"Erin, I suggest you lie down for this," Morgan instructs, her pale hands motioning towards the living room sofa. Turning, I notice Ava's already there, removing several cushions to make me comfortable.
As the men tidy up, Morgan outlines her plan to assist me in recovering my memories. However, before taking any steps, she needs to ascertain whether they've been blocked or completely erased. To gauge the extent of the situation, she'll delve into my mind and evaluate the best course of action.
We opt to begin the first part of the process while Griffin and Shay are out of the room. It's not that I'm intimidated by Griffin, but Morgan believes that minimizing distractions will help us focus better. I lie down on the soft leather, resting my head on a cream coloured cushion, observing as Morgan kneels beside me. With her close proximity, I notice a necklace peeking out from beneath her white blouse—a simple leather strap holding a metal heart entwined with three leaf-shaped objects. Catching my gaze, she blushes and discreetly tucks the necklace deeper into her blouse before placing a warm hand on my temple.
"Erin, this part should be painless. I'm going to do a quick surface check to see what we're dealing with." Soothing energy flows through her fingertips. "It will help if you close your eyes and picture something that calms you."
Calms me, calms me? Why couldn't she request that I focus on something that excites me? Trying to consider something that brings me peace feels unnatural. My world is all about fire and control, not water and moonlight. The word "moonlight" triggers something deep within me, and I redirect my attention to it. Inhaling deeply through my nose, my mind drifts, and I visualize a forest—tall pine trees shrouded in darkness, with only the soft rays of the moon illuminating the ground. I picture myself moving, the fallen leaves from now-bare oak trees crunching beneath my feet as I follow a path etched in the snow.
The treehouse and its inhabitants disappear...
I continue walking, an urge pulling at my core, compelling me to go further into the forest. Toward what? I don't know, but I persist.
The trees rustle, snowflakes falling from their branches, yet I can't feel the wind. It's surreal. Everything seems so real. Breathing deeply, I hear a shuffling sound up ahead and keep moving forward. I strain to listen again, my eyes scanning the white landscape before me, but I can't discern anything.
Reaching out to touch a low-lying branch, I marvel as my hand moves through the. Who would have thought being a ghost would be calming? Oh, the people I could haunt. I wonder if I could Moaning Myrtle myself out of Alexei's toilet and scare the crap out of him. Literally! That thought causes me to chuckle, but I pause when I hear the sound again. This time, the shuffling has changed into a low growl.
Intrigued rather than alarmed, I move forward and enter a clearing. This expansive area unfolds on the cliff's edge. Scanning my surroundings, I observe structures meticulously carved from rock arranged in a circular pattern, encircling a stone altar. Is this the Spur?
Approaching the altar cautiously, I freeze as the growl echoes again, this time from directly behind me. Turning, surprisingly unafraid, my heart lurches at the sight before me. Standing just a foot away is the most impressive creature I've ever seen.
Its fur is a mixture of brown and white tones. However, its face is entirely brown, with a solitary white circle of fur concealing its left eye. I watch as it sniffs the air, its ears perking up, emitting soft whines as it approaches me. Blinking, I remain perfectly still as the top of its head meets my chest, its nostrils flaring and its pink tongue lolling. In that instant, tranquility envelops me completely.
I sense a gentle pressure on my shoulder as a small hand squeezes me. Blinking several times, I gaze up into Morgan's glowing eyes, flecks of gold lighting up before fading into the dark irises behind. "Welcome back, Erin. Where did you go?" she asks, a small smile gracing her face as she assists me in sitting up.
I shake my head, my thoughts still on the creature, no wolf. "Erin?" Ava questions, her voice tentative.
"I'm good. What can I say? I'm a pro at meditation," I lie.
"Well, whatever you did made my job easier," Morgan replies, a slight frown appearing as she glances to the others before turning back to me. "Erin, there's no easy way to say this, the person that obscured your memories is exceptionally powerful. They've not only blocked your ability to access your past, but they have also separated everything into little locked files."
