I didn’t get all of my memories that night—just the memories from this lifetime that were taken and some that had belonged to my aunt. They confirmed what I’d already learned, that she’d become obsessed about spending an eternity with Tristan without limits, and that the same crazed version of myself had gone searching for him in the maze the night of my supposed “anxiety attack.” But having these memories also unveiled the side of her that everyone else seemed to remember, the normal side of her, the confident and determined girl who truly believed that she could change the world. Part of me wondered if she would have if she never met Tristan, or remembered their past. Not that he had been any less incredible then. The weekend they’d snuck off to Times Square was simply beyond words. Unfortunately, having her memories didn’t help me with figuring out what the deal was with Tristan and the whole “die if you choose me” thing. Those memories, for some reason, continued to elude me. Still, it was enough that I no longer dreamed of Tristan, which was fine by me. How could I disappear into happy memories of him, when the present state of things was anything but?
Every day for the next eight weeks, I reached out to Tristan, and every day he’d respond. I wasn’t sure if I could reach his mind the second time I tried, him being possibly anywhere, but our connection was strong, and his voice came to me as clear as if he was sitting on the bed next to me. However, the conversations were brief, often painfully so. Surya was right about them torturing him. Sometimes, I would slip into his mind too deeply, my rush into his mental embrace too forceful, to the point that I could feel what he felt, and the pain that would race throughout my body was paralyzing. Still, I went to him. I wouldn’t abandon him. If it meant that I would suffer from time to time, it was nothing to what I would have faced had he not sacrificed himself for me.
It was my intent that my thirty-second visitations be spent comforting him as best I could, but often times it was the other way around. The guilt would swallow me up sometimes and leave me unsure of what to say. He’d tell me not to worry about him, that if I truly wanted to honor his sacrifice then I should just live. In fact, that’s how he’d end all of our talks. “Live, Ana.”
So that’s what I tried to do.
Those eight weeks were in many ways a period of adjustment. For one, I had to get used to being considered a “freak,” and not the “weird kid from out of town” kind of freak that I was used to, but a “freak,” freak. The news of my being confirmed a conjurer had spread quickly, and witch folk showed up from all over the world hoping to get a glimpse at the “cursed heir.” The guardians my grandmother still trusted enough to use were turning away people by the hundreds by the time my birthday rolled around. The local news picked up on the increased number of incoming foreigners; fortunately, they weren’t able to offer up any explanation as to the cause.
However, not everyone who came did so out of curiosity. A great number of them came to protest my being allowed to keep my “title.” News reached us almost daily about the high-ranking witch folk from other havens speaking out against me. Most of the world’s witching communities were in an uproar now that it was common knowledge that the ancestors they’d held up as heroes were actually liars who’d lost the war and agreed to a suffocating peace agreement. Witch folk were now fully aware of just how far beneath the thumb of Daemon they really were, but that wasn’t something they could do anything about, so I became an easy target for their frustrations.
That is not to say that everyone in my own haven had come to accept me either. The majority did offer their support at the next council meeting, and were willing to denounce Duncan’s coup as being both wrong and illegal, but only under the stipulation that I be placed under near constant supervision. They still didn’t trust me, and honestly, I could have cared less. I had some of Aleksandra’s fiery temper now (thankfully that was all this time), and I still felt so angry for what they tried to do to me. I would talk about it with my mother sometimes, and that kept me from doing anything stupid. She would remind me that it would take a while to uproot the traditional views of what a conjurer was, but assured me that Mrs. Moorer was right—my example could go a long way to doing just that.
So I did what they told me to do. After speaking on their behalf, those who were instrumental in the coup were pardoned. I recited something about the haven needing to put the past in the past, about needing to heal as a community. I couldn’t say that the words were one hundred percent sincere, but it had done the trick. My speech was met with a rounding applause.
Duncan had taken Nathan and skipped town the night the vampires came. I thought of him often in the following weeks; the kindness he showed me that night in South Carolina, the hate in his eyes when he discovered what I was. And even with the great show of support at the council meeting, many still shared Duncan’s views. After someone sent a fireball through the glass wall of my bedroom (thankfully I was in the bathroom taking a shower), my grandmother beefed up security with foreign guardians and accepted Genevieve’s offer to send out two guardians of her own to become my personal security detail. I hated the idea of being followed even more closely, but the two girls she sent were at least my age, a vast improvement over the forty-year-old male “supervision” the haven had prescribed for me.
