Page 47 of Enchantra (Wicked Games #2)

46

DEEP TROUBLE

When Genevieve woke, it was to a fuzzy mind and a familiar place. She blinked her heavy eyelids open, squinting into the dark of her childhood bedroom. Her limbs felt heavy, her mouth dry, as she slowly sat up against her headboard. She reached up to rub her fists over her groggy eyes, trying to clear the fog in her brain as she searched her memories for a clue of how in the Hell she’d gotten home.

The last thing she could recall was a carriage leaving her in front of a silver gate, an invitation clutched in her hand…

“Ah, you’re finally awake.”

Genevieve gasped, hand flying up to clutch her heart at Salem’s sudden appearance a few feet away. She hated when he blinked in and out like that, but he didn’t have the self-satisfied smirk on his face that he usually wore when he managed to catch someone off guard. In fact, he looked rather serious. Which was awfully unnerving.

“You are in deep trouble,” he drawled, like a disapproving older brother. He casually reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a piece of what looked to be…black licorice?

Genevieve eyed him curiously as he popped the candy into his mouth, wincing as he chewed. “Didn’t Ophie threaten to throttle you if you didn’t lose the obnoxious Southern accent?”

He swallowed and reached for another piece of candy. “Ophelia is currently out in the Quarter. Which means you get to deal with me and my horrible accent as punishment.”

“Punishment?” she prompted as he bit into the candy once more and grimaced. “And do you not like licorice or something? You look like you’re in pain.”

He glared down at the bag. “Ophelia likes the red pieces, but they only come mixed with the black ones, from that candy store on Chartres Street. She always gets excited at the fact that we can split a bag, because she eats all the red ones—and I eat all the black.”

“Except you clearly hate them,” Genevieve reasoned.

“Something neither of us will ever tell her,” he said pointedly as he popped another one into his mouth. “Understood?”

Genevieve snorted. “Couldn’t you just snap your fingers and make them disappear? Instead of suffering.”

Salem fixed her with an intense look. “I will suffer a million times over if it makes your sister happy. Which means I will eat a million pieces of this Hellish candy.” A pause. “Or I’ll just burn down the store. I’m still deciding.”

There was a sudden, inexplicable ache in her chest as she watched him fold down the top of the bag and shove it into the inner pocket of his viridian coat for safekeeping. She knew how easy it would be for him to take every shortcut at any given opportunity, to will whatever he or her sister wanted into existence with just a single thought. But taking the extra time to do even the simplest of things, especially when they might be unpleasant, was how he loved Ophelia.

Now, he crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes down at her. “Speaking of making your sister suffer, what in fucking Hell were you thinking straying from the itinerary she made for you?”

“I…wanted to find something,” she whispered.

“Vivi,” Salem said pointedly.

“You and Ophie wouldn’t get it,” Genevieve whispered. “You have each other. You understand each other. I wanted to find that for myself.”

He sighed deeply. It wasn’t as if he could argue with her.

“What happened?” she finally asked. “How did you find me? When did I get back here?”

There was a hard glint in his emerald eyes now. “What do you remember?”

She thought about that question. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure. It was as if moths had eaten holes in the fabric of her memory. One day she was in Rome, being stalked by crows, the next she was waiting before a grand gate, plucking strange berries from thorned vines…

That must be it. The berries had done something to her. Poisoned her.

She explained as much aloud, but when his expression didn’t change, she asked, “What? What’s wrong?”

“The demonberries have nothing to do with this,” he explained cautiously. As if he were afraid he’d spook her. “You…died, Genevieve.”

“ What? ” she exclaimed in amused disbelief. “Stop toying with me.”

“About four days ago, Ophelia and I were enjoying a very nice afternoon when two large men tore a portal into the den and delivered your corpse .”

Genevieve gaped at him. He seemed serious.

“Fortunately, you were only temporarily dead, because one of the men also delivered a locket containing your soul ,” Salem told her, his tone exasperated. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to revive a mortal body after the soul has been taken from it?”

“No,” she whispered, still in shock at the words he was saying.

