For some reason, I expected those words to do something to me. Maybe set off some inner alarm that would tell me that this is, what I am. But there's a bottomless pit inside of me.

"I'm sorry, I'm a what?” I ask, trying to wrap my mind around the foreign words. There is no way anything he just said actually makes any freaking sense. I stare at him, daring him to take the words back, to come up with some other kind of an explanation, but he just stares right back. There’s a flicker of disappointment in his gaze and I feel it on my skin like an imprint. For some reason, I don’t want to disappoint him.

"Brendan, those didn't even sound like words,” I finally say, placing my hands on my hips.

"Sure they are. Just not English ones."

I throw my hands in the air as a loud groan escapes my lips. Taking a calming breath, I move a step toward him.

"Explain. Now,” I demand, crossing my arms in front of me.

"You really have no idea what I'm talking about?" He's daring me to contradict him, but I can't. I'm too focused on keeping myself sane at the moment. I shake my head, waiting for him to continue, to make some kind of sense out of everything that's been happening to me.

"I was hoping it would trigger your memories."

"What do you mean, memories?" I bypass his disappointing tone, wishing he'd just stop giving me half answers. "I'm not missing any memories."

"You are. You just don't know it."

He watches me for another second before he takes a deep breath, pushing the sadness in his gaze away. He puts his Brendan mask back on, the emotions once again in check. I've noticed the way he controls himself often, but never so blatantly before. I don't know what to make of him.

"Okay, I'll give you the very short version,” he begins. "Alexander Afanasyev was a collector of Russian fairy tales. He's like the European Grimm brothers. However, Grimm brothers were human, while Alexander was not. He was a volshebnik, a type of majykal higher being, the keeper of our knowledge and a warrior. You are a descendant of him and that's why you’re in the possession of Znaniye. Sorry, The Knowledge. It’s why you are the current Protector."

He takes my hand as he talks, pulling me into his words with that simple contact. I study him and images of a similar situation, but both of us a lot younger, flash through my mind. Same messy dark hair, eyes full of focus. The image brings a step of pain into my head but the question is on my lips before I can think much about it.

"How do I know you?"

He drops my arm as if it's on fire, moving away. It's my turn to be the one to reach out, stopping him before he can make it across the room. He's no longer meeting my gaze, and now I know for a fact there's more to what he's telling me.

"Brendan?"

"It doesn't matter how you know me, what matters is that they found you, which means we have to move. It's our job to protect The Knowledge and if they find it before we do, all will be lost." His words ring true, on some unconscious level, but I still refuse to be pulled into the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“All right, let's say I believe you. No.” I tug on his arm, keeping him in place when he tries to move away. "What does this have to do with me being a … umm—”

"Volshebnitsa?"

"Yes, that."

I'm acutely aware of the fact that my hand is still on his arm and that my pulse is beating at the speed of a hummingbird on crack, but I'm not letting go. This physical manifestation of him next to me is what's keeping me grounded. He seems to gauge exactly how I'm feeling because his other hand reaches out, taking my palm into his own. The feeling is different from where I'm holding on to him, a lot more gentle and somehow, all the more important. He entwines his fingers with my own, guiding me gently back to the bed. We sit, hands woven together, and I wait for him to speak.

"You being a volshebnitsa is what makes you the best at what you do. You are from the Family of Warriors. Your specialty, as you would say, is a Protector. You've been trained, from early on, to guard the relics of our existence from those who want to use them for their own gain. You're one of the strongest, fastest, bravest of volshebnits."

I'm watching his face, waiting for a spark of unease to appear, any indication that he's making this up, but it's not there. His face is gentle but firm, his words truer than the truth. Maybe I'm losing my mind. That could explain a lot. But even as I think that, something in me prevents the thought from taking root.

"You're not crazy."

"How did you—“ I tug my hand back, but he's holding fast. His mouth moves up in a half smile that I find alluring, and I want to kick myself. I can't be pulled in by that gorgeous face or his mischievous smile. I know he uses them as a weapon, I've seen it. Everything about him is precise: The epitome of the tall, dark and handsome, and even his good looks are used for his benefit. I'm not sure why the thought comes, but it stays.

"It's not hard to read you, Calista."

He says my name like it's the sweetest word he's ever spoken. I'm suddenly afraid he can see all kinds of things written on my face.

"Well, stop it." This time when I try to retract my hand, he lets me. I stand, stopping just a few feet in front of him.

"But I like doing it,” he replies, clearly looking to lighten the situation.

"I'm sure you do."

Where is this conversation going? I feel the heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks, and I'm sure I'm flashing red. I can't help it. I'm losing ground here and now I must backpedal before this turns into something else entirely. When I turn to face him head on I'm afraid it already has. There's a full blown grin on his lips, the self-satisfied look plainly displayed. Now, instead of kicking myself, I'd like to kick him.

