Following Elizabeth out of the kitchen, my body heats up with confusion once again. I’m pushing to stay in control, but I’m afraid the power that began awakening will show its ugly head now and ruin everything before I can get any solid direction. Nothing is working out the way I expect it to. My feelings and my actions should be playing themselves out like second nature. Instead, I've forgotten. I'm second guessing everything. The panic that I carry buried just under my skin flares up hotter.

I'm lost.

I'm not myself.

The last thought hits me like a physical blow.

I gasp and Brendan is instantly at my side. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he looks deeply into my eyes, calling my name. At first, I think I'm about to have a vision. It's hard to find air, my lungs feel too small to function.

“Cal." He doesn't seem to know what to say, so instead he pulls me into his arms. The moment my cheek hits his chest I feel safe.

I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I listen to his heartbeat, allowing my breathing to settle. After an eternity that doesn't last long enough, he pulls away.

"Better?"

I nod, still unsure of what exactly happened.

“Here." Elizabeth materializes beside me, glass of water in hand. "Drink. I think you just had a small panic attack." I gulp down the cool liquid, letting it wash over my suddenly parched throat.

"What is wrong with me?" I don't mean to ask the question out loud, but there it is, floating in the space around us. Brendan opens his mouth to answer, but Elizabeth beats him to it.

"Nothing is wrong with you, honey. Your body and mind are adjusting to the changes. It's normal to freak out."

"Nothing about me is normal."

I shudder, putting space between me and Elizabeth. A part of me wants to trust her, feels like I can, but I'm not exactly a reliable source right now. Brendan doesn't trust her, that much is evident. I can see it in his eyes as he takes a protective step toward me. I bat his hand away, once again pushing for control of my emotions. I stand a little taller, facing Elizabeth.

"Show us."

She nods, then disappears through the curtain of beads I've seen in my vision. Before the panic can resurface, I slam it down. This roller coaster of emotions must come to an end. I know I've been trying to come to terms with every discovery, and sometimes the new information overloads my senses, but that needs to stop. I pull on that inner bravery I keep glimpsing within myself. Squaring my shoulders, I follow Elizabeth.

The room on the other side of the curtains is what I've been searching for. If the rest of the house feels familiar, this place calls to me.

"This was your room,” Elizabeth says, before I can ask the question. It feels like my room. I can almost see myself here. I can almost remember.

"Here, this should explain things." Elizabeth places a worn journal into my hands. When my fingers graze the cover, heat rushes over me starting at my fingertips. This book—it’s mine. It belongs to me.

"You came to me because you knew I was a Keeper,” Elizabeth says, oblivious to the sensations racing over my skin as I continue to stare at the book in my hands. "You also knew something was wrong. Right away, your memories were fuzzy. You couldn't remember certain aspects of the mission. You wouldn't tell me anything, but you wrote fiercely in that book, saying you needed help in remembering. You told me to keep it safe, that no one but you could open this book, yet you didn't want it out in the open if you weren't around. Then one morning, you simply weren't."

"You didn't look for her?" Brendan's outraged voice comes from behind me. I peek at him, his face a picture of rage.

"It's not my job as a Keeper. I am to provide shelter and safety. It's not in my job description to question the ways of the Elite."

"But if she was your charge—“

"I didn't know her mission. It wasn't my place. If I'm correct, it was yours."

"What I did—“

"Guys!" I shout, halting their blaming match. "It's no one's fault. Well, no one in this room. Please just shut up. I'm so tired of everyone having responsibility of me. I am my own person and if you don't mind, I'm going to read."

Without a backward look, I leave them gaping at me.

It's getting beyond frustrating having all of these people think they know me better than I know myself. I find a tree at the back of the yard, putting my back against the bark and burying my feet in the cool ground. The weather is holding out for now, and I'm not about to pass up a chance at being outside and away from the scrutiny. It takes Brendan thirty minutes to find me. I'm surprised he holds out that long.

"You don't have to check up on me,” I say when I feel him beside me. I'm more than a little ticked at him. He should know by now I don't like being discussed like some piece of merchandise. I look up, finding him grinning at me as he plops down in front of me.

"It's my job."

I know he means it in a teasing way, but the words squeeze at my heart. That's probably the real reason I'm so angry with him. I'm tired of him looking at me like I'm a nuisance.

"So I've heard."

I'm sure he can hear the bitterness in my voice, but I can't mask it. I don't need a reminder that I'm a screw up, that I've messed everything up. That I keep messing up. I want to be in control of myself, to be the Warrior he makes me out to be. The one I was. I'm not that girl anymore. Sometimes, I mourn her. The one I used to be. Can you mourn a piece of yourself you didn't know was missing? I feel him shift closer, leaning to catch a glimpse of my eyes.

