Page 5 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

Chapter

Four

A fter ten minutes of jumbled walking, we reached a little town called Greenwick. Wrought iron lanterns lined the cobblestone streets, illuminating scattered golden leaves on the sidewalk. Voices and music spilled out from restaurants and cafes. People were everywhere.

I death gripped Oliver’s side as strangers shot us glances and whispered into friends’ ears.

After the first two strangers asked if I was alright, Oliver picked me up, not caring about my weak objections.

It didn’t stop their eyes. It didn’t stop my cheeks from prickling or my hands from clutching Oliver’s shirt, but it prevented anyone else from approaching.

Oliver walked us into The Grind, a café with fewer people. Cradled against his chest like a child, I squirmed, wanting down. Being held in the arms of a 6’6” giant inside an establishment didn’t help the stares.

But he refused to let go .

“Oliver!”

He ignored my protests and waited silently for the host, disproving my earlier assumption that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Oliver, you’re making it worse. Let me down.”

Stubborn, he stared straight ahead.

Once the hostess turned our way and noticed the tall guy standing with a scrawny, dirty girl in his arms, she rushed over. Her blue eyeshadow, soft face, and blonde ringlets screamed young.

“O—” She opened her mouth to speak, staring at the dirt on my legs.

Oliver interrupted. “My friend here had a little tumble with her wheelchair. Seeing as she’s paraplegic, I couldn’t let her drag herself to find food. So, if you could stop staring at her legs and find us a table, that’d be wonderful.”

My blush traveled from my hairline down to my clammy hands. I officially wanted to leave.

“Do you—did you want to call someone?” she stammered.

“She’s fine. Just a place to sit, please?” Oliver said with a smile. It was like I wasn’t even there.

“Of course! Follow me,” she squeaked, leading us to a dim corner near the back. We gained a new pair of lingering eyes with every table we passed.

She placed down two menus. “Here you go,” she said, then hurried away.

Oliver set me in my chair, knocking my knees against the wood. He mumbled an apology, which I ignored, and sat across from me.

“Your listening skills are astounding. You didn’t have to lie to her,” I chastised him, overheating and fidgeting in my seat .

He shrugged. “Better than answering questions I don’t have the answers to. Or questions that would give us more trouble than they’re worth. What’s a little lie here and there to ease into situations? It’s no biggie.”

By trouble, I assumed he meant the authorities.

“Maybe we should get the police involved,” I said. They could help me figure out why someone stashed me away in a basement. A hospital may help, too.

Oliver snorted. “Don’t be stupid.”

I narrowed my eyes, not liking his tone. Despite the skin-crawling feeling of seeking out help, he had a point. The moment I explained my situation or my unusual memories was the moment I’d be declared insane. No way in hell they’d believe me. I hardly believed me.

We stared at each other. An emotion flickered in his face. One I couldn’t place.

Before I could ask, a server came over with two glasses of water.

“Hi, I’m Max, I’ll be—” My hands grabbed at a glass before he set them down.

“Oh, ah…” Max trailed off, shocked, as I gulped down the water.

The cool liquid filled my empty stomach.

He looked at Oliver in question, but Oliver’s eyebrows were as high as his.

“She’s very thirsty,” Oliver said, pushing over his water glass as I emptied my own. My fingers twitched, wanting to finish his as fast as I did mine. I almost did, too, only choosing not to because of Max’s reaction.

“I’ll bring over a pitcher,” Max said, failing to reel in his surprise. “Are you ready to order? ”

“Yes, I’ll go first, handsome.” Oliver winked. “And it’s on one check.” He dropped a nod to my menu, giving me time to look while he smiled and talked to Max.

My stomach screamed at me to order every item on the menu. After all, Oliver was paying. But I couldn’t. Not because the table wasn’t big enough or the fact that my stomach was most likely the size of a pea, but because I was already drawing more attention.

“Are you ready, miss?” Max asked, looking uncomfortable and cutting off Oliver.

