Page 72 of Torn Ivy
Cathy glances back. “They’ll be okay for now. You’re the priority.”
As we slowly make our way to the house, fragments of memory flash through my mind: purple energy crackling around my hands, creatures imploding, flowers bursting. But none of it feels like it happened to me.
Inside, Cathy helps me onto the couch. The softness of the cushions is almost overwhelming after... after what? I can’t remember, but my body reacts like it’s been an eternity since I felt anything so mundane and comforting.
“Here,” Cathy says, handing me the water again. “Small sips.”
I obey, relishing the cool liquid. As I drink, I study Cathy’s face. There’s something familiar about her features, but it’s like looking at a stranger who reminds me of someone I used to know.
“You said you’re my aunt?” I ask hesitantly.
She nods. “Yes.”
“And those men outside?”
Cathy’s expression grows pained. “They are important to you. Very important. But I think it’s best if you remember that on your own.”
I nod slowly, wincing as my head throbs. “What happened to me? Why can’t I remember?”
Cathy sighs heavily. “It’s a lot. We can talk about it another time, after you’ve rested.”
“No. I want to know now.”
She rolls her eyes, and a part of me, deep down somewhere, wants to giggle at the action. “Always so stubborn. The short version of events is there was an incident with your magick. You were torn apart and scattered across dimensions. A ritual was performed to bring you back.”
Magick? Dimensions? Ritual? The words spark something in my mind, but they slip away before I can grasp them. “I don’t understand.”
“I know,” Cathy says gently. “It’ll take time for everything to settle. Your mind and body have been through a tremendous ordeal.”
I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “I feel so strange. Like I don’t quite fit in my own skin.”
“That’s to be expected,” Cathy replies. “Rest now. We can talk more when you’re feeling stronger.”
I nod and turn my back to her as I close my eyes. She places a blanket over me, and I shiver. As I drift off, I catch glimpses of faces and places in my mind. They slip away like smoke, leaving me feeling hollow and lost.
“Ivy,” I murmur. “I am Ivy Hammond.”
The words feel familiar, but they don’t mean anything.
36
TORIN
I come to slowly,feeling like I’ve been drained dry and left out in the sun. Every cell in my body aches with a bone-deep weariness I’ve never experienced before. I blink my eyes open, wincing at the brightness of the coming dawn.
Memories flood back in a painful reenactment. The ritual, Ivy’s scattered form, the blood sacrifice. I look down at my wrist, seeing the deep gash has barely started to heal. That’s not right. I should have regenerated by now. My thirst for blood is heightened and I feel a rampage coming on.
Groaning, I push myself up to sit. The world spins sickeningly, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to keep from vomiting. When I open them again, I take in the scene around me.
The ritual circle is scorched into the grass, still faintly glowing with residual energy. Bram lies unconscious nearby, his skin ashen and covered in what looks like black veins. Tate is curled in on himself, face contorted in pain even in unconsciousness.
Ivy is gone.
Panic surges through me. “Ivy!” I call out, my voice is hoarse and weak.
“She’s inside,” Cathy says, coming closer. “She’s resting. Here, thought you might need this.”
She holds out a blood bag, and I snatch it from her, ripping into it and guzzling it back ravenously.