"Cal, you know that's not—“

"Listen to this," I interrupt whatever apology is quick on his lips. I don't think my fragile mind can handle any more mixed emotions when it comes to Brendan. I don't need his apologies. Clearing my throat, I start to read.

"It's fuzzier today, my memories of home. I woke up sad, mourning my parent's death, but I didn't understand the thought. It's a memory in my mind that I've never lived. I know they didn't die in a boating accident, but at the same time it's a truth in my mind. It's been like that since I came through the curtain. I'm afraid I'm losing myself. I'm afraid I'll lose myself before Brendan finds me."

I stop reading, raising my eyes to meet his. What I find there is guilt, and it's not the emotion I'm expecting. I think a part of me doesn't want to ask, because he clearly doesn't want me to see. But I'm past being considerate.

"Why do you look guilty?"

He's surprised by my words, as if he too was expecting me to back down. After a moment of silence, he springs to his feet.

"Brendan," I begin, and there is something in my voice, some kind of a command I'm not used to giving, but it stops him cold. "Tell me why."

He looks at me as if seeing me for the first time and I wonder what exactly is written on my face that makes him succumb to my wishes. I'm on my feet in a moment's notice, reaching for him.

"Tell me."

At first, I don't think he'll budge. It's Brendan, after all. I don't see him taking orders from someone like me, but this is where I'm wrong. I know I'm wrong before the thought even finishes forming in my mind. Taking orders from me is exactly what he knows how to do best. I push that away for the time being and wait for him to surrender.

"I look guilty because I am guilty. I should've been there when you left, but I wasn't. We … we got into an argument before you were scheduled to leave and I was angry. I left. I left when I should've stayed by your side. It's my fault you don't remember."

After the words spill from his mouth like water from a waterfall, he gasps, trying to regain some composure. I guess it makes sense now, the intense drive that pushes him. He's trying to make up for a mistake of someone else's doing. I want to ask why we fought, but I don't think it's important right now. I would really appreciate one of my mind melting visions to come, preferably directed at this event, because I could use some guidance, but no dice.

I should be angry with him, but maybe that emotion has worn itself out. I feel like whatever our fight was, it wasn't as bad as it's playing out in Brendan's head. Our imaginations are often a curse to our own minds. We always make things out to be a lot worse than they really are. With all the conflicting memories twirling around in my head, I have to hold on to that truth. I can't allow myself to think otherwise.

“Brendan." I need to say something, but searching for the right words is like looking for a particular needle in a pile of needles. "Right now, it doesn't matter who's fault it is. I need to remember. We need to find the Relic and defeat the Shadowlands. That is our mission. Don't be so stuck on the mistakes of yesterday that you forget about tomorrow.

“The important part is that you're here with me now and I trust you. Whatever may have happened between us no longer matters. You were the one who told me we were in this together."

I reach out, lacing my fingers with his, and I can feel his heartbeat settle into a comforting rhythm. This was the burden he carried, the looks he gave me, the standoffish attitude. For the first time since meeting Brendan, I understand him on a personal level. I feel the friendship we shared, the life we lived, and it makes me smile.

"What?" he asks, his face the picture of a little embarrassed boy.

"Nothing. Sit." I tug him next to me, reaching for my journal once more. Now that we got that out of the way, there are more important things at hand. "Let's see what else I can find."

I flip through pages while he sits quietly next to me. I feel like we've reached a new level in this relationship of ours and I can't help but smile. Before I can process that thought any further, a picture on a page catches my eye. I stop, mesmerized at the intricate design that seems to almost grow on paper. I reach out, my fingertips making contact with the ink.

Then, there is gut-wrenching agony.

* * *

I wake up with no new memories.

I guess I've come to expect coming out of these soul-shattering moments of torment with something to show for it. Apparently, not this time. I'm really getting tired of spending half of my time in a horizontal state. Just like before, Brendan is there when I open my eyes. I think we have this down to a routine by now.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like we've been here before."

I don't have any funny quips for him right now. All I have is anger at myself because I cannot seem to reach a state where I am useful. Even after all the memory flashes, after everything I have remembered, I'm no closer to finding out the truth about myself. Just more doubts and confusion.

"Did you—“

"No," I interrupt, and I see the disappointment flash in his eyes. "Where's Elizabeth?"

"She's in the kitchen, cooking dinner, I believe. She said I should let you sleep it off."

"But you just can't stay away.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. If only for a second.

"Hey, you want to get out of here?" Brendan asks suddenly, and more than anything, I realize I do.