“I’ll have a BLT with a double order of fries, a fruit bowl, and a chocolate milkshake, please.”

He scribbled down my order. “Coming right up.” Then he left.

I shifted my attention to Oliver. The pity lurked in his furrowed brow. He knew. Oliver finally understood why I ordered so much food.

I grabbed his water. He watched me attempt to drink slower. I waited for the questions I knew would come.

“Your eyes.” He pointed. I reached up and rubbed, thinking he meant something was on them. Dirt fell to the table. Gross. “Are they fake or real?”

My mouth opened and closed like a fish. Out of all the questions I thought he might ask, I wasn’t prepared for that. “Ahh, they’re real. Why?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing. “Just making sure.”

I didn’t believe him. But they were just eyes. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what color they were, but eyes were eyes.

“Do you know who was behind us?” I asked, cutting to more important questions.

“Are you going to tell me why you were in those woods? ”

Before I could answer, Max and another server brought a pitcher of water and our food.

I snatched my steaming sandwich and chomped into it, ignoring how it burned my mouth.

The buttery bread and salty bacon made me moan.

I took two more quick bites, filling my cheeks.

It only got better when I took a sip of my chocolate milkshake.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could bring me as much joy as chocolate. That much was confirmed in the memory of that cozy loveseat.

“If you don’t stop now, I promise you, your head will be in the toilet, and all that smiling will turn into wincing and gagging,” Oliver warned. His fork hovered with a piece of lettuce inches from his face.

Mid bite, I took out the handful of fries I had half shoved in my mouth. I considered Oliver’s words, glancing between the leftover food and my half-finished milkshake.

“I wouldn’t…” Oliver sang, watching me fiddle with my straw.

My hand plunked onto the table, defeated.

“Well, now that I know I won’t have to hold your hair while you puke chunks of your food up, why don’t you answer my question, and I’ll answer yours?”

Gross.

“I escaped from my cage and ran. Other than that, I have no answers.”

He set his fork in his salad bowl and pushed it aside. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, they caged me in a cement closet and starved me, which was why I woke up looking like a twelve-year-old girl. I had IVs coming out of my limbs, flaming hands melting doorknobs and glass, and voices speaking to me about strange powers and places to go.” My voice continued to rise as I explained the past horrible hours of my existence.

I left out the part about his name and my mom, not yet ready to dive into that conversation.

Oliver blinked. “I’m sorry. Can we unpack that a bit? They had you caged in a cement closet? Where? Who is they? How’d you get out? For how long?”

“Like I said, I don’t know.” Touching the tender area near my elbow, I felt not only the small lump from the IV but my bones, too. If I had any muscles, they were gone now. “Long enough to make my nineteen-year-old body look like it’s twelve, I guess.”

He gaped at me. “You’re nineteen?”

Did I really look that young to him? I haven’t been in the presence of a mirror yet, but it couldn’t be that bad.

The conversation stopped as Max walked over, dropped off the check, and scurried away.

“I think so, but it depends on how long I was there.”

All I had to go on were a few memories. The most important one left me with a twisting ache in my stomach.

Like a masochist, I replayed it, remembering her demanding tone, the need to fight, and the dread begging me to run into her arms. But who were they?

Every time I tried to picture the figures surrounding my mom, their uniforms flickered between white and blood-red, between brilliant metal and leather.

“When’s your birthday or creation day?” Oliver asked.

Creation day…? Was he trying to be inclusive in some weird way?

“I don’t know.”

“When did they capture you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know who captured you?” The tone of his voice lifted .

A blurry form of black and red popped into my mind. “No. But I’m assuming it was the same people chasing us.”

Oliver drummed his fingers against his lip, unsurprised. He knew something.

I leaned forward. “Who are they? Do you know the guy who wears a cream cowboy hat?”

His nostrils flared as he nodded.

How did he know them? And why did he find me at the perfect time?

A niggling suspicion lingered. “Are you working for them?”

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist against the table. Shocked, I jerked back, squirming in his hold. But my nonexistent muscles against his lanky strength were no match. About to scream for help, he yanked me forward.