"This is besides the point,” I state, trying to regain some footing. "The point is—” My words freeze somewhere at the back of my throat as he's suddenly standing right in front of me, his body just a breath away.

"What is the point?" he asks, his voice a low seductive rumble in his chest. I think I'd forget to breathe, if I could remember how to think.

"Umm, the point is, how did you do that? You were sitting one moment, standing in front of me the next. You did the same thing when I tried to leave earlier. You move way too fast."

"Just one of the perks of being majykal."

He shrugs, as if it's no big deal, and I guess to him it's not. Up until this exact moment I didn't even realize that he may be one too. The magical name he called me earlier. My mind is not having a good day trying to understand it all. It's too much and not enough, all at the same time.

"Don't look so surprised, sweets. You did see me pull the sword out of thin air."

"Don't call me that,” I snap, moving back to try and put some distance between us while his words travel like passengers on a train over my skin. Everything he does or says seems so much more real than anything before him. It's as if there was translucent film over my eyes this whole time and his words have finally lifted it, bringing the world into sharper focus.

Not that any of it actually makes sense to me.

“All right, Calista. Now that you have some answers, we need to get out of here." My brain snaps to attention, and I can't believe that even for a moment I forgot why we were in this dinky hotel room in the first place.

"Where exactly are we going?" I ask, apprehensive once more as I study the boy in front of me.

"You're coming to my house."

And that’s that.

* * *

We leave the hotel room behind us, moving quickly down the road, Brendan's eyes flicking all around us.

He's tense, his body on full alert and my own responds in kind. I find myself seeing things I've never seen before, recognizing sounds I haven't paid any attention to previously. I try to shake the noise away, but it just grows louder. I can hear an argument on the other side of the building and a car peeling out of the parking lot at the gas station on the other side of the street. My gaze finds the noises, seeing the pictures play out in front of me with clarity, as if it's the middle of the day. The sound intensifies as the car speeds away, my hands rising to grip at my head.

"Brendan?" I call to the boy ahead of me, freezing in my tracks. He turns on full alert, because my voice is full of panic I can't mask, but when his eyes find mine, I see the understanding flash there. I must look terrified, because understanding is replaced by concern in the next moment.

“Hey." He comes back to my side, his eyes watching me carefully. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head, because how do I explain to him that I can see the faint scar on his neck as if there's a beam shining a light on it? The rugged edges of where a blade must have sliced him are as visible to me as if I was studying them under a microscope. How do I tell him I can hear the people in the building across from us arguing about what show to watch? Tearing my gaze away from his neck, I focus on the ground instead, searching for some kind of control. Something solid to hold on to.

"It's your vision, right? And sound?"

My head jerks up, my focus colliding with his intense gaze, and I notice for the first time the flecks of gold in his ocean blue eyes. They're deeper than I've ever seen, a color so rich it would make my head spin if it wasn't spinning already.

"You're seeing things brighter and clearer. More focused."

"How do you know?" I almost whisper, because maybe, just maybe, I'm not completely losing it. I fight the urge to place my hands over my ears, to shut my eyes against the light that is way too bright for a moon. He reaches for my hand, and the contact instantly soothes the racing emotions within me.

"Because that's how I see. Your majyk is finally reawakening, the powers that are rightfully yours are reemerging."

"Powers?"

"Yes, Calista. You are a magical creature. Having powers is kind of in the job description."

"It's too much, Brendan. And why now?" I manage to ask. His eyes dart around us, checking to see if we're still safe before he replies.

"When I told you of your true heritage, you should've remembered everything. But whatever went wrong, must keep you from remembering. However, your body doesn't seem to have the same limitations. It's remembering for you."

"There's more of this?" I ask, raising my voice and instantly cringe at the sound.

"Trust me, once you're back to one hundred percent, you'll love it."

I give him a little smile, determined to work through this, and the concern in his eyes fades. Instead, he gives me a proud grin which warms my insides. Shrugging out of his jacket, he places it around my shoulders, pushing my hands through the sleeves. I look at him surprised at this little show of affection.

"You're barely dressed. I think you need it more than I do,” he says, shrugging sheepishly.

"Thank you."

Two words are pretty much all I can manage because his proximity is once again playing with my emotions. He watches me for a pregnant second before reaching down and taking my hand in his. The gesture is familiar and frightening at the same time, but I don't pull away. I focus on the small act of normalcy and allow my breathing to even out.

"Are you okay for right now?" he asks, studying me in that unnerving way of his. I look around me, centering my focus on the feel of Brendan's hand on mine and find that I am. The noises and sights are there, but as long as I stay calm, they don't bombard me from every side.

"For now,” I reply, because it's the honest truth.

"Come on. Let's go then."

