continued glaring at his plate for another few seconds before picking up his fork too.
For several minutes, the only sounds were the crackling fire, soft music, murmurs from other patrons, and silverware against plates.
When they were halfway through the meal, Elara folded her hands atop the table. “You two have known each other for over seventy years.”
Brett froze halfway through lifting his drink. His fingers tightened on the cold glass while disbelief crashed through him in violent waves.
Beside him, Julian barked out a sharp laugh, dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter, and rolled his eyes. “Seventy years? Not seven, but seven-ty? With a ‘ty’ at the end? Yeah, right.” He snorted. “Look, lady, I’m not interested in some fairy tale.”
Elara swirled the wine in her glass. “I don’t tell tales. It’s the truth. And you were lovers for many years after you met.”
The words slammed into Brett hard enough that everything inside him went still.
A sharp buzzing filled his head, like a swarm of bees trapped behind his eyes, while the entire room seemed to shift out of place around him.
The fire’s soft pops, the music, and the low conversations from nearby tables now seemed distant.
Across the table, Julian stared at Elara like she’d grown horns or lost her mind. Brett was rooting hard for the horns.
She watched them absorb the revelation without the slightest trace of impatience before dropping another bomb on them.
“That photograph Rowan showed you was taken in 1951.”
Brett shook his head. “That’s impossible.” The whispered words sounded more like a question than a denial, even to his own ears.
“Of course it’s impossible.” Julian stared between the two of them, visibly stunned, before his wide-eyed gaze settled on Brett. “I’ve got to be in my thirties, and how old are you?”
He opened his mouth to respond. But no answer came. He didn’t have one.
Elara answered for him. “You’re both over one hundred years old.”
“That’s impossible,” Julian repeated, his voice rising this time. “It’s insane!”
Nearby conversations faltered as several patrons turned toward their table, but Elara remained unbothered by the attention.
“Not in Driftwood Pointe.”
The buzzing in Brett’s head only grew louder. Across from him, Julian shoved a hand through his hair and laughed once under his breath like he was trying not to come apart.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s pretend for one psychotic second I believe any of this. How is it possible?”
Elara set down her wineglass. “People like the two of you—and many others in this town—don’t move through life the same way other people do.”
Julian frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You both possess unique abilities. You adapt easily—which is why you don’t feel trapped in another era despite your years of absence.
The mind protects itself.” Her gaze drifted between them.
“Brett hears emotions carried through the tides, while you, Julian, see echoes of the past attached to objects.”
Julian scoffed.
Elara nodded toward the salt shaker sitting near his plate. “Pick it up.”
After a brief hesitation, he reached for the glass shaker and grabbed it.
He sucked in a sharp breath and almost dropped the shaker. His entire body jerked as if he had been electrocuted before he slammed it back onto the table hard enough to rattle the silverware.
Brett grabbed his forearm. “Julian? Are you okay?”
As he stared at the salt shaker in horror, the color drained from Julian’s face, leaving him ghost-white.
“What happened?” Brett asked.
Julian swallowed hard before looking at him.
“I—I saw people.” His voice sounded strained.
“Different people. Hundreds of them.” He dragged a trembling hand down his face.
“Every person who’s touched that thing. I saw…
I don’t know. Flashes of their lives, I think.
” His gaze snapped to Elara. “What the hell was that?”
“Your gift.” It was a simple declaration. “Your memory will return soon, and then you’ll understand. Until then, know this—it is not a curse, nor is it evil. It will never harm you or anyone else. You only ever used it for good.”
Brett stared at Julian. The fear and confusion on his face were real. There was no faking that kind of reaction.
Everything Elara had said was the truth. Brett felt it in his bones with a certainty beyond question. But he knew there was more, and when she spoke again, she proved him right.
“Years ago, Brett became ill with a degenerative neurological disease. There was no cure. You were dying—slowly and painfully.”
His stomach turned.
Fragments of images stirred within him. Sterile hospital rooms. The antiseptic sting clinging to the air.
Tremors in his hands so violent that he couldn’t hold onto anything.
A man slumped in a chair near the bed, crying when he thought Brett couldn’t hear him. Unrelenting pain etched into his bones.
How could he have forgotten all of that? Forgotten Julian?
Beside him, Julian had gone still, and Elara’s gaze settled on him. “You went to Dane because you would’ve done anything to save the man you loved.”
“What?” Brett asked. “What did you do?”
Julian frowned in confusion before shaking his head. “I don’t know! I don’t even know who the hell Dane is.”
“You saw him earlier today in the park,” Elara said. “Before he disappeared.”
His eyes widened. After a moment, he nodded. “I thought I imagined him.”
“You didn’t.” She twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. “Dane possesses abilities of his own, but he’s always hungered for more. He bargains with people like you for their power. In exchange, he grants them what they desire most.”
The fire cracked nearby, loud enough to make both men jerk their attention toward the hearth before an uneasy stillness settled over the table again.
“And sometimes, the people who bargain with him vanish afterward,” Elara added.
Understanding drained what little color had returned to Julian’s face. “I made a deal with him.”
“Yes. To save Brett. But Dane deceived you. He didn’t tell you the full price you would pay, which was casting you into the ocean to spend eternity beneath it and erasing everyone’s memory of you, including Brett’s.”
Silence slammed down over the table. Brett could barely breathe. Julian had sacrificed himself for him. He hadn’t died—he’d condemned himself to endless darkness beneath the sea. Somehow, that felt far worse.
“Is that why I also don’t remember anything before Brett found me on the beach?”
“Probably.”
Rage surged hot and violent through Brett’s chest. “I’m going to murder him.”
Elara’s gaze flickered to his, calm despite the fury rolling off him. “It’s not that easy.”
“It damn well should be.”
“Dane has survived this long because he’s clever, powerful, and careful.
” Her voice remained steady. “But he owes a debt to the Hex & Hearth—one he’s failed to repay.
The magic he’s taken from others has started to unravel.
Cracks are forming. Spells are weakening, and some, like yours, have broken.
That’s why the ocean returned Julian during the storm. ”
Julian swallowed hard. “If what you’re saying is true… Now that I’m back, will Brett get sick again?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately, bringing sharp relief on its heels.
“The Hex & Hearth protects what belongs to it,” she added, gesturing to the pub around them. “As long as you both call Driftwood Pointe home, neither of you will lose each other again.”
A faint edge entered her tone then, something colder beneath the calm. “And don’t worry about Dane. He’ll get what’s coming to him soon enough.”
She slipped a small glass vial from the pocket of her jacket and handed it to Julian. Dark blue liquid swirled inside like captured seawater. “Drink this before you leave here. When your memories return—and they will—you won’t remember your time beneath the ocean.”
Julian stared down at the vial, turning it between his fingers.
Something ancient and aching stirred in Brett’s chest, pressing against memories he still couldn’t reach. Beyond the shoreline, he could feel the tides shifting beneath the waves. They whispered to him with quiet assurance, the same way they always had during moments that mattered most.
This is real. Trust it.
They both looked up at her.
“Be together,” she said softly. “The rest will return on its own.”