“If I were one of them, you’d already be back in that closet.

This”—he pulled down the V of his shirt, exposing his chest. An angry, discolored scar puckered and indented the once flat expanse—“This is what happens when you have a run-in with them ,” he spat, then released my wrist and crossed his arms.

“How?” I asked, horrified. The collar of his shirt covered most of the scar, but I could still see three puffy pink rectangles peeking out.

“Fire.”

They burned his chest in the shape of a handprint? “Why?”

“As much as I’d love to relive those moments and bask in their beautiful misery, now’s not the time.” He gave a fake smile.

If they could do that to him, what were they doing to me?

“—before they got?—”

“Who are they?” I asked, interrupting whatever question he was asking .

“Marcus,” he spat. “That’s the name of the cowboy-hatted scum.”

The name didn’t ring a bell. “And the rest?”

He shrugged. “Scum that works for him, I suppose.”

“Why does he want me?”

“I was going to ask you that. What were you doing before they got you?”

“I…”

Memories stirred. My mom stood in a cute rooster t-shirt with pants to match, clenching her fists as they surrounded her. And I just hid around a corner, working up the courage to fight, only to be shoved out by… What exactly? The jerk of her hand? Some unseen force?

“Lucille?”

“I don’t know.”

Oliver squinted. “What do you mean?”

“Most of my memories…are gone.”

“Your memories?” he asked, voice higher and louder than I liked. I peered around at the oblivious patrons, thankful for their noise. “But—” he sputtered. “Then—how do you know your name? Or age?”

Damn it, Lucille. You don’t get to give up. Fight it! The man’s voice from my nightmare echoed in my head. A bellow that shook the foundation of my mind, vibrating the cells of my body, waking me up from certain death. His words were angry. Desperate.

Why?

“Some I still have, and there were voices… in my mind when I was in a coma. ”

He opened and closed his mouth two times before deciding to nod his head. By the wrinkles creasing his brows, he didn’t look like he believed me, but at least he didn’t outright call me crazy.

My skin crawled, voice dropped. “It wasn’t even the small room or IVs that were horrific.

It was waking up to that and not knowing how long I was there.

Not knowing why. Not knowing…” An ache built in my throat.

I swallowed. “I have a sense of who I am, little superficial facts. Likes, dislikes, my age, my name, but anything important, most of the useful information about myself is gone. It was like someone deliberately tried to steal all my memories and only had time to steal the most valuable ones. Then another voice helped me escape by telling me to melt the doorknob.” Yeah, I’d just tack that onto the end.

Oliver bobbed his head, mouth opening, “I?—”

“Excuse me, but we’re closing.” The young host returned.

“Yep, we’re going.” Oliver scribbled something on the receipt and stood. I mirrored him.

The hostess’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “How?—”

“Spontaneous remission,” he blurted, scooping me up. Surprised stares followed us out the door.

Shit, his lie. I forgot.

“I think my miraculous standing was less of a scene than you running us out.”

“I’m impulsive at best.” He shrugged. He jogged us to the end of the block, found a wooden bench under a twinkling tree, and sat us in it. Uncomfortable sitting in his lap, I slid beside him.

“What are you at your worst?” I asked.

“Fear.” The way he said it turned my head. The speckling of goosebumps graced the back of my neck .

With Oliver’s simple acceptance and help, it was easy to forget we had met hours ago. I knew nothing about him, yet, on the off chance the voice in my head was a reliable source, this was who I needed. Because what the hell were the chances there was a second Oliver out in those woods?

“I don’t know where to start. No memories, a melted doorknob, voices in your head, escaping without getting caught…”

I slumped back into the wooden bench, head tilting to the dots of silver in between the branches and twinkling yellow lights.

The beauty of it all was lost on me as my skin itched and my body throbbed.

Food and water could only do so much. “I’ll tell you everything I know if you can find me a bath and a place to sleep. ”

He snorted. “Easy.”