Page 22 of Owen

“I was right.” She looked up at Dallas. “Do not, under any circumstances, put your hand in that bag. In fact, don’t even touch a strap. I’ll handle it.”

“Wait. What? At what point did this cease to be my backpack?” I demanded, grabbing one of the straps. Just like that, I wasn’t so calm anymore. “I’m not letting go, and I don’t think you ought to be touching my things without explaining why.”

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt right now by saying you don’t know what you’re truly carrying there,” she whispered. “But trust me, this is much more important than you can understand at this time. The diadem you described isn’t a mere artifact.”

“It isn’t?” My pulse throbbed quicker than ever at the intrigue in her voice. What was I really carrying? “I mean, we’ve owned it forever now. Nobody ever came to claim it, and no museum wanted it.”

She snorted. “I imagine not, for none could appreciate its significance.”

Dallas leaned in, almost ignore me in favor of staring at her. “Are you saying what it sounds like you’re saying? Is it…”

“I believe so. I can’t imagine how, exactly, though I suppose we could find the answers we need.”

I held up my hands. “Wait. I’m more confused than ever. What are you guys talking about? What’s so special about an ancient diadem? It’s unusual, yeah, but nobody in my family ever talked about it being really significant.”

Dallas snorted. “How can we believe anything you say?”

“I know how.” Before I could duck out of the way, the woman touched my head—the slightest touch, her fingers brushing my temple.

The funniest thing happened when she did.

I wasn’t alone in my thoughts anymore. There was another presence in my mind. That was the only way I could describe it. Like somebody else was in there.

“I won’t dig into your memories,” the woman promised, her voice coming both from her mouth and from inside my head. “You can trust me.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered. This couldn’t be happening. My heart raced like a speeding train while I tried like hell to move anything but my mouth and my eyelids, which were the only two parts of my body I could control. “What’s happening to me?”

“The less you fight, the easier it will be,” she murmured.

Her voice would’ve been soothing, even reassuring, if it wasn’t for the way she barged into my brain.

“Who are you?” A tear rolled down my cheek. “What are you?”

“You should’ve put her out,” Dallas muttered, staring at me.

He looked a lot like Owen, but with a little bit of dark red in his hair. Otherwise, they shared a sharp profile and a body like a brick house. “It would be easier, and maybe less traumatic for her.”

Traumatic? Yes, that was a word for it. “I didn’t give you permission to do this,” I reminded her as if it made a difference.

“Shh. I’m sorry. It really doesn’t need to be this difficult.” She touched my shoulder, and I relaxed the way I did before, when she first showed up. Even though I hated what she was doing to me, it didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.

She looked up at Dallas. “I don’t think she knows a thing.”

Just like that, my brain was my own again. I was alone in there.

“Thank you,” I breathed in relief.

“I really am sorry.” She winced. “I had to be certain.”

“Of what?” She was still somehow in control of my body—who was this chick? “Why can’t I move?”

“What should we do?” she asked him, like I wasn’t even there.

He growled. Obviously, the mere fact of my presence was a problem for him. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t such a great thing for me, either, seeing as how his girlfriend had just entered my mind like a virus, sweeping around, looking for information.

“We can’t leave her out here by herself,” he finally muttered. “As much as it pains me to say it, I think we should bring her with us for now. You can always take care of her memory later.”

“Wait. What? No!” It was a nightmare. I had walked straight into something from the worst dream imaginable. “What are you doing to me?”

---