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Chapter Ten

Lorelai’s Apartment, Twenty-Eight Years Ago…

The magic is cold, coming from where her hand touches mine.

It latches onto my skin like smoke trailing from a dying candle, sinking into my pores.

I can’t feel Zephronis’ touch on my shoulder, but his magic pulses like a tether between then and now.

His magic’s warmth contrasts with the icy pressure traveling up my arm, pulling me deeper into Lorelai’s memory.

I blink, and I’m no longer in the library.

The world reforms around me in disjointed pieces.

A cluttered apartment.

Cheap baby furniture.

A bassinet.

The air smells like essential oils, lavender and vanilla.

Moonlight filters through thin curtains, catching the edges of a butterfly mobile spinning lazily above a crib.

The wings are glass, delicate and glimmering, each one casting tiny rainbows on the walls like protective spirits doing their best in a world that doesn’t believe in them.

And there sits Lorelai, rocking in the chair beside the empty crib.

She’s younger with dark hair.

Her face is unlined, but she wears exhaustion like armor.

She rests a hand on her pregnant belly.

“I tried to keep you,” Lorelai whispers.

The words don’t come from her mouth, but instead they come through the memory like echoes, vibrating against the air like meditations.

“Davis gave me support, but he couldn’t give me time. He had a family. Responsibilities.”

The memory shifts, and suddenly I feel her pain.

Her stomach drops, the pregnancy vanishing.

I don’t just see it, I absorb it.

Her love.

Her regret.

Her loneliness and frustration.

Her absolute terror.

She reaches through the slats of the crib, resting gently on the chest of the fussy baby inside.

Me.

Tiny.

Mortal.

Vulnerable.

Pink and flailing with infant fury.

I’m not in my body.

I hover just above the scene, a ghost in a memory that shouldn’t exist.

“They came after you,” her voice continues as if she’s meditating like the wizard told her to do.

Her voice cracks.

“The werewolves in the park. The vampires… One offered me a million dollars. When I said no, she threatened to rip you from my arms and drink you dry. Necromancers sent spirits to watch you sleep.”

The walls of the apartment shudder slightly, like the memory itself is reacting to the wizard’s command.

I can’t hear Zephronis, only her.

Her hand drops from the crib, and mother and baby are both sleeping.

I’ve heard this story.

Lorelai told me as she zoomed through California traffic.

But hearing is different than feeling it.

The air thickens.

The kind of thick pressure that forces itself against the skin before a storm hits.

The hairs on my arms stand up.

The silence shifts.

Something is coming.

At first, it’s just a flicker at the edge of the room.

A ripple of shadow that doesn’t match the moonlight.

Then, like spilled ink, the darkness spreads, crawling up the walls, slipping under the doorframe, pooling in the corners.

Shadows slip under the door.

Small, twisted creatures with wrinkled skin the color of bruises.

Goblins.

I instinctively turn toward the crib, my feet weightless and floating.

I see the goblins crawl from the shadows like mold come to life, hunched and skeletal.

Their clawed hands wrap the slats of the crib as they slowly crawl to where baby me sleeps.

More skitter across the ceiling in jerky lurches.

One drops down inside the crib, and I feel a sudden pressure in my chest.

Lorelai doesn’t move.

Her breath is slow and deep, like she’s enchanted.

My heart races.

I want to stop the creatures.

I know this is a memory.

Fear is not rational.

I survive this.

Yet, I still feel the helpless terror building inside of me.

The baby in the crib whimpers softly, sensing something is wrong.

A goblin places a gnarled hand over baby Tamara’s nose and mouth.

Others start to chant, their voices like bones cracking in a fire.

At first, I can’t understand their language, but then the translation whispers magically into me.

“Life force, bright and new. Magic untapped, power subdued. Feed the master, feed the need. Take the breath, plant the seed.”

I freeze.

What the fuck?

No, seriously , what the ever-living fuck?

Baby me begins to struggle.

Her tiny limbs flail weakly as the goblin draws out a shimmering thread of breath.

It glows faintly as it’s pulled toward the goblin’s mouth.

My throat suddenly tightens.

I can’t breathe either.

I pull at my neckline and lift my head back to gasp.

In the chair, Lorelai’s fingers twitch.

Her eyes flutter beneath her lids.

She’s fighting the spell, but it’s too strong.

She can’t wake up.

I wheeze violently.

My lungs burn.

Baby me doesn’t make a sound, but I see the thrashing.

I fall helplessly to my knees, my head dizzy as it hits the edge of the crib.

I swing my arm weakly toward Lorelai but can’t reach her.

My vision begins to fade.

Then, one of the goblins pushes another out of its way, and they begin chattering in an argument.

The other fights back, and they roll in a tangled mass before crashing into the mobile.

Butterflies spin.

Glass wings catch the moonlight and scatter rainbows across the room, throwing the sharp prismatic light like a disco ball made of lightning.

The goblins shriek a high-pitched, feral sound.

They stagger back, clawing to escape as the rainbows slice through the darkness.

In their panic, they hit the mobile again, spinning it faster.

The one taking my breath recoils from the crib as the rainbow light cuts through the dark close to it.

The breath-thread snaps, recoiling like a whip into baby Tamara’s lungs.

I inhale sharply, finally able to breathe again.

“Lorelai!” I grunt instinctively, forgetting my mother can’t hear me.