My birthday party was to be an enormous test. Sixteenth birthdays were a really big deal in the witching world, as it was usually the earliest that a girl’s magic became active—if you weren’t a conjurer that is. For an heir, it was a worldwide event. As if I needed more attention. However, even I was aware that a lot was riding on tonight. This was my showcase, the other heirs and various VIP’s were all flying in, and I had to convince them that I wasn’t the monster that my being a conjurer suggested. What happened tonight could wipe away all the progress we’d made in the last two months.
I sat quietly in my bedroom, waiting on Aspen’s “magical” make-up kit. She wouldn’t be doing anything quite so breathtaking this time; I needed to appear as normal as possible tonight. My bodyguards, Corinne and Amelie, were on high alert, one on the balcony, the other on the outside of my bedroom door. I’d asked them if they wanted to join our little makeover party but both promptly refused. Amelie had at least smiled when she turned me down; Corrine looked at me as if I had insulted her mother.
A knock sounded on the door and Amelie leaned into the room to inform me that Taylor was here.
“Big night!” said Taylor, beaming as she stepped into the room.
Taylor had taken to being a witch like “white on rice.” Her words, not mine. After the attack, her mother sold the ranch and moved up here, purchasing the house across the street from her dad’s so that she could help Taylor with the transition. Taylor’s near death experience allowed her mother and father to call a truce in regards to their bickering, and she swore she could see their relationship reigniting due to the proximity. This would be the exact opposite of what’s happened with her and Chris. Generally, we don’t bring up the craziness that happened two months ago, but when your best friend is dating the son of one of its main conspirators, it kind of hangs in the air. Taylor sided with me, and while I know in my heart that Chris didn’t support what his father did, he’s still his father and he’s loyal to that. Literature class has been the very definition of awkward. Taylor and Chris try to play indifferent, but I’ve caught both staring after the other longingly on several occasions.
“I told you not to buy me anything,” I said, as she plopped down next to me on my bed. She rolled her eyes and handed me the shiny red box anyway. Carefully, I untied the thin pink bow and lifted open the top. A book, Football for Dummies, was inside. Taylor had already started to laugh before I could pretend to be insulted.
“Look under the book,” she instructed.
I picked up the book to find a silver bracelet, an exact duplicate of the one dangling from her wrist. Normally, I’d find something like this incredibly cheesy, but Taylor’s intentions were just always so good-natured, these last eight weeks so rough, that it’s exactly what I needed.
I leaned over to give her a hug and she whispered that there was another gift. Her cheeks were red now and she nodded back to the box.
“Look underneath the paper, it’s all the way to the bottom.”
I did as she asked. An absolutely beautiful pencil drawing of me and Taylor’s faces, both smiling, stared back at me. “Chris?” I asked her.
She nodded.
“Are you two…?”
She shook her head sadly. “I’m just the delivery girl. He knew that his family wouldn’t be invited, but he wanted to give you something. I told him that I’d make sure you got it. Officially, we’re still not talking.”
I had to remind myself that what happened to them wasn’t my fault. That I’d done nothing to deserve what his father and others had tried to do to me. But it seemed like everything was my fault these days, and I felt guilty anyway.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
She nodded in agreement.
The door opened again, but before Amelie could inform me about who this was, Aspen had already come bouncing in, both hands full of bags.
It’s just Aspen and her dad now, her mother moved back to Ireland. The McArthur’s announced their divorce the day of London’s funeral. It was supposed to be announced the following day, but London’s father had a tough time keeping it together during the service. Most who attended were non-witches, having known London from either school or those rare Wednesday nights when she actually did go to the food bank to volunteer. People wondered openly about her death—how someone so young and physically fit could possibly die of a heart attack. The explanation that was given was that she’d had a heart defect. I wondered if they would have used the same lie had I chosen Tristan.
Aspen started coming by to do my makeup every morning after that, just as she had done for her sister, and became noticeably more herself with every passing week. It helped both of us to talk about her, I think, and we would laugh with one another and share our favorite “London” stories. Understandably, she did most of the sharing.
“Ana, darling, so good to see you,” said Aspen in a playful voice.
“Oh it’s just been agony since the last time you were here,” I returned, playing along. “You simply must save me from my own plainness. I’m in need of something ravishing, darling.” I’m not sure exactly which morning it was that we decided to talk like this, but we’d kept it going for a while now, and had both become pretty good at it. It was always good for a laugh.
Taylor cracked up and Aspen sat her things on the bed beside us.
Aspen sighed. “I’m not sure I can do ravishing tonight,” she said in her normal voice. “I’ve been told at least twenty times to keep… it... simple.” She turned to Taylor. “But I’m gonna make you look amazing.”