I allow him to lead me away from the hotel and the gas station as my mind wanders to all that I've heard so far. While it may seem unrealistic, I can't deny the solidity behind Brendan's words or my own responses to them. He's not crazy, and neither am I. That much I know for a fact.

Now, I just need to figure out what to do with that information.

We walk a few more moments in silence, and I can't help but cringe at the noises I'm hearing around me. There's a TV on in almost every apartment we've passed. The sound of all of them at once is disorienting. How I'm supposed to get used to this is beyond me, but I guess it's just another thing to add to my never-ending list of questions.

I hear thunder start up somewhere in the sky and jump at the noise.

Feeling a slight tug on my hand, I look up to find Brendan watching me. He gives me a small encouraging smile and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"We're almost there."

I nod, refocusing on the feel of him next to me. It's that reality that's keeping me grounded. If I start thinking about the big men with swords, my body reacts with shakes. I can't let my mind wander. I must keep control of what's happening if I'm getting through this in one piece. We round another corner and I freeze.

"I'm not getting on that,” I say when Brendan stops in front of a red and black motorcycle.

He reaches for a helmet, thrusting it into my hands without a backward glance. My feet won't move even as Brendan grabs the other helmet for himself and puts the keys in the ignition. He turns then, his eyes steady on mine, waiting for me to move.

"Calista."

"Don't Calista me!" His voice breaks me out of my spell. "That's a … a—“

"A motorcycle?" There's laughter in his voice as I fight the urge to stomp my foot like a little kid.

"Yes," I reply, rolling my eyes. "And I've never ridden one. It's not safe." Now he's outright laughing.

"Cal, we fought off monsters from Shadowlands not an hour ago, and you're worried about a motorcycle?"

The nickname slams into me like a bullet. No one calls me Cal, but rolling off his lips it sounds familiar and exciting all at the same time. As if he's called me that for a hundred years. It’s like coming home. I must wear some weird expression on my face, because his own softens. He doesn't continue, just waits for me to get oriented.

I take a deep breath, pushing the feelings away for further examination later. Now, I just try not to feel silly, because he made me sound a bit ridiculous, worrying about riding a motorcycle. He continues to wait for me, which seems to be a practiced skill, and suddenly I come to a decision and plop the helmet on my head with a grumble.

His lips twitch as he tries to hide his smile while I glare at him through the visor. He snatches up his own helmet, puts it on, and mounts the bike. When I don't move, his arm reaches out, grabbing hold of the front of his jacket, and pulls me to him. I gasp, but don't stumble like I expect to, as he steadies me.

"Here" —he places my hand on his shoulder— "hold on and swing your leg over the back of the bike."

I do as he instructs, wishing that I'd worn a longer skirt. Or jeans. Jeans would've worked much better. He could be a gentleman and look away, but Brendan, apparently, is anything but a gentleman. I feel myself flush as his eyes keep a close watch on my progress. The moment I sit down, my body lunges forward, wrapping itself around Brendan's like a glove. I feel his intake of breath and I try to move back, keeping my hands on his shoulders while I find a comfortable position. But any kind of distance between us is almost impossible, so I remove my hands, looking for somewhere to place them.

"You'll have to hold on."

There's something in his voice, but I can't identify it through the fog that surrounds my own brain. My breathing is shallowed by his proximity. Tentatively, I wrap my arms around his middle, locking my hands on his stomach. I feel his muscles contract, and I'm sure he can feel the beating of my heart against his back. He revs the bike to life and all coherent thought leaves me as the silence is broken by the rumble of the machine.

The feel of the machine beneath me and Brendan’s solid presence in front of me wreaks havoc on my emotional state. I’ve never been this close to another human being before and the thrill of the proximity and the speed is even more intensified by my newly-discovered powers. I’m hot and cold all over, and I hold on that much tighter while he speeds away.

When we stop ten minutes later, I have no desire to get off the bike. And to be honest, it has nothing to do with the fact that my body is now molded with Brendan's. I've actually enjoyed myself. Surprise, surprise.

I can tell Brendan is grinning even before he takes his helmet off. It's not the first time I feel like he can read my mind. I realize I'm still plastered to him, so I make my arms unhook and get off the bike slowly. My feet feel like jelly, and I stumble for a minute before Brendan is once again steadying me against him. I have to get a grip on these weird sensations every time he's near or I'm going to drive myself mad.

I allow him to lead the way into the house while I walk behind and try to find solid footing again. For the first time, I realize we're no longer in the center of the city. We're back out in the suburbs and Brendan's house blends in with the rows of other two-story buildings lining the street. I really didn't picture him living in a cookie cutter family neighborhood. Especially after I saw him fight. But I guess I really don't know anything about him, other than the fact that he makes my heart race.