I try to pull myself to my feet, but I’m weak.

The baby gasps and lets out a powerful, soul-piercing cry.

The sound cracks something in the room.

Lorelai jerks in the rocking chair.

She screams, but it’s muffled.

A magical gag pulls tight across her mouth as unseen ropes pin her to the chair.

Her panic is so tangible, and she thrashes violently to be free.

The goblin cackles and returns to infant me, its mouth opening far too wide, as it tries to resume its task amid the chaos.

The baby quiets, and I feel my throat tighten once more.

I try to reach into the crib to knock the creature away.

It’s no use.

The creature can’t feel me.

This time, a shimmer of green light coils from the baby’s lips, and I want to vomit.

My body, my soul , is being tugged out of me.

The goblins want to capture me for their necromancer master.

I don’t know how, but the invisible gag finally slips from Lorelai’s mouth.

Lorelai bolts upright, screaming.

The goblins hiss and scatter into the shadows.

The mobile above the crib continues to spin.

The air still stinks of burnt magic and rot.

Before she reaches her daughter, the memory breaks like glass.

CRACK.

I stumble into the next scene like pages flipping in a nightmare.

I have no idea how much time has passed, but my lungs still ache.

The mobile is still.

The rainbows are gone.

Lorelai clutches her baby to her chest, pacing and crying softly as she mumbles, “I’m sorry. You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m sorry, butterfly…”

All I can do is watch as I try to catch my breath.

Her words are only stopped by the sound of heavy footsteps pounding from outside the apartment.

I lean to watch as the door bursts open.

My father appears, accompanied by two bodyguards flanking him.

“Davis,” his name leaves my mother like a sigh of relief, and I imagine she’s glad not to be alone with a helpless baby.

“What happened?” Davis demands.

I recognize that annoyed tone.

“Creatures were in her crib,” Lorelai says.

“They were trying to do something to her mouth.”

My father sniffs the air and frowns.

“Goblins.”

“They were making it so she couldn’t breathe,” Lorelai continues, her panic a stark contrast to my father.

“I was in the rocking chair, and I woke up and?—”

“You fell asleep?” Davis says coldly, scanning the room.

“After everything we discussed.”

“I didn’t fall asleep. I was enchanted ,” Lorelai snaps, holding her baby closer and bouncing in her agitation.

I see the exhaustion etched on her face.

“They were stealing her breath.”

“I detect necromancer magic,” my father says, not moving to comfort his lover.

“I can’t be alone here. You said you’d send someone.” She eyes the guards who stand still by the door, pretending not to hear.

Her voice lowers, “Why can’t you move in with us? She’s your daughter, too. You said when I got pregnant that?—”

“Enough.” His voice cuts through the room like a blade.

Louder than necessary, he says, “I’m not leaving my wife. That was never the deal.”

Lorelai shakes her head.

“No. That’s not what you?—”

Astrid appears, her face tight.

Unlike Lorelai, Astrid looks exactly the same.

Time has not taken a toll on her features.

“As-Astrid,” Lorelai stutters.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

Astrid arches a brow with a look that says, obviously .

She looks around the cheap apartment and frowns.

She crosses over to the window where I just now see the salt line drawn along the windowsill.

Her tone cuts like ice.

“The child is not safe with you, Lorelai. You can’t protect her here.” She swipes at the salt before dusting her fingers.

“Not with these mortal charms.”

I’d heard that tone a thousand times.

My father’s voice is calm but firm.

“Tamara will live with us. We can protect her.”

“She’s my daughter,” Lorelai whispers, pressing against the edge of the crib like it might anchor her to the child being taken from her.

Her eyes burn.

“She needs her mother.”

“She needs to survive,” Davis states.

“You know who I am, Lorelai. You know why they want her. I can’t let them use her to control me. I won’t let a necromancer use her spirit to curry favor.”

“Her humanity makes her a liability,” Astrid’s tone softens slightly, patting Lorelai’s arm.

“You can’t take care of her. We can. She’ll be given a life you…” She again looks around the apartment.

The place would be beneath Astrid’s discernible tastes.

“She’ll be protected.”

Lorelai breaks.

I see the grief crashing over her as tears slip down her face.

“She’s just a baby, Davis, please,” Lorelai whispers.

I feel her heartbreak as if it’s my own.

“She’ll never be just a baby,” Davis replies, more to himself than anyone.

“She might be a mere mortal, but she’s Devine blood. That puts her in danger.”

“She’s perfect,” Lorelai breathes.

“She’s mine. Don’t let her forget me.”

Astrid gently pries me from Lorelai’s grasp, and for a shaking moment, Lorelai doesn’t let go.

“You know that isn’t how this will work,” Astrid says.

“At least not any time soon, but someday, when she’s old enough.”

The figures start to dissolve until only Lorelai remains.

I sense her pain at the loss, but beneath it, I feel a thread of relief.

She’s glad it’s over, and that makes her feel guilty.

Life is complicated.

The silence in the memory is louder than screaming.

Lorelai collapses beside the empty crib.

“I’m sorry, little butterfly.”

I try to hold on, to stay in that moment to explore what it all means, but the memory slips through my fingers like smoke.

Pressure against my shoulder makes me aware of Zephronis’ touch.

I fall back into my body like a kite being yanked from the sky.