And she did just that. Aspen tinted Taylor’s face with just the slightest tint of gold, and it played lovely with her now shimmering brown locks, dyed a shade lighter to match her eyes. Taylor just stared at herself in the mirror when Aspen was finished. I laughed and told her I knew the feeling.
My makeup took no time at all, and my hair was still in pretty good shape from when Aspen had come by to do it this morning for school. So we had time to kill. A dangerous thing considering Aspen possessed her sister’s same wild streak. She had an idea.
“Help!” I called. Corinne spun around quickly on the balcony and put her hands on her hips to show that she was annoyed with us. Amelie, on the other hand, didn’t have the same vantage point. She stormed into the room, fists up (and thankfully not on fire), and we, all three of us, wrapped her up. Her first instinct was to fight us off, but she caught herself. We weren’t threats. We walked her over to the chair in front of the wardrobe and Aspen went to work. She looked to her partner for help but Corinne just smirked. Eventually, she did relax and Aspen was allowed to do her hair.
Amelie’s eyes lifted, and she smiled at herself in the mirror when we showed her the final result. She asked us in a low voice if anyone had a cell phone capable of taking pictures, and Taylor told her that she did. She posed for a quick photo, smiling into the camera once Corinne turned her head to survey the grounds. Amelie told her what number to send it to and not a full minute later did we get a reply. Amelie translated for us. “Wow…is that really you?” We all laughed, and though she wouldn’t confirm who sent the text, we were all pretty certain it was her boyfriend back home. She had us wash her face after that and she skipped to the door just in time to introduce Helena.
“They’re ready for the birthday girl,” she announced happily.
“I can’t wait for Darren’s surprise—“Aspen started.
“Shhhhhhh,” said Taylor putting her finger to her lips.
“Surprise?” I asked. “What kind of surprise?”
Knowing smiles surrounded me now, but no one piped up with an answer. Helena had been upset when I first told her that I’d chosen Darren, but she came to me later that day and told me that she understood my needing to follow my heart and didn’t hold a grudge. I couldn’t bear to tell her about his sacrifice.
“Go on and change into your gown,” Helena instructed. “Your guests are waiting.”
I nodded and the others left the room. Tonight’s gown was already hanging in my closet. It had been picked out weeks ago. Not too flashy, a smidgen fancier than plain, it was light grey and had a bow on the back. I slipped into it quickly, and started back into my bedroom. I stopped myself.
Closing the door shut and locking it from the inside, I slid down into a corner of the closet. “Tristan.”
I waited for a moment. No reply. “No big deal,” I told myself. He doesn’t always answer the first time, but going deeper into his mind made me vulnerable, allowing his experiences to rush into me. I took a deep breath and braced myself for the pain. “Tristan!”
He still wasn’t answering.
It took everything I had to force myself out of that closet. Corinne had knocked several times by then, and sounded genuinely concerned when she asked if I was alright. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. Tristan could be dead.
********************
Peeking around the corner, I could see the people gathered around the stairwell. The men were dressed in tuxedos, the women in brightly colored gowns. A little girl spotted me and began to point, so I ducked back into the hallway. This was supposed to be my big day, something I’d remember for the rest of my life they’d told me; even if it was more about soothing people’s fears than about of my coming of age, in my case.
But I couldn’t stop myself from worrying.
Someone with a microphone cued my entrance. “I present to you, Anastasia Aleksandra Adams, princess of Brighton and rightful heir to Merline, the first.”
I took a deep breath and stepped into view, just as we’d rehearsed a thousand times before. Applause filled the room and I took the stairs slowly, trying not to think about how I’d never made it the entire way down without stumbling at least once. I put on a smile and waved to the people gathered below, scanning the smiling faces until my eyes settled on Darren at the bottom of the stairs.
Warmth stirred up inside me, combating the worry that lay siege to my thoughts. I wanted to be down these stairs already, to have him holding me, but I was supposed to be refined tonight, the model princess. But I couldn’t get Tristan off my brain—had he called to me with his final breath?
I ran to Darren, falling into his embrace. I heard the people around us gasp.
“It’s alright,” Darren whispered in my ear. “I’m here for you. Tell me what’s wrong.”
I leaned back and looked up into those concerned blue eyes and felt at ease, even now—like things really were going to be all right. However, there was something even more profound about this moment, something that I would remember for the rest of my life. I was feeling it again; that same unyielding flood of emotion that usually accompanied thoughts of Tristan. Only this time, it was Darren that was causing it. Our spark had taken hold, becoming something more in these last two months, something white hot.
