I stay under the water longer than I probably should.

I don't want to walk out there and face the questions. Face my memories. Face Brendan.

Surprisingly, I don't cry. For a minute there, I really thought I would. But I don't. I let the water run over me, soothing the pain of memories returning, and there are no tears left inside me. Maybe I should scream instead, but I can't even muster that up. I'm just tired. So tired.

Watching the water pool into my palm, I wonder, once again, at what I saw in my last memory. I was clearly in a royal court, probably in the magical land Brendan spoke of. But it doesn't explain anything else about what I saw. Why the people were scared or why those sitting on the throne were not. There is a vital piece of information missing here, and I highly doubt Brendan will be forthcoming with answers.

I step out of the shower, changing into a pair of workout pants and an off the shoulder t-shirt. The soft material is comforting and familiar. I’m mostly a skirt loving girl, especially the twirly kind, but I won’t ever say no to big comfy clothing. Towel drying my hair, I stare at my reflection, amazed at the changes I notice.

My face seems sharper, more defined. My eyes bigger, my hair shinier. I'm not sure if it's the new vision trick or if I'm really changing. For a second, I wonder what Brendan sees when he looks at me, but then I shake my head in frustration. It shouldn't matter. It doesn't.

That’s when I notice that my hair has color in it. Unnatural color. Reaching for the strand by my ear, I tug at the hair, studying it in the light. It’s light purple, and it wasn’t there before. Hurriedly, I finger comb through the rest of the hair and come away with another strand that seems to be changing colors. No one told me about this and my anger is quick and burns hot. Stupid Brendan and his stupid unnecessary secrets.

When I walk out of the bathroom I realize that I have no idea how to find where the boys went. But I have to try. Taking a deep breath, I step out of the room and collide with Brendan. Air leaves my lungs as he grabs me around the waist, catching me with his body. It's a familiar embrace and my face heats at the contact. Brendan doesn't move, doesn't release me, so I look up, finding his eyes on my face.

"Didn't we talk about you throwing yourself at me?" His eyes shine brighter than should be possible in the dimly-lit hallway. I bristle at his tone, my chin going up a notch.

"You sure it's not the other way around?" I challenge. His gaze narrows on my face, but I'm not backing down. An array of emotions play out in his eyes before he settles on one and takes a step back. Instantly, I miss his heat around me. But there's respect on his face when he looks at me and I accept it.

"I came to lead you back to the library. Maxwell keeps forgetting that you don't have the memories of this place to guide you,” Brendan says, completely bypassing the playfulness of a second ago. I could call him out on it, but I don't. The respect shining in his eyes is enough to warm my insides. I nod a thank you and motion for him to lead the way without another word.

When we reach Maxwell, he is seated behind his desk, deeply engrossed in the book in front of him. I glance over at Brendan for direction and he motions me to take a seat in front of the table. As we both settle in our respective chairs, I can't help but wonder if we've done this a million times before. Everything is so new to me. I'm like a kid at a carnival who's never seen so many colors come alive at once but the guys have been coming to the carnival every year and the novelty has worn off. The sadness that follows that train of thought almost bursts through before I bury it down. This is no time for tears.

"Can you tell me about your memory flashes?" Maxwell disturbs my musings, pushing the books away from him and folding his hands on the desk. I watch as his eyes find mine, pinning me with his penetrating gaze. I think he means it to be intimidating, but my reaction is not to cower.

“Before we get into that, can you explain to me why some of my hair is turning purple?” I ask, pulling the strand from below the curtain of my hair. Both of the boys snap to attention at once, eyes zeroing in on my fingers. Maxwell looks over at Brendan and I don’t miss the silent communication that passes between them. I’m really starting to hate this.

“It’s your majyk,” Brendan finally speaks up, meeting my eyes. “It something you’ve always done. Your majyk visibly manifests in colors on your hair.”

“Umm, okay.” I take that in. “So am I doing it now?”

“I think your body, just like with the hearing and the taste, is remembering how things used to be.”

“Why?”

Brendan understands what I ask right away. His lips curl up in a small smile before he replies. “You were raised a warrior. Pretty dresses and elaborate face and hair painting was only something you did for special occasions. But you love colors. So the hair was something you did for yourself.”

Well, there’s another part of this whole past life that I did not expect. I never even imagined that I could alter my appearance with majyk. There’s also so much tenderness in the way Brendan speaks about me, about my past, I don’t know what to do with that emotion. I’ve never been one for tenderness anyway. I guess some things aren’t so forgotten. The guys are expecting a response, but I don’t really have a good one. So, I return to Maxwell’s original question.

I raise my chin, surprising both of them with my change in subject, and go over what I remember. Except the terrified faces part. I think I need to keep that to myself for now. I don’t feel as guilty as I should about keeping secrets, as they do plenty of that as well.

"So you have no idea what triggers it." It's a statement, not a question, but I feel inclined to answer anyway.

"No, just pain and then I'm there."

"Intriguing."

“Oh, yeah, it's a blast," I say, getting irritated by the casualness of Maxwell's words. I'm not some project to be studied, I need answers. I don't realize I've spoken the words out loud until Brendan starts clapping.

"I love it when you're feisty,” he comments.

"Shut it, Brendan,” I snap, standing up.

Just talking about it makes my skin crawl with unease. The sudden need to punch things is even more surprising and I stop to grip the back of the chair I was occupying a second ago. The boys watch me, neither one making a move to comfort or to explain, and not for the first time I feel like we've been here. It's as if I'm experiencing a perpetual state of deja vu and it's irritating as all get out. There's a shimmer of something under my fingertips and I grip the chair a little tighter. I don’t need another display of uncontrolled power, especially in front of the guys.

“Calista," Maxwell finally says, coming around the desk to stand beside me. "I have no idea what's going on with you, but we're going to figure it out. And we're going to keep you safe in the meantime. Brendan is the best at that, and he won't let anything happen to you. No matter what, you need to hold on to that. Try to remind yourself of that when you have one of your memory … flashes.”

I glance over to the other boy and find his eyes already on me. I don't have to say the thoughts that are running through my mind because I can see them written all over Brendan's face. He didn't do such a good job protecting me last time. But he won't fail again. It's a promise he makes with his eyes, writing it in the beats of my heart. I hear them as if he's spoken them out loud.

Nodding at Maxwell, I let go of the chair and stand up straighter. The determination washes over me like cool water and I meet Brendan's eyes for a second longer before turning back to Maxwell.

"What's the plan?"