Page 185 of Fires of the Forsaken
Before, I’d gotten a late-night snack and returned to my room, where I stayed until after the fire had blown through the house.
This time…
The candle flickered in the dining room. Pine scented. My parents had forgotten to blow it out. And, when I snuck into the kitchen, the flame caught my eye as it twerked away in the dark room. A pool of melted green wax swirled around the wick. To my dumb kid brain, it looked like a mythical mermaid pond.
I stuck my hand in.
The flame brushed my palm as I dipped my finger into the molten wax. It didn’t burn me, but it consumed the sleeve of my Disney Princess PJs and traveled up my arm. The more I panicked, screaming, the faster it spread.
Like, it spread faster than anormalfire should’ve been capable of. But nothing about me, or that night, was normal.
I dashed up the stairs, crying for help. Everything I touched burned. And, in trying to get to my parent’s bedroom, I’d inadvertently trapped them in the inferno. The fire ripped through their open door, rippled across the floor, and set them both ablaze.
They’d been awake already. Awake, and out of bed, likely to see why I’d been screaming. And then they burned.
Mom howled.
Dad smashed his melting body against the window, fighting desperately to escape.
I cried, the scent of pork chops swirling around my nostrils, and made a beeline for my room.
“No!”
The wail came from adult me, not five-year-old me. Why? Because I was suddenlyfucking terrified. Like, heart in my throat, cold sweat, stomach-churning,terrified.
This memory is wrong! It’s not mine!
“Oh, but it is.” Excitement colored Ramiel’s voice. “My brethren attempted to replace these memories, but your soul hasn’t forgotten the truth. We’re almost there now, Adelaide…”
The hook dragged me to a gaudy, circular room.
Gold covered the walls, the furniture, the carpet…everything.It looked like some rich S.O.B.’s hideous mansion.
I’d never seen this place before. Ever.
Yet I knew every nook, cranny, and secret hiding spot.
The sprawling king-sized bed had a hollow post on the left side; perfect for stashing small objects. A knife was concealed beneath a loose slab of stone next to the fireplace. Letters were tucked away behind the ornate mirror that hung above the mattress. And the full-length mirror beside the door had a secret 6x6 room cut out behind it.
A woman was ushering me into that very room.
A girl, really. She was little more than a teenager, although she had the gnarled, rough hands of an eighty-year-old.
Those sand-papery hands grasped my arm. Tightly.
I drew back. The sight of that mirror had me breaking out in a nervous sweat.
Noise rose from outside: metal objects clanging. Loud booms.
I started to cry, but the girl turned, holding her finger to her lips, shushing me.
Her wide eyes were purple—almost the same shade as mine. And everything about her: the caramel brown hair that cascaded down her back, her heart-shaped face, her small, wiry frame…it all seemed familiar. As though I’d seen her before. Somewhere. Maybe in a dream, or on a TV show.
But before I could try to place her face, the woman shoved me into the secret room.
I cried.
She slammed the mirror shut as another woman called,“Lasair!”