Darren and I were the toast of Heathwood when we got back to school the week following that nightmare two months ago. I was eager to get back into the swing of things and school provided a welcome escape from the overly concerned adults back at home—and from worrying about Tristan. The interview that Darren had given after the football game had apparently done wonders for our “adorable” factor and people seemed genuinely happy to see us together. And not a day passed when we weren’t. Thankfully, Darren’s promotion to full guardian meant that Corinne and Amelie weren’t necessary when I was with him.
Taylor and I went to football practices together now (and though she swore it wasn’t to see Chris, we all knew it was) and afterwards we’d jump in Darren’s car and set out for nowhere in particular and just enjoy each other’s company. Other times Darren and I would curl up in front of his television watching old movies; you wouldn’t believe how much I came to love Katharine Hepburn. Darren’s Spencer Tracey impersonations were always dead-on. We’d act out scenes and somehow, even if we were supposed to be arguing in that scene, we’d always end up kissing. It was the easiest not to think about Tristan during these times, in fact, all of my worries tended to fade when I was with Darren. The world seemed so bright and wonderful during those moments, incapable of the things that had transpired over the last two months.
It was talking to Darren that made me fall for him so completely. He was always making me laugh, and going out of his way to do so. “It’s the one thing I never get tired of hearing,” he said to me once. Other times he would show me such depth that he awed me. I mean, sometimes he would just get this thoughtful look and share something intensely personal with me, like how he felt during his mother’s losing battle with cancer. Or he’d speak about how different he wished things were at times, what he’d do to change them if he could. And sometimes, when he spoke like that, I think even the part of me that was Aleksandra smiled too.
I don’t know when it happened exactly—when “falling” for him became “fell” for him. But looking at him now, I knew that I had to say it, as if in this moment my saying the words were the most important thing in the world.
“I love you,” I whispered into his ear.
His head jerked back in surprise and his face flushed deep red. He seemed immediately aware of the crowd of people around us right now and looked around nervously. But that was only for a moment, because he was smiling now, that handsome smile that I loved so much.
When he spoke, he didn’t whisper. “I love you too, Ana.”
“Awws” rang out from the crowd and some began to clap. Maybe some of them thought it was all staged. Or maybe that I was just a kid overcome by the moment, in which case it probably helped our case that I wasn’t the monster they might have thought me to be. But I didn’t care what they thought, not right then. I was in love, and I would cherish tonight always.
Darren took my hand, and we started down the velvet path that twisted and then straightened out again, leading toward the ballroom. The people gathered in the hall followed us, and I could hear them chatting eagerly behind us as we approached the double doors.
“Nervous?” Darren asked.
“Extremely,” I answered.
“No pressure,” he smiled.
“Lots,” I laughed.
The doors opened and immediately we saw people’s heads leaning into view to get a look at us. There were no breathtaking displays of magic this time. Instead, there were people. The place was packed. The sliver of velvet carpet was the only available space, and Darren and I were greeted with a blinding barrage of flashes from cameras and camera phones. People were calling my name and stretching their hands through the wall of guardians that lined the velvet carpet. It was probably why there was no magic this time, they were all here to see me—that didn’t help with my nerves.
Ratcheting my nerves up even higher was how quickly the mood changed once we’d made it about halfway to the velvet throne on the other end of the room. Cheers and smiles were replaced with disgusted stares and headshakes and I had a hard time meeting some of their eyes. I leaned into Darren for strength. These were the people whose minds I needed to change. My supporters were placed near the entrance to give me confidence, I guessed. That type of thing wouldn’t have escaped my grandmother.
Finally, we turned, and the velvet throne came into view. My mother and grandmother were standing in front of the throne; the other three heirs were standing just beyond them, positioned around it. I’d gotten the chance to meet them all this morning before school. They were polite, though cautious, except for Genevieve. She seemed very excited to meet me—a total surprise considering our last encounter— mentioning something about a big destiny. She was the only heir smiling as we approached them now.
Darren gave my hand a final squeeze and I walked up to the elevated portion of the room alone, turning around, once I’d reached my mother and grandmother. I could still hear the cheers from the other side of the room, but the people whose faces I was looking out at were anything but supportive. I felt my heart leap up into my throat when the microphone was handed to me. I was supposed to welcome these people to the ceremony?
I knew what I needed to convey to them, and I knew that it was supposed to be brief. Only, at that moment, I had no idea how to say it. After what felt like an eternity of silence on my part, I was ready to hand the microphone to my grandmother when I felt a surge of confidence fill me. Sometimes I forgot that there was more to me than just Ana now. I allowed myself to step back, allowing more of Aleksandra into my consciousness and immediately the words came.
