Chapter 12 Coco
Coco
Is Stone joking? He’s joking, right? Got to be. I search his face for signs that he’s pulling my leg, or arm, or entire body.
“You . . . don’t know who you are?”
He scratches the scruff on his cheek. “It’s the strangest thing. One moment I was—well, I can’t remember what I was doing. And the next . . .” He shakes his head. “Did I hit my head?”
Quick, Coco, lie. Ugh, how far I’ve fallen. Since I can’t exactly reveal that I spelled him, it’s the next best explanation. “Yes, you hit your head.”
He looks around. “On what?”
My gaze lands on the thing closest to me. “A hard hat. Yep. You hit your head on a hard hat. Wow. They are making those things way too . . . hard nowadays.”
I grab his hat from off the desk and knock my fist against the top of it to demonstrate.
He scrunches his face in curiosity. “How did I do that?”
“It fell. From the ceiling. I don’t know how it got up there. But it dropped right on your head.” I reach for Stone, but stop short of actually touching him. “Does it hurt?”
He rubs his head and frowns. “It’s fine. I probably needed to shake something loose anyway. Man. Must be a really hard hat. I mean, I can’t remember a thing.”
Wow. He bought it. He bought my lie.
Part of me regrets saying it, but another part of me knows this is called self-preservation, and I need to be preserving as much of myself as possible.
Stone shoots me a lopsided grin that highlights how handsome he is. My stomach flips, traitorous and ridiculous, because now is not the time for that. “My memory’ll come back soon. I’m not a quitter. At least, I don’t think so.”
God, please don’t let him ask me if he’s a quitter. And he’s right: Maybe his memory will launch right on back into his brain in a few minutes.
He starts to rise and I push him down so hard he shoots me a shocked look. “Maybe you should stay put for a second.”
“I’m fine. Don’t make a big deal about it. What’re you going to have me do next, take a nap?”
Maybe?
His eyes suddenly flare in surprise, and I think, He’s remembered who he is and will have me arrested for trying to poison him.
But this isn’t what he says. Instead, awe fills his voice. “Is that a lambicorn?”
I blink. It’s worse than poisoning. I’ve completely wrecked his brain.
“It is a lambicorn.” Stone frowns in distaste, which makes rows of lines cut across his forehead. “What’s it doing?”
I rub my forehead as the lambicorn sniffs the floor. “It’s checking out the carpet.”
“It looks hungry.”
“Yeah, it probably is.” Because you haven’t fed it.
Stone opens his arms and says tenderly, “Come here, little guy.”
What’s happening?
Isn’t he supposed to kick the lambicorn? Ignore it? Attempt to give it to me?
But this is not what Stone does. He rises, crosses over to the creature, and pets it.
My knees go weak, but I straighten, locking them tight. This isn’t sweet. This is terrifying. He’s not acting like Stone—he’s acting like someone who cares about things.
This is not the Stone Maddox of five minutes ago. That Stone Maddox would rather shoot out his own eye than pet that lambicorn.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a quick phone call.” I poke the air for emphasis. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He picks up the lambi and nuzzles his face against it like it’s his favorite stuffed teddy from childhood. “How could I go anywhere when this cutie is here?”
This is all wrong. I dash from the trailer so fast my shoe nearly pops off. Outside, I dial Cristina’s number. My stomach is in knots. I’m sweating. Pressure builds in my fingers.
In front of me, a ley line flashes red. I exhale slowly.
Calm down, Coco.
Cristina answers five rings after my near cardiac arrest. “So, how’d it go? Nothing, right? That’s what I was afraid of. Well, we tried.”
“No,” I whisper-shriek. “It’s much worse than nothing happening.”
“What do you mean?”
My insides curl up and die, just like I want to. “I’m in deep trouble.”
“Why?”
“He’s lost his memory.”
She gasps. “What?” I hear the sound of a car honking, and Cristina yells, “Sorry!”
“Don’t have an accident,” I tell her, cringing.
“How can I not? Let me pull over.” When her voice comes back on the line, it’s crisp, and the background muffle of being on Bluetooth is gone. “He has amnesia?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I ball up a fist and press it to my eye, inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying to calm my electrified nerve endings. “Yes. I think so. He can’t remember who he is.”
