Page 129 of Taken By the Fae

“That’s great.” She sighs. “I love her, but that woman is a serious packrat. The attic is full of stuff that has to be over a hundred years old.”

I arch a brow. “Really? What does she even have that is that old?”

Mom shrugs. “Heirlooms, according to your father. She kept everything that was passed down from your granddad’s family after he died. She did nothing with it, of course, it just sat there, collecting dust all these years.”

I laugh a little. “Awesome. Glad I’m sticking around to help, then.”

She presses her palms together as if she’s about to pray. “Thank you.”

I wave her off, grinning at her display. “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

* * *

Okay, yeah. Itisthat bad.

We’ve been here three hours and haven’t come close to making a dent.

Nan, Mom, and Dad are downstairs packing up the breakables in the kitchen and dining room, while I quickly offered to climb into the attic to go through the piles of dust-covered boxes. I could use a minute to myself and there’s still a part of me that hopes I’ll find something tied to my fae lineage.

There are enough heirlooms up here for a Marshall family museum. I’ve sneezed so many times my head feels heavy and fuzzy and my throat is scratchy, as if I’m getting sick. I duck my head from the low, exposed wood ceilings and crack the lone window open enough to inhale some fresh air.

Keeping the window open, I walk away from it and gulp down some water, tossing the empty bottle toward the garbage bag I started, and move onto another box. This one is just labeledfamily stuff. Nice. Very specific. The words are faint, probably written long before even Nan was born.

Holding my breath as I rip the deteriorating tape off the flimsy cardboard, I squint at the darkness inside. I toss the ball of tape in the garbage and drag the lamp I’ve been using for light closer so I can see what’s inside.

Paper. It’s filled with yellowed, worn paper.

I push the flaps of the box back and reach inside, pulling a bunch out. Thumbing through the delicate sheets, I note the dates go back at least a century.

“Holy shit,” I mumble.

Some of it looks like old receipts, most of which have such faded ink I can’t make out what’s on them. I empty the entire box, glancing over a few things. A folded piece of paper falls to the floor as I flip through a leather-bound notebook. I pick it up and press my lips together as I open it, surprised to find the writing well preserved.

There are names scrawled across the top with small black and white headshots and lines connecting them to others all the way down the page. Written in neat cursive across the top isMarshall Family Tree.

I’ve never seen this before. I’ll bet my dad hasn’t either. Nan probably didn’t even know it was in one of these boxes, considering by the looks of them, they haven’t been opened in the last century.

I run my finger across the crinkled paper, taking in all the names and dates. Some names are familiar, while others are complete strangers. The last name on the page—the last relative that was added to the tree—is my great-great-grandfather.

Pulling my phone out of the back pocket of my shorts, I open the camera and snap a picture. I go into my gallery and select the photo to make sure it came out clear, and frown. There’s a glare from the flash halfway up the page, drawing my eyes to a familiar name. Mine.

Of course it’s notme, but my eyes widen. I didn’t know I was named after a distant relative. This Aurora wasn’t born a Marshall. My gaze slides over to her spouse—the Marshall of the pairing—and the air leaves my lungs in a painfulwhoosh.

“What the hell?” I breathe, blinking a few times. There must be dust in my eyes. I’m not seeing straight. This isn’t—thiscan’tbe real.

Across from my namesake is the face that still gives me nightmares.

Jules.

My body jumps into action, moving on autopilot down the ladder from the attic and into the bathroom. I slam the door shut and get the lid of the toilet seat up a second before I empty my stomach into the bowl.

My eyes burn as my vision blurs in and out, and my ears are ringing so loudly I almost don’t hear someone knocking on the door.

I flush the toilet and rinse my mouth out before taking a deep breath and opening it to find Nan and Mom standing there.

“Are you all right, honey?” Mom asks.

I swallow hard. “I just—”

---