“Very,” he deadpanned. “Very difficult. And very costly.”

Genevieve tossed the covers off her legs and stood from the bed onto shaky feet. The ache in her chest grew hollower by the second.

What is that?

When she felt steady enough, she lifted her chin at Salem and implored, “I feel…different. What happened to me?”

Salem shook his head. “Forging your soul and body together required more magic than I have at my fingertips. To do it, to sustain the enchantment, I was forced to take something from you.”

“What?”

“All your memories of a person you love. And you’re lucky I didn’t have to take more.”

“Who?” she beseeched. “Who is the person that was erased?”

She flicked through all the people she loved most in her mind.

Ophelia. Salem. Luci. Basile. Iris. Poe. Her mother…

Everyone was still there.

Then what is this hollow feeling inside of me?

“The fabric of memory is fragile—believe me, I know,” Salem told her solemnly. “Overwhelming you with details now could cause more harm than good.”

“You just expect me to remain ignorant, then? With no recollection of what happened? Of events that were apparently life altering ?” she demanded.

He had opened his mouth to respond when a familiar voice suddenly rang out from downstairs. “Salem?”

Salem’s mouth instantly curled into a grin at the sound of Ophelia calling his name. “Up here, angel. Guess who’s finally awake?”

A pause. Then footsteps pounding up the stairs.

The moment Ophelia stepped into her bedroom, she ran for Genevieve. “ Vivi . Thank Hell. I’ve been worried sick.”

Genevieve wrapped her arms around her sister as tight as she could, Ophelia’s presence an instant balm to the ache still lingering in her chest. “Ophie, your Devil won’t tell me what happened.”

“Tattletale.” Salem smirked.

Ophelia pulled back with a glare, but it wasn’t for Salem; it was for Genevieve. “That’s because he’s trying to undo all the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into. What the Hell were you thinking, Genevieve? Traveling to a strange place without telling anyone?”

“I just… I wanted answers. About Mother. About myself. If there are others like me. Like us.”

Ophie’s eyes softened now. “I know Mother never gave you what you needed or deserved. I know that. But I will give it to you, Genevieve. I’ll give you anything. If you’d just stay out of trouble for once .”

Genevieve closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against her sister’s. “I know, Ophie. I just needed to find something for myself.”

“I understand that, too,” Ophelia said back. “We can talk more later. For now, you should get freshened up and then read the first letter.”

“First letter?” Genevieve wondered.

Salem slid something out of another of his coat pockets. An envelope. One with a very familiar-looking seal on the back.

“Start here,” Salem directed. “We all agreed that it would be best if you got the entire story in installments.”

Genevieve wrinkled her nose as she snatched the letter out of his hand. “This is a ridiculous waste of time. Why can’t you just spit it out already?”

Salem grinned. “He’d said you’d be difficult about this part. That’s why he didn’t give us all the details of what happened. Even if we wanted to tell you everything, we couldn’t. But don’t worry, each week another piece of the story should arrive.”

Before she could ask who he was, or argue further, Salem blinked both him and Ophelia out of the room, leaving her to stare down at the mysterious envelope alone. As she tore open the seal and unfolded the thick parchment inside, she swore she recognized the handwriting on the page, the way the letters curled elegantly in an exact replica of the penmanship belonging to that damned, hexed invitation. But as she glanced at the signature, it was not Barrington Silver’s name that she found at all.

Rowington.

The moment she read the name, a shiver ran down her spine. The reaction so visceral that she stumbled back until her thighs hit the edge of her bed. She lowered herself onto the mattress as she scanned the rest of the letter voraciously.

Dear Genevieve,

You do not know me, but I very much know you. I know you’re likely wrought with impatience that you will have to wait to hear this story one letter at a time.

She was.

I know that upon waking, every sentence from your lips has likely ended in a question mark.

They had.

And I know despite your proximity to the peculiar world of the paranormal, you will likely find the story I’m about to tell you hard to believe. But I assure you every single word is truth. The truth is something precious, especially between you and me. Something you’ll soon see.

Why don’t I start at the beginning?

He did.