“Hello everyone and I welcome you to my sixteenth birthday coronation. A special welcome to the folks from St. Petersburg whose haven I simply cannot wait to visit.” An almost deafening roar filled the ballroom, all of it generated by the section near the entrance. “For a great many of you there is a lot of doubt about me, I know this, but also know that I can only be what I am—just a kid who, a couple months ago, thought witches melted when you threw water on them.” Chuckles sounded across the ballroom, even cracking some of the stone-faced contingent in front of me. “This is all so new to me. Coming into your world has been like a fairytale come to life. And a privilege. Having two months under my belt, I can say this with confidence—I’ve never been so busy! I’ve got spells to learn, a driver’s license to earn, parents to annoy, a gazillion laws to learn, college to apply for, a boy to love…So yes, I am a conjurer.” The crowd rumbled restlessly at the mention of that word. “But the truth is, I just don’t have time to be evil.” I ended with a playful shrug.
Laughter filled the ballroom, followed by more cheers, and I was pleased to see that there were a great number of smiles in front of me now. Relieved, I smiled back at them and turned to hug my mother and grandmother simultaneously.
“That was simply wonderful!” my grandmother whispered in my ear. We’d never spoken again about the night she and Tristan had words, and I think that was how we both preferred it. What she had no problem telling me, was how happy my choosing Darren had made her.
“Lexy always could charm an audience,” my mother whispered into my other ear. She gave me a wink when the hug ended. An image of her as a bratty ten year old popped into my head and made me smile.
Next, it was on to the heirs surrounding the throne. I took a moment to thank each of them for being here, as was rehearsed, and then took my seat, facing the audience again. There were “oohs” and “ahhs” as the heavily jeweled crown made its way up. The other heirs lifted it up together and placed it on my lap. I wouldn’t be crowned with that until I was twenty-five, this was just to show that it was within my reach. Instead, the three of them placed a shiny gold tiara on my head. I stood up to more cheers and blinding flashes from cameras and phones. Suddenly the crowd fell quiet. Okay, so we didn’t rehearse this….
“Happy Birthday-ay-ay-ay toooo you,” My jaw dropped. Someone had given Darren a microphone, and he was singing me “Happy Birthday” all by himself. In rehearsal, someone was supposed to lead the audience in singing the birthday song. For all his good looks and obvious charms, he was a terrible singer. Even the word “terrible” didn’t quite cover how bad he was. He was completely tone deaf, and he made long ill timed runs that had the audience cracking up. Thankfully, he knew that he sucked and was having fun with the crowd.
With the ice broken, it was just a matter of mingling now. The ceremony was technically over and people were shepherded outside where hundreds of tables had been set up, the October chill tamed by some type of “warming” magic. I smiled and acted polite as my grandmother took me around to the various tables, even shaking the hands of the people I knew had said the nastiest things about me. Maybe I did have a future in politics.
Once we’d hit all the important tables, my grandmother let Darren steal me away. He took me back inside, up to my room. Corinne and Amelie seemed unsure if they should follow, and I’m glad they didn’t, though I assured them that nothing like what they might be thinking was actually going to happen. We had already decided to wait.
However, that didn’t mean we couldn’t kiss. He pressed his lips to mine as soon as we got into the room, and it was magical. It was sweet but passionate, and I felt hot and tingly inside. Darren pulled away abruptly, laughing to himself about the dizzied state he’d left me in.
“Happy Birthday, Ana,” he said reaching into his pocket and producing a ring box.
“You’re not gonna ask me to marry you, are you?” I asked with a grin.
“No way. Why buy the cow when the milk’s free?”
I laughed and stuck out my tongue.
“It’s a promise ring,” he said.
“Hopefully you’re promising not to sing anymore.”
He smiled. I could see in his face that he was trying to be serious now, so I stopped with the jokes.
“I just want you to know that I choose you too,” he said next. “That I’ll always choose you.”
The memory of Aiden’s making me choose resurfaced out of the blue and so did thoughts of Tristan. Worry began to creep back into my mind.
“Is everything alright?” Darren asked.
“Um, yeah…of course.”
“Well, are you going to open it?”
My face flushed. “Oh right.” I flipped it open. “Um…”
His face dropped. “You don’t like it?”
“There’s nothing here.”
His eyebrows rose, and I turned it around to show him that the box was empty.
“It must have fallen out or something. I was looking at it in the car—I’ll go check.”
“Darren you can give it to me tomorrow—”
“I’m sure it’s in there, I’ll be right back.” He stood up and left the room at a run.
Part of me was relieved to see him go. I needed to check in on Tristan again. I had to know he was still alive. “Tristan!”
“Hello, Ana,” came a reply.
I froze. It wasn’t Tristan who had answered my call. It was London.