I follow him into the house, keeping my distance as he walks into the kitchen. I should be asking more questions, I should be worried he's trying to kidnap me or something, but I'm not. I'm trusting him, and I have no idea why. It's almost like a reflex from a long forgotten time. I’m getting really nostalgic here. Might need to tone that down a bit.

"Here, take a seat. Are you hungry? Because I'm hungry. I'll make us a sandwich." Brendan gestures to one of the barstools set up in front of the counter. He turns toward the fridge, not waiting for me to make a decision, and starts pulling items off the shelves. I watch as he spreads out the makings for sandwiches on the counter in front of me, not saying a word.

"Do you live here by yourself?" I ask, after a few more moments of silence. I'm not exactly sure why I feel the need to talk, the comfortable silence is there. I could sit here for hours just watching him. Here comes that nostalgia again. I shake my head as that image takes root in my mind. That is not why I'm here. I need answers. I know close to nothing about this guy.

"No, with some other guys from college." He doesn't elaborate, and I realize this is something he does well. He only answers with the most basic truth. I'll have to extract the information from him meticulously if I'm ever to learn what I am or who's after me. It takes him all of five minutes to prepare us some food before he’s pushing a plate in my direction.

"Here, you should eat something while I pack." Then, after grabbing a sandwich for himself, he turns on his heels and walks out of the kitchen.

"Pack?" Reaching for the other sandwich, I race out of the kitchen after Brendan. I find him in the first room just up the stairs, sandwich in his mouth, his hands pulling pieces of clothing out of the dresser, questions racing through my mind.

"Where are you going?" I finally blurt out.

"You mean, where are we going?" he asks, swallowing the chunk of bread.

"I'm going home."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know they're not true, but there is no way I'm just letting him assume things. I'm not going to be led around like a puppy on a leash. He gives me a look, something along the lines of “oh, please" and ignores my statement.

"Brendan" —I place a hand on my hips, staring him down— "I'm not going anywhere until you give me something besides 'you're a magical protector girl, now listen to everything I say'." There's an unexpected amount of power in my words, an authority I didn't know I possessed. But this whole mystery business is getting on my nerves. He stops what he's doing, to study me with something similar to reverence in his gaze. I don't have time to dissect that before he lets out an exasperated breath and caves.

"I'm giving you the condensed version because we definitely don't have time for this." I beam at him, because the feeling of victory is small and precious and he chuckles. "I forgot how stubborn you can be." Before I can comment on that, Brendan continues.

"But I can't tell you everything." I open my mouth to protest but he holds up his hand. "If I overload you, you will break under the weight of the information without giving it the time to process … It won't be good."

He waits for me to acknowledge the statement, and I do after thinking it over. It makes sense. I guess I didn't think of that. I just want answers, so I'll take what I can get. Brendan nods at my acceptance before taking a deep breath and continuing.

"You, Calista, are from the ancient family of Warriors. Your family has served the Royal Ones for generations. The Shadows have been at war with our kind for centuries. They want the land we live on because it holds majyk they've never been able to achieve and they will stop at nothing to get what they want. You were brought up as one of the Protectors of the High Relics. The Knowledge is not only an artifact of immense power and wisdom, it is also a gateway to the worlds. Someone in the possession of The Knowledge wouldn't have to follow any of the rules."

"Brendan, you pretty much told me all of this already. What I don't understand is how does any of that end up with me here? With no memories?" Something passes in Brendan's eyes. I take a step closer, lowering myself on the other side of the bed. He averts his eyes, focusing on some spot on the wall in front of him before speaking.

"There was an ambush in Skazka. The name of our homeland, which basically means Fairytale,” he explains after seeing my puzzled look. “The Queen, along with the Council, asked you to protect the relic. You decided to take it out of our homeland. It's harder for the Shadows to track you in this realm, but something went wrong. The journey erased your memories and placed you far from the original location. It took me a while to find you, and when I did, and you didn't know me. I wasn't sure what to do. For the moment, you were safe and so was the relic. I stayed to watch over you in case something happened."

"And something did."

“Yes." He raises his eyes to mine, and I see sadness there I didn't notice before. He may not have said it, but I know deep down that Brendan wasn't just a protector to me. He knew me, maybe trained with me, maybe it was something more. I just wish I could remember, and maybe, just maybe, take that haunted look out of his eyes.

He stands abruptly, heading for where he left his duffle bag. I watch for a moment, trying to process the fact that I'm a Volshebnitsa, a Protector. Trying to process the fact that majyk exists.

There are so many questions that I can ask, so much more information that I need before I can understand any of it. But I know now is not the time to delve into the details, not with the monsters close on our heels. The pressure in my head intensifies as I try to wrap my mind around what I’ve been told, trying to keep myself from breaking apart.

“Calista …” I look up at his voice. "I know it's a lot. But we'll get through this, okay?" The conviction behind his words almost brings tears to my eyes, but I quickly blink them away.

"Okay."