"Let's do it."

We drive out to the main street in silence and I try to wrap my mind around why I passed out in the first place. I'll have to ask Brendan about that later, because right now, both of us need an escape.

"I saw an ice cream shop when we were driving by earlier. I'm thinking we can just walk from here."

I nod and get out of the vehicle. The normalcy of this moment is what I'm craving. Brendan falls in step beside me, walking close enough that I can feel his body heat. As much as I want to pretend we're just two people taking a stroll, I can sense the tension in his every move. He's on high alert, his eyes darting in every direction. I don't sense any danger, but I'm not about to comment on it. I think he likes the role of a protector so I let him be.

I let my eyes wander over the buildings, the sense of deja vu returning full swing. Everything has changed since I've walked these streets last. The most evident of those are the signs of wear on all of the buildings. The town isn't a new one by any means, but the constant battle with weather in the recent months has definitely left its mark.

Half of the windows are boarded up, the glass cracked in places. The paint is peeling off almost all of the signs that are left standing. The places that used to house flowers and bushes are flooded and trampled on by the wind. Darkness hangs low on this town, seeping through the ground and falling from the sky. It's everywhere.

While I watch the people hurry from one place to the next, I have a feeling that I'm missing something here. It's a nagging at the back of my mind. Like I'm looking without actually seeing. I concentrate, listening to the sounds human ears can't hear, but I don't find anything unusual in the chatter. I hear singing, though, and laughter. Lots of laughter. I freeze for a second, amazed that in all this chaos there can be this carefree laugher. It almost seems like it doesn't belong here.

Stepping around the building, I turn left, pulled by the sound. There's a park a hundred yards in front of us, stretching along the river. I register teenagers skating in the parking lot and children playing on the swings before my eyes find the source of the laughter. There are three girls around my age lying on the bank of the river. Their bare feet are in the water, their long hair spread out around them on what's left of the grass. I take a step toward them, eager to find out what's so funny. I'm halfway there when Brendan pulls me to a stop.

"What are you doing?"

I shake my head at the fog, the sound of laughter and singing still ringing in my ears. I tear my eyes away from the girls with some difficulty, meeting Brendan's questioning gaze.

"You don't hear that?"

"What?"

"The laughter. The song."

Instantly, Brendan's eyes snap to where the girls are now dancing in the water. He watches them for a moment, before sighing and turning to face me.

"I'm sorry. That's my fault."

"What is?" I ask, but he's concentrating now. He's thinking, or maybe he's listening to the song. I've focused my full attention on him so the sound of the girls is a background noise. Whatever was pulling me toward them is gone as I watch Brendan's face for some sort of a clue. We stand like this for way too long, when I reach out and punch him in the shoulder.

"What was that for?"

"For spacing out. Now, answer my question." He glares at me, rubbing at where my fist connected and I can't help but grin. He grabs for my arm, pulling me away from the park and toward the bridge.

"Brendan!" I grumble, when he continues dragging me after him. We head away from the laughter, but I can't help and turn my attention to the sound once more. The laughter sounds like a melody now, a sweet lullaby that brings a smile to my face. Why does it make me want to dance so much?

“Cal." He pulls me out of the noise. "Focus on me." I nod, taking a calming breath and pull my hearing in. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize there were others like us here. I keep forgetting you're not as equipped to deal with majyk as you were."

"What do you mean?" I know there's venom in my voice, but I don't exactly appreciate him reminding me that I'm defective. I get to do that all on my own. I'm no longer interested in the girls and their song, I'm glaring daggers at Brendan. He takes a step forward at my tone, surprising me.

"I mean, you're responding to our world the way humans do. Those girls over there are nymphs. Water nymphs by the looks of them. Typically, they don't even come out of the water, but I guess the recent flooding has changed things for them. Anyway, their song is like the song of the sirens. They don't pull you in to destroy you, but once you're in, you want to stay. That can be just as bad."

"So, I was—“

"Hypnotized. You shouldn't have been, but you were. I heard their song, but it didn't sound special to me. It didn't hold any kind of a pull. That's because I've been raised to resist the song of the hypnosis. Just like you were when we were younger. You did the same thing with Leshy, remember?"

"So what exactly does that mean?" I'm walking now, walking away from the sound. What Brendan is telling me horrifies me. I don't want to be hypnotized. I don't want to be pulled in by magical creatures. That leaves me vulnerable. It leaves me open for attack.

"It means that your instincts are highly, I don't know, human? Your reactions are unguarded."

"Brendan" —I halt, my hand reaching out to stop him as well— "does that mean I'm becoming human?"