13. Chapter 13
The Keepers’ Village was a sprawling settlement in a valley in the Lhuth Mountains. Inhabitants included political refugees, defectors, and their families. Founded centuries ago, it operated as the Keepers' base.
“But who are the Keepers?” she asked Leo.
Yareli stood in her quarters—a spacious room on the second floor, with its own private bathroom.
Leo strolled to the window, closing the curtain shut. “A resistance group I’m a part of.”
“Resisting what?” Her frown pulled down the corners of her mouth.
“The bad guys.”
She rolled her eyes, wanting to point out that good and bad were not a dichotomy.
“Don’t let them see your ears,” he said, “and keep your hat on at all times until Bri returns.”
“Where is she?”
“I sent her onward to the Water Court to meet with our allies. I have to discuss Endrim’s coup with the others here.” He strode to the door. “Stay out of sight.”
His sudden departure made her panic. “Wait. Wha—”
“Rest,” he said and shut the door.
Yareli’s words died on her tongue, crumbling into ash and leaving behind a gritty coating in her mouth.
With nothing else to do, she searched the cabin, learning the layout of the first and second floors, but the third floor was sealed by a bolted entrance.
When she tried other doors, most were locked except for the kitchen.
She returned to her room and paced on the plush fur rug in front of her bed.
Noise from outside caught her attention.
She inched toward her window, peeking through a gap in the curtains at the lively villagers outside.
The sun had yet to rise, but every villager she saw had a spring to their step.
For them, the day had already begun. For Yareli, the night had yet to end.
Exhaustion clung to her, but she couldn’t rest. In the past few hours, she had fled the one place in this foreign world that she considered home, chased by monstrous creatures, and she had fought and won against one.
She had “shadowstepped” with Leo—she still had no idea what that was—and then…
memories of Leo’s flirtations flooded her mind.
It was enough to raise her pulse, and she was achingly aware of her need.
It wasn’t the first time they had toed the line between friendliness and flirtation.
However, it had been Yareli who had declined.
She refused to engage in anything physical with a Fae she had barely met, regardless of how attractive he was.
But now—after what had transpired—she reconsidered her stance.
Physicality between Fae and humans would likely be the same, she thought.
It couldn’t possibly hurt to let loose… except her jumbled memories begged to differ.
They were like a swollen appendage—a constant reminder of wrongness—and her daily mental exercise sifting through them only added to her frustration.
She settled into bed and wished she could sink into unconsciousness as quickly as she had melted into its soft blankets.
She traced the swirls of age lines on the wooden ceiling until her eyelids finally slid closed, and she fell into fitful sleep with fragmented dreams of sunlight, beaches, and warm weather.
A knock at her door woke her.
Yareli sat up, rubbing her puffy eyes. She felt raw, lightheaded, and nauseous like she hadn’t slept enough, which she confirmed when she saw dawn’s rays shining through the curtains. She couldn’t have gotten more than an hour or two.
The knock came again.
“Come in,” she said without much thought.
A blond Fae poked his head in. His blue eyes shone in the light, and he rubbed them. She was instantly on guard.
“Who are you?” The accusation was clear in her tone.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked astounded to see her, and she realized, belatedly, that her hat had fallen off during her nap.
The door swung farther in, revealing Leo. He stepped inside.
He said, “This is Erick. He’s the doctor friend I mentioned a while back. He can take a look at your memories.”
Yareli looked at Erick, the name ringing familiar. “Do you trust him?”
“I do,” Leo replied.
She kept her attention on Erick, noticing how he fidgeted with the topmost button of his white jacket.
His eyes were still shining with what looked like tears, which only confused her more.
He seemed nervous, and she was sure doctors were supposed to be confident, but if Leo trusted him, she would too.
“Okay, sure. He can take a look.” She made to get out of her bed, but Erick stopped her.
“It’s better if you stay in bed.” Erick crossed the room in a few strides and placed some pillows against the headrest. “Lean into these. Mental magic is finicky, and from Leo’s explanation, you’ve got a doozy wound.
” His voice was soft and friendly, a direct contrast to the nerves displayed on his face.
Up close, she could see that his eyes were indeed red-rimmed, and he had a sniffle.
She did as Erick directed. Leo gave her a smile and a wink before he stepped out and shut the door, leaving her behind again.
Erick cleared his throat. “Can you tell me what your memories look like to you?”
“Blurry,” she snapped, her defenses rising. She hated admitting it.
But he took it in stride, his bedside manner impeccable. “Is that it? Is there anything else that tells you they’re wrong?”
Yareli looked away, staring at her knuckles. “No. Yes. Things are jumbled together. Faces are on the wrong bodies, impractical things are in the wrong places, and certain memories are nothing but a kaleidoscope of color.”
“What does ‘impractical things in the wrong places’ mean?” His tone had shifted into a gentleness that made her uncomfortable.
“In some memories, I see people riding on top of common household items like a chair or a loaf of bread, and I know that doesn’t make sense! And there are whole chunks of missing information.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes—it’s a constant dull ache in my temple that is exacerbated any time I try to make sense of my memories.”