"Dumb it down for me?" My mind whirls, only capturing fragments of what she's saying as I try to retain the image of the wolf with the white circle. I think I'll call you Spot!
"It means that to unlock your memories, we need to open each file one at a time."
"Still, no comprendo."
Biting her bottom lip and running a hand through her long red hair, she stands and takes a seat across from me. "It means that if you want access to all of your memories, then it will take nearly a human lifetime to make that happen. Erin, each memory is like an individual file, separated and locked, so it doesn't touch another one."
"Does that mean she won't remember us?" Griffin asks, now seated next to Ava, his shoulder tense.
"Not exactly," Morgan replies, her gaze fixed on me. "For instance, if you wish to recall a particular event, such as the first time you met Griffin, then I could assist you in locating that memory file and unlocking it."
"Then do it," Griffin urges, then falls silent when Ava pinches him.
"This is something Erin needs to decide, My Wolf. You can't pressure her into this," Ava tells her mate.
Taking a deep breath I square my shoulders, "how difficult is it?"
"Depends on the memory and if there's trauma involved. For instance, something basic like the first time you can remember having a soda can be relatively easy and might take about 10-15 minutes to unravel, but something more painful could take hours."
Nodding, I moisten my suddenly dry lips and ask the one question burning in my mind. "Can you check if there's anything in my memories that involves my mother?" It may be a long shot, but what the Hell.
"I can try," Morgan responds, motioning for me to lie down once more. "This time, however, you may experience some discomfort, but remember, I'll be with you the whole time."
I place my head back down on the cushion and wait. Kneeling beside me, she once again raises her hand to rest on my temple, her eyes sparking with power. "Close your eyes, picture yourself standing in an office space filled with filing cabinets.
Following her guidance, I attempt to imagine, my head swirling as I sense the energy circulating between us. The sensation persists until I discover myself in a spacious room brimming with floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with books, reminiscent of the library in in one of my favourite wizarding books. Surveying the surroundings, I'm briefly taken aback when I experience the familiar jolt of energy, then turn to find Morgan standing beside me in the room.
"Interesting choice." I shrug, Morgan grins, guiding me over to one of the vacant tables and suggesting I take a seat. "Now that we're here, all you need to do is call on the memory you want to open."
"Where is here exactly?" I ask, placing my ass on one of the long wooden chairs.
"Your mind, of course," Morgan wave her hand. "And might I say, you have a lot of BOOKS to open?"
"So, I just say what I want to see and then what?"
"If there's a memory on the subject, then a book should appear."
"Okay," I begin, then take a deep breath, centering myself. "My mother, I would like to see my biological mother." I wait for a book to appear magically. When nothing happens, I glance back at Morgan, feeling my stomach drop in disappointment.
"This can happen if," Morgan hesitates, a soft, sympathetic smile appearing on her face. "If you don't have any memories of her." Reaching out to squeeze my hand, she adds, "Why don't you ask for a memory where someone talks about your mother? That might help."
Hope flaring, I nod, almost jumping out of my chair when several books come flying out of nowhere, landing on the table in front of me. Taking one of the books, I turn it to see if there is a title and frown when the cover is blank.
"Look at the spine. It seems there are dates on them."
I rotate the stack so that the spines face me. Morgan's correct. Each of them bears a date etched into the soft leather bindings. Tilting my head, I locate the oldest book, dated 10/11/1995, and hand it to Morgan. "So, what's next?"
"We open it."
Simple enough.
With my hand on the book, Morgan's hand joining mine, we grip the cover and open it. Suddenly, the room changes, warping, until we find ourselves standing in a stark white cell-like room. "Now what?"
"We watch."
Before I can utter another word, the scene unfolds, unveiling a young girl, no more than 5 years old, seated on a bed resembling a cot. She clutches a faded pink blanket and a doll, devoid of any clothing, tightly, sucking her thumb and conversing with her toy as though it were the most precious thing in the world.
