The Forgotten Locket Page 3

  “My memories are my own,” I ground out through gritted teeth. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  Zo smiled, but not kindly, and paced closer to me. The music cut off as he crouched down by my side. “Why are you fighting so hard? You’re only making it worse for yourself.” He smoothed back a curl of my hair, his fingers lingering on my cheek. They were slick with sweat and warm from the heat of the guitar strings. “Don’t push me, Abby. You won’t like what comes next.”

  I jerked away from his touch, my eyes narrowed. “Nothing I say or do is going to stop you from doing whatever it is you have planned. We both know that. So why do you keep pretending you care what happens to me? It just makes you look stupid.”

  Zo’s body stilled. The expression on his face turned as flat as the landscape around us, but I could see the anger moving behind his eyes. The air surrounding him turned cold, thin and pointed as fractured ice.

  “I wanted to do this gently, effortlessly. But now . . .” He stood up, towering over me, his eyes dark and hard as obsidian. His tone was as sharp. “I can’t promise that you won’t feel pain. And I can’t say that it won’t make me happy if you do.”

  He stepped back, his hand curling around the neck of the guitar like it was my throat.

  The music he unleashed hit me all at once. A wall of noise and sound overwhelmed my senses, feathering my vision with black, coating my skin with a slick film.

  Memories stretched in my mind, elongating into tight, spiraling threads woven with each other into a vast, colorful, living tapestry of my life. The pictures thrummed with power, each one passing through my mind in a blur.

  First there were the memories Zo had summoned: V, dying in front of the black hourglass door I had asked him to build. Dante, the darkness from between the doors still clinging to his lean body and his eyes weeping blood. Leo, turning to protect his brother, his sad eyes watching me walk away.

  The music intensified. Zo hunched over the strings, his fingers striking as fast as lightning.

  Other memories: Natalie, smiling while I took a picture to save her. Valerie, handing me an invisible key, telling me stories with a heart of truth.

  Sweat lined Zo’s brow, a drop sliding down past his closed eyes.

  Painful memories: Jason, leaning close for a kiss. Mom and Dad, dancing in the kitchen when they didn’t think I was watching. Hannah, painting her toenails and singing along to a song playing in her headphones.

  Conflicting memories: Jason, still in love with me when he should have been with Natalie. Jason’s house occupied by a different family. My parents, divorced and bitter. Hannah, unborn and unremembered. They had been part of my life—they were still part of my life—and yet, Zo had managed to redirect the river and change them, erase them. Saving them was one of the reasons I had chosen to pass through the time machine door. I tried to hold on to my memories, tried to make them stay.

  The river rushed by; I could almost hear the sound of time passing, could almost feel time slipping through my fingers like water.

  The memories started to fray along the edges, unraveling into individual threads instead of the taut tapestry they had once formed. And as each thread snapped off, torn out of me by Zo’s music, a thin tendril of darkness took its place, an emptiness that felt like a scream and sounded like a fading echo.

  I knew Zo was a liar. I knew it. And yet, in this he had told me the truth.

  It hurt.

  A lot.

  Chapter 2

  The music was everywhere. The music was everything. The notes burrowed inside of me, wriggling and writhing and eating away at the darkest parts of me. More and more notes poured into me, gathering together into a solid mass, rising up in a wall of noise. A curtain of black covered me. I was consumed by the music.

  Underneath the music, a sound rose up like words, a primal language of pain.

  I heard someone scream. I felt the echo of it rattle in my throat.

  Had that noise come from me?

  I closed my eyes, hoping I could blot out the sight of the man with the guitar who stood before me, hoping I could escape into the darkness.

  Eventually the screaming stopped, but I still heard the music.

  Eventually the music stopped, but I still felt the pain.

  Eventually the man left, and I was alone.

  • • •

  “Don’t move.”

  The voice entered my ear like a needle. I remembered another voice, a darker voice, dripping with confidence and command. That voice had said the same thing to me, piercing deep. And when I had obeyed—when I had been forced to obey . . .

  My mind shied away from the memory. I could feel my heart beating faster as pain sank sharp claws into me. The salt from my dried tears felt gritty on my lips and tasted bitter.

  “Can you hear me? I need you to stay still.”

  Confused, I tried to open my eyes, but my body didn’t want to cooperate. I didn’t want to stay still. I had been frozen in place for what seemed like a long time, like forever. I wanted to move, to run, to fly. I wanted to leave behind this place, this empty prison that had locked me in endless pain. I pushed myself to my feet, lashing out at the darkness in my mind, at the voice by my ear, searching for something to hang on to. Something to hit. Someone to hurt.

  My fist connected with something solid, the thud sending a jolt through my arm.