Erick hummed. His eyes were narrowed, his sculpted eyebrows resting on top. He pursed his lips. “It’s going to hurt, but I have to take a look.”
“Is it always going to hurt?”
He hesitated. “Yes, but we can put you to sleep.”
“Can you fix them?”
Erick dropped her gaze for the first time since entering the room, and a cool sensation dripped down her spine, pooling into a puddle of dread. When he looked at her again, the chill of his words seeped into her bones. They were like vibrations in the puddle, unsettling it until it roiled.
“We will try.”
And that would have to be enough. She had to try. Otherwise, the past few months of self-inflicted pain would mean nothing. She nodded and followed his instructions to fully recline.
“Close your eyes.”
She frowned. “Don’t you need to look into them to see my memories?”
Erick mirrored her own confusion, saying he didn’t, and she saw the truth in his eyes.
“He always did,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry.” Erick’s voice had gone quiet, and he placed his hand on hers. “As long as you open your mind, I should be able to enter your memories, no problem. You’ll feel a foreign presence, and it will sting, but try not to push me out. I’m looking for the source of the trauma.”
With his explanation, Yareli had no more reservations. She closed her eyes.
At first, Erick’s presence in her mind was inconsequential next to the throbbing, swollen mess of her memories.
Then, he touched one, and a sharp pain cracked along the middle of her temple.
She saw the blurred remains of a childhood memory, a doll with pigtails coming into focus.
He flipped through the memories, never remaining in one for more than a few seconds.
The pain increased, and he moved quicker, pushing toward something underneath.
His presence became more pronounced as her mind rejected his actions.
It wanted him gone. She groaned, digging her nails into her palms. Pain was blaring from every pore, and a growing wave of nausea rose.
But Erick didn’t stop.
“I’m so sorry. Hang in there. I’m almost there,” he said.
She began to cry.
“Found it.”
He touched the blunt trauma to her mind, and her vision went white. She heard herself scream before she lost consciousness.
The sky had gone dark by the time Yareli woke up; no light snuck in behind the curtains.
A glass of water had been left on the nightstand, and she gulped it down.
She grimaced at the dull ache in her temple.
Dragging herself to the bathroom, she ran the faucet in the bathtub.
As steam filled the bathroom, she inspected herself in the plain mirror.
Her eyebags were heavy, her skin paper-thin.
Whatever Erick had done had put her mind and body through the wringer.
She could only hope that it had been worth it and that a treatment plan awaited her.
She settled into the copper tub, sighing in content as the hot water soothed her aching body.
She wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the water, become one with it until it ceased rippling from her movement, and then, maybe, she would know tranquility.
But the world had other plans. No sooner had she laid her head back on the tub than there was a knock on the door.
Erick’s voice pierced through the wood. “I wanted to check in on you.”
Tranquility, or the facade of it, would have to wait. “Give me ten minutes.”
Ten minutes to rinse and get dressed. Barely enough time to give her a sense of normalcy. She gave herself one minute to be languid in the tub and then launched into action. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Erick was seated on a chair with a tray on his lap. He poured her a cup of tea.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the cup.
“I included a pain reducer for your headache. How are you feeling?”
“Hungover. Exhausted.” She sipped the sweet tea. “But much better with this.”
Erick nodded, drinking from his cup. “How’s your short-term memory?”
“It’s gotten better.”
“It’s not perfect?”
“Never has been.”
He chuckled, and she relaxed. Maybe it was the tea’s effect, but he was easy to be with. She thumbed the rim of her cup. The ardent question pressed against her chest until she couldn't hold it back any longer.
“Can you fix it?”
Erick, who had been glancing toward the window, turned back to her. His face, devoid of the nerves from earlier, was blank. It was a curated expression, the type medical professionals wore when they bore bad news, and her heart skipped a beat. She inhaled, preparing for the worst.
“The prognosis is good,” he said.
“But… ?”
“It will take months.”
She released the breath she held. She hadn’t expected a miracle, and “months” was a heck of a lot better than never. And perhaps it was because Yareli had celebrated too early, but he had more to say.
“There’s something else.”
Yareli closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow, because it was life’s nature to throw a curveball when she least expected it.
“You’ve been cursed.”
Cursed… The concept failed to make sense to Yareli.
Was it like the mal ojo her mom warned her against?
Was it an ailment that would destroy her physical body, or was it what plagued her memories?
She was an idiot. Tuom was not the type of man to let his prisoners go easily; he had left her a parting gift.
Erick said, “It’s separate from your memory problem. It’s hard to explain right now, but it’s a nasty thing.” His stoic mask broke, and his face fell into a look of sympathy.
She looked away.
“What is it?” Her tone was scathing, and she almost apologized to him. It wasn’t his fault.
“It’s an ancient curse. From what I can tell, it ties you to Izmari.”
Yareli released an onslaught of profanities, and a giggle bubbled up her chest until she was roaring with laughter. Erick watched her, his eyebrows drawn inward, but he let her laugh until all that remained were hiccups.
“Of course,” she muttered. “He wouldn’t want me escaping to the human world.”
Her real home, she reminded herself. She needed to return, and August was the key. She stood; her sudden movement startled Erick, and he hastened to follow suit.
“I need to find August.”