“We’re in deep shit.”
“I know! What do we do?”
“Don’t panic.”
“It’s too late for that.”
The trailer door opens and Stone appears with the lambicorn tucked under one arm. “Hey, I think this little guy’s starving. Should we get it some milk?”
“Yes, we will,” I say, forcing brightness in my voice. “Let me just finish this call.”
“Okay.” He pauses and surveys the empty construction site. “Where are we?”
I sway on my feet but catch myself from falling. “I’ll tell you all about it. Give me just a minute.”
“Hey, I ate some of that pastry on the desk.”
“No! Don’t eat that!”
“Too late. It’s gone. Had a weird aftertaste.”
It feels like my body is collapsing in on itself. “I’ll be inside in just a minute and we’ll get all of this sorted out.”
“Yeah, that would be great. Because I still don’t know who I am.”
“Your name is Stone Maddox.”
A divot appears between his brows as he considers this. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” I mumble. After eating the entire Danish of Amnesia, it wouldn’t.
“Maybe I should go to a hospital.”
“One minute.” I lift a finger. “Give me just one.”
“Sure, this little lambi and I will hang out until you’re done.”
“Great.”
I give him a tight smile, impatiently waiting for him to disappear so I can figure out how to extract myself from this mess before I’m sentenced to death by firing squad in front of the entire town—or something even more archaic, like stoning.
After he finally disappears inside the trailer, I collapse against the side of the building.
Cristina’s voice breaks the silence. “Holy shit, Co.”
“I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“Can you come to the farm? I’ll turn around and go back. Bring Stone and the book. Let’s see if there’s a way out of this.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
It’s lucky I still have the book with me, having left it in my car, as by the time I got home from Wadley Farms last night, I was exhausted.
So that’s the one good thing about right now. The one bad thing, however, is Stone.
Amnesia Stone gets distracted by many things.
“Whose office is this?” he asks when I enter the trailer.
“Yours,” I say, beaming while trying not to die on the inside.
“Really? There’s no personality to it. It doesn’t seem like me.”
I grab the empty Danish box and toss it in the trash. “That’s probably because it’s temporary. Come on. I’ve got an idea on how to get your memory back.”
“Thank goodness, because I’m going out of my mind.” He stares at the blank walls, scours the desk surface. “If it wasn’t for that lambicorn, I’d probably be tearing my hair out.”
“Well, we don’t want you doing that. Let’s go.”
He starts to follow me and stops. “Wait.”
I turn around. “Yes?”
“How do I know if you’re a good witch or a bad witch?”
My breath hitches. “What?”
“That line just came to me. It’s from a movie, isn’t it?”
My stiff shoulders loosen in relief. It’s just a line he remembers. He’s not accusing me of anything. But maybe he should be. “Yes, it’s from The Wizard of Oz. It’s very famous. See? You’ve got some of your memory in there.”
“Yeah.” He smirks, and those jade eyes of his are warm, welcoming. They flicker down my body, lingering on my legs before they climb back up, settling on my face. “I know you’re a good witch.”
“Sorry?”
“I mean, good.” He shakes his head. “Not a witch. Just good.”
It feels like a thousand eels are slithering inside in my stomach. “Let’s see if we can get you fixed up.”
“What are those little cuties?” Stone asks as we pull up to Wadley Farms and a dozen piggycorns rush to the fence to greet us. “Are those piggycorns?”
“They are, indeed.”
Stone lifts the lambicorn’s front hoof and waves it. “Look, your little cousins are coming to meet you.”
I have really got to get his memory back. I almost like the old Stone better.
Almost.
Don’t hold me to that.
Cristina greets us at the door. “Stone, meet my friend Cristina.”
“How are you?” he asks. “I’d take your hand, but I’m holding this little guy.”
“He’s very cute,” Cristina admires.
“Isn’t he? Or she?” Stone frowns at me. “Does it have a name?”
“I don’t believe so.”
Is this really what we’re worried about right now when you have amnesia?
“Do you have any milk?” Stone asks as we step inside.
Then he stops and gazes around the foyer.
It’s a gorgeous space. The walls are painted a welcoming green with clean white trim.
There’s a cozy waiting room and a mahogany reception desk constructed of old doors.