  “No—stop. Don’t.” The voice was closer now, and I heard a note of frustration in his tone. Strong arms wrapped themselves around me, pinning my arms to my chest and holding me close against a body hard as rock. “Be still. Let me help you.”

  I shook my head. No one could help me. I had been cast adrift in a sea of agony and there was no salvation in sight. I was lost. Trapped.

  I managed to crack my eyes open a slit, wincing at the dull gray light that slipped inside.

  The world around me extended into a flat horizon line. I felt like I should recognize the vast, featureless landscape, but I didn’t.

  The man holding me against his chest was taller than I was, and his hair was dark and cut short. His skin, a dusky shade of brown, was smooth, his body toned. His face, from the line of his jaw to the slope of his nose, was all planes and angles. A cloth bandage hid his eyes, spots of blood seeping through like tears.

  A swell of apprehension rose up inside me at the sight of the blood. Had I done that?

  I didn’t think so. Buried beneath the bright red spots on the bandage were darker smudges of older blood. The wound wasn’t fresh, but it also hadn’t yet healed.

  I stopped struggling. I felt like I should recognize the person holding me, but I didn’t. No, that wasn’t entirely true. My hand twitched, and I knew that if I pressed my palm to his cheek, it would be a perfect fit.

  “You’re here,” I said. The words came unbidden from somewhere inside me, past the pain and confusion, slipping out like a sigh. “You came.”

  The tension in his face softened and his body relaxed to match mine. His arms loosened into an embrace. “Of course I came,” he said. His forehead touched mine. “I promised you I would.”

  A line of blood appeared at the lower edge of the cloth binding his eyes.

  “Your eyes—” I frowned. There was something I should remember about his eyes. Something important. Something that mattered.

  He pulled away from me slightly. “I would have been here waiting for you, but I misjudged the time.” He shook his head briskly, absently. “I can see you, but not much else. The river, of course. I can still see that. But everything about the river is muddled—the past, the future. It makes it hard to know where I’m supposed to be.”

  “Be with me,” I said. My thoughts drifted as if in a dream. I couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. I didn’t understand most of what he was saying, but the shape of his lips was mesmerizing. Inviting. I wanted to touch them, taste them. I wanted them to tell me his name.

  His arms tightened around me as the embrace melted into a caress. “Always.” H
e exhaled the word, his breath hot on my cheek.

  The world around me softened and blurred. The sensation of being in a dream was stronger than ever. I felt lighter than air. I raised myself up on my toes, sure that with that small push, I would float away into the sky.

  Instead, my lips met his, and if I had wished to fly before, now I was soaring.

  His hands trailed lines of light up my back and along my neck as he held me close to him. His mouth moved on mine with an intensity as fierce as the summer sun.

  My fingers and toes tingled, but the rest of me melted into something soft and ethereal. A breath wrapped around a liquid core.

  “Who are you?” I asked dreamily when he finally released me and I could speak again. “And where have you been all my life?”

  His mouth curved in a small smile. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked with a hint of confusion.

  “Mmm, never better,” I said, lifting up on my toes again, wanting to taste that smile in another kiss.

  Instead he pulled away, moving his hands from my back to my shoulders. He held me at arm’s length, and I had the feeling he was somehow studying me with his wounded eyes.

  I felt a giggle bubble up inside me. “You’re cute when you’re serious, do you know that?” I tilted my head to the side, mirroring his position. “Can I see your face?” I asked suddenly. “All of it. I want to see your eyes.” I reached up and touched the side of his blood-stained bandage.

  He stepped back quickly, shaking his head. “No, don’t—”

  I lowered my hand, a smear of red on my fingers. “Why not? What happened to them? You’re not blind, are you? I thought you said you could see me.”

  A tremor traveled through him. He controlled it quickly, though his body remained taut and tense.

  “Let me see your eyes,” I said again, a little worried. “Maybe I can help.”

  “How long have you been here?” he asked quietly.

  I shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “How long?” he demanded in a voice close to a shout.

  “I don’t know!” I shouted back. “I don’t even know where I am. But I know I hate it here.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Where is the door?” he asked.

  “What door?” I glanced around, wondering if perhaps I had overlooked something, but the barren landscape held nothing but us.

  He frowned, a deep line crossing his forehead.

  “What is your name?” he asked, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to know. It seemed more like it was a test.

  “What kind of question is that?” I laughed. “It’s . . .” I started. “My name is . . .” And then my mind went blank. Or rather, it went black, the darkness creeping in from the edges of my consciousness. Terror followed, slipping in behind the shadows. How could I not know my own name? A cold sweat lined my scalp, left damp trails down the back of my neck. My mind felt thick with questions, stuffed with noise and chaos.