Moving towards her, Morgan grabs my arm, holding me in place. "They cannot see or hear us."
I pause, focusing on the warmth emanating from Morgan, and observe.
"So, Miss Polly, Oтец has a sapwize for us," she tells the doll, a small smile adorning her slightly grubby face.
Something in my mind clicks. Shaking my head, I press my lips tightly together, stifling any sound that might try to escape. She's me. A smaller version, with lightly tanned skin, almond eyes, and long dark hair, tangled and unkempt.
"Ciara," a man calls as he opens the door and enters the room. Younger me sets Miss Polly down and stands, her head bowed. Observing the man closely, it's evident that he's striking, tall, poised, and extremely handsome, but there's a cruelty etched into his features. His eyes lack emotion, cold. I recognize him immediately. Viktor, my father.
Tisking, he looks the young me up and down, "can you not take better care of yourself, мой маленький огонь?" I cringe at the use of that name, similar to the one Alexei calls me, except this one is my little fire rather than my little spitfire.
"I sowwy Oтец, I twying to be a big giwl." I can see the tears beginning to form in her eyes, mirroring my own, and my heart begins to ache.
Kneeling before the girl, Viktor takes her in his arms and holds her close. What the actual FUCK!
"I know, мой маленький огонь," he murmurs, kissing her hair. "I've left you too long without a mother. But that's my surprise; I've finally found your new mother, and she will be here with us soon."
"New Muver?" Young me asks, curling in closer to the man holding her, "but Oтец, I downt have a muver."
he tells her, his voice gentle. "She was very special, and do you know why?" He asks, looking at her adoringly.
"No," she replies, her eyes wide as she looks up at the man as if he is her world.
"Well, she gave me you," he tells her, placing an index finger gently on her nose. "I would've been content with her," he says, although it seems he's speaking more to himself than to her, "but she wasn't strong enough. Perhaps it would've been different if we were bonded, then maybe." Looking back at her, he gives her another kiss and stands, placing her back on the cot and dusting himself off. "Ciara, clean yourself up. They'll be here soon."
The room blurs, and I'm back in the library with Morgan. "Well, that wasn't quite what I had in mind," Morgan says, a look of concentration on her face.
"Yeah, that makes two of us," I murmur, my mind swirling with overwhelming feelings.
I give a brief nod, my thoughts starting to settle. Returning to the table, I select another book. This one is dated several years later, and using basic math, I remember being at the orphanage only weeks after.
Pausing, mindful that this date might unveil things I'm not yet prepared to share with Ava, I ask, "Can the others hear what we are saying?"
Understanding fills her eyes as Morgan shakes her head. "No, only us and Erin. Part of my role is to ensure complete and absolute privacy for my," waving her hand towards me, she continues, "friends. Whatever I may see and hear remains confidential."
"Appreciated." Placing our hands on the new book, the room transforms into a boardroom. It's slightly outdated by today's standards, but for 18 or so years ago, it's remarkable with the modern equipment present. Some of the items, I'm certain, have not been invented yet, or at least released to the general public.
Observing the room, I see myself again, this time seated in a chair, my hair parted and braided on each side. I'm wearing a simple black dress with a white collar, stockings, and shiny black shoes. I'm gently kicking my legs, a gesture betraying my nerves, a remnant of childhood that was educated out of me during my time with the Petrovs. My heart begins to race as I gaze at myself, her head tilting as she looks towards the air vent above and smiles. Following her gaze, I'm shocked to notice a miniature Isla, no older than six, dressed like a little doll, concealed in the small space, her large eyes... Blank.
Returning my focus to the young version of myself, I observe her raise her index finger to her lips in a shushing gesture before lowering it and clasping her hands in her lap as the door opens. Viktor and two other men enter.
This time, I do step back as I recognize a younger Alexei and what appears to be Alexei's father.