The place smells like wisteria and cotton.
Stone whistles. “Nice. I love the design—it’s so sleek. Very posh. And the smell.” He snaps his head in Cristina’s direction. “This is a spa, right?” Before she can answer he adds, “I’ve been here before. The design feels familiar.”
“That’s because you know the designer.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you do,” I say, tugging his arm.
I’m not interested in explaining more—like, you know, telling Stone he has a brother. Once that can of worms opens, he’ll call Pane.
I’ll be immediately implicated. I’ll be fired. My life will implode. But hey, my mom will finally notice what I’m doing, because I’ll be front page news.
Stone nods in understanding, but his eyes are vacant. “Right. I know the designer.”
Cristina grimaces, and I shrug like, Yes, this is the level of amnesia we’re dealing with. We’d better fix him, and fast.
She points to the kitchen. “You’ll find milk in the fridge. Feel free to give that little fella whatever you need.”
The lambicorn bleats as Stone walks off.
“We’re going to prison,” she whispers once he can’t hear us. “Or worse—someone will disappear us.”
“I know.” I cringe. “This is so bad.”
She stares at me like, Duh. “So?”
“So . . . what?”
“What’s his amnesia like?”
“What does that mean? It’s amnesia. I don’t know specifics.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “This is magically induced. I don’t know if there are rules to how it’s supposed to go. And if there are, I didn’t see them on the page with the spell.”
She shakes her head. “We are so screwed. But! Let’s be positive. You did bring the book.”
I hold it up. “Here it is.”
“Let’s see if we can find a reversal spell.”
We rush into the office and open the book. This time, the breeze that flicks through my hair doesn’t faze me. We turn to the spell we used, looking for—hell, I don’t know what, an antidote to jump off the page.
Cristina points to a black smudge. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“This. I think it’s words.”
“It’s so tiny. It looks like dirt.”
She pulls open desk drawers, frantically searching. “There’s got to be a magnifying glass in here somewhere.”
I frown at the book. “You think those are words?”
“Pretty sure.”
Then I need to schedule an appointment with the eye doctor, ’cause I don’t see it.
“Found one!”
She crouches above the page, holding the lens. “Yes! It’s words. See?”
I huddle beside her and gasp as text comes into view. “If things go awry and the spell-caster needs an antidote, it can be found on page 462.” I raise my brows. “Wow. That’s very specific—and I don’t remember seeing numbers on the pages, do you?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, numbers float to the top of one corner, like seagrass surfacing on a lake.
She straightens. “Did you see that?”
“I saw it,” I squeak. “Maybe we imagined it.”
“Nope. Not imagined. I’m going to scoot on over to page 462.”
“Good idea.”
My voice is no louder than the sound of a mouse scrabbling across a floor. I shove down the mix of worry and fear that’s pooling in my belly and wait until Cristina finds the page.
“Here. There’s a spell.” She scans it and flaps her hands in excitement. “This is doable. You could absolutely do this. Yes! Okay. Oh, wait.”
Her expression falls and so does my hope. “What? What’s wrong?”
“This one ingredient, lunaria bloom. What it that?”
I’m about to look it up on my phone when the sound of someone clearing their throat comes from the doorway. Stone stands at the threshold, holding the lambicorn in one hand and an apple in the other. He talks between bites.
“Good news.”
“You got your memory back?” I ask.
“No. The lambicorn is a he and I’ve named him Hercules.”
It’s the cutest. Name. Ever.
My stomach lurches. Oh Lord, I’m going to be sick.
Stone continues, “There’s also another lambicorn outside. I saw it with the piggycorns.”
“Oh. That’s great.”
“Thanks.” His gaze flicks to the book. “So. Whatcha doing?”
I slam the book shut. “Just some research on amnesia.”
“Any luck so far?” he asks.
“Still working on it.” And no, this isn’t a spell book in case he asks.
“Okay,” he says sharply. His eyes darken like they usually do when he and I are in the same room. I knew this niceness wouldn’t last forever. It was too good to be true. “There’s just one thing.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
Stone’s eyes narrow to slitty wedges of death. “Exactly who are you?”
An even better question is, how much of the truth and how much of a lie do I tell him?