  “What is my name?” An edge appeared in his voice, diamond-sharp and demanding. Another test.

  I shrugged again, feeling a flare of anger cut through my confusion. “You tell me. You seem to know all the answers before you even ask the questions.”

  He took a deep breath and his whole body sharpened into stillness. He seemed to gather the quietness around him, focusing it into a single narrow point that he aimed directly at me. “I need you to concentrate. Think back. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  Frowning, I shook my head. When I pushed at the block in my mind, it pushed back. And it hurt. I didn’t want to remember. The block wouldn’t let me remember. All I knew was that there was a deep emptiness in me that had somehow been filled with an even deeper darkness.

  “Close your eyes if you have to,” he said, his body and his voice tight with intensity. “Think. Tell me what you remember.” He took the step that separated us and placed his hands on my shoulders again, holding me in place.

  I didn’t have to close my eyes as a memory crashed into me. Just a glimpse. A fleeting impression, gone almost before it arrived. But all at once, I felt myself start to shake. My breathing became ragged, each heavy gasp torn from my body. “A song,” I managed. “There was a man playing a song. I remember the music.”

  Another glimpse bubbled up from behind the blackness. Dark hair. Dark eyes. An aura of confidence. Of power.

  “The music took . . . everything,” I moaned, covering my mouth with my hands as though I could protect something I’d already lost.

  The man standing in front of me made a sound—a half-moan, half-growl—deep in his throat: “Zo.” It might have been a name; I couldn’t tell.

  The darkness in my mind flexed and stretched as though responding to a distant call.

  “Zo damaged your memories and left you here to suffer, knowing the bank would finish what he had started.” His voice shook with disbelief, cracking with anger. “You can’t stay here. It’s not safe. You’re already dangerously out of balance. We’ve got to get you back into the river before it’s too late.” The anger in his voice hardened into resolve, and when he spoke again, he was quiet and serious. “I will not lose you. I will not let him win.”

  Before I could say anything, he took my hand and led me a short distance away across the unmarked sands to where a river of light flowed. The light was filled with a hypnotic movement that swayed and danced. Images floated along the surface of the river—people, places—but nothing I recognized. Nothing that sparked a memory strong enough to burn through the darkness eating away at me.

  He placed his hands on my shoulders and held me firmly.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “I’m sending you back through the river. I don’t know if your memories will return when I do, but if not, I need you to remember this: When you go through the river, you’ll be in a courtroom. A man named Orlando will be there. You’ll know him by the marks on his wrists. He has chains, like mine.” He pushed his sleeve up over his arm, revealing a band of shimmering gold. “Only his will be black. He can help you. He’s a good man; you can trust him.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” I asked.

  In response, he cupped my head in his hands and kissed me hard. “Because I love you, Abigail Beatrice Edmunds. I always have. I always will.”

  At the touch of his lips, at the sound of his voice saying my name, the darkness inside me seemed to retreat, leaving behind a golden glimmer of light flickering like fireflies. I caught my breath in wonder.

  “I will find a way to return to you what was stolen.”

  My head throbbed, and my lungs labored to draw in even the smallest breath. Even though I didn’t understand what was happening, I knew one thing: I could trust his kiss.

  “I’m sorry this has happened to you,” he said. “I will make this right. I promise.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  A grim expression settled over his face. For the first time, I was glad I couldn’t see his eyes. “I’m going hunting.”

  Then he pushed my shoulders and I fell back. The river closed over me without even a splash or a ripple to mark my passing.

  Chapter 3

  I opened my eyes, wincing as the flickering light from a row of candles washed across the wall in waves. I was lying on my back on a wooden floor. My entire body ached and my legs were sore. My head throbbed something fierce, and I rubbed at my temples, trying to soothe the constant pounding in my brain. Tear tracks had dried on my cheeks; my eyes felt like they had been scoured with sand. Dust filled my mouth.

  Standing up, I took stock of my surroundings. The candles kept the room from being completely dark, and I could see several more unlit candles wedged into sconces on the wall; the yellowish wax had dripped down over the brass brackets like dried honey. The room was crammed with several rows of wooden benches all facing a high table that dominated one wall. Was I in a church? A schoolroom?

  A whisper in my mind reminded me that I was supposed to be in a courtroom.

&
nbsp; I looked closer. On the other side of the table sat five chairs—two on either side of a center seat on a dais. Resting in front of the thronelike chair was a set of golden scales, balanced, with a small stone in the center of each tray.

  I was in a courtroom after all. Strange.

  I cast my mind back over the last few hours, trying to follow that little whisper back to its source, but all I remembered was a shadow of a man. A hard kiss. And then a river of light.

  Ringing in the back of my ears was a voice: a name. No, two names. Abigail. Orlando.