The Forgotten Locket (12 page)

With a sound like an avalanche, the block in my mind cracked, crumbled, and was washed away. I took a deep breath, feeling free, body and soul.

And at the touch of his lips to mine, I
remembered.

I felt like the river had split again, but this time, a branch had entered me, washing me clean. Wave after wave of memory welled up, an endless, bubbling spring of faces, names, events, emotions, and moments that I knew I would never forget. All those small, individual memories that made up
me.

I remembered the birthday party when I had turned six. My family had set up a mini–bowling alley in the basement, and we had invited Jason and his family over to celebrate together. Jason had bowled a strike on his first frame and then refused to play anymore; he didn’t want to ruin a perfect score.

I remembered the first time I’d tasted crème brulée: the sound of my spoon breaking through the crust of caramelized sugar, the taste of the smooth vanilla custard with a hint of passion fruit layered in.

I remembered each individual day when I first met Natalie. Valerie. Leo.

More: Reading
Heart of Darkness.
Dancing alone in my room, dressed in my pajamas and striped socks. Waiting up with Hannah to watch the ball drop on New Year’s Eve. Hanging stockings on Christmas Eve. Crying when my pet turtle, Lightning, died.

I remembered lying in the grass on a sweet summer night and counting the stars.

I remembered a black door, a brass hinge, and the sound of silver chimes ringing through me. The chains that linked me with Tony, V, and Zo. The light in Valerie’s eyes as she vacillated between sanity and madness. The photograph that protected Natalie.

I remembered
everything.

I opened my eyes, feeling like a veil had been torn away. I felt the weight of my life return to me and settle on my shoulders, on my heart. But it didn’t feel like a burden to be carried. It felt like a mantle of power. This was
my
life in all its glory, the good and the bad. This was who I was. I had made the choices that had shaped me. And now that the puzzle pieces of my life, my memories, had been restored, I could go forward, making new choices that would shape my future.

Among the wild cascade of light and sound in my mind, though, there was one memory that gleamed the brightest, that felt the sharpest and clearest and cleanest.

And he was standing before me, his arms still around me, his mouth still close to mine.

His name was Dante.

He was the part of me that had been missing.

Now he was back, and we were together. Finally. Forever and always. The way we were meant to be.

I was whole. I was home.

And I was never going to let him go.

Chapter 9

Abby?”

I smiled at the sound of my nickname. It felt so good to be wearing my own true name again. And to be able to share this moment with Dante was the sweetest gift I could have asked for.

I nestled into his embrace, unwilling to break away for even a moment.

“Abby?” he said again, and this time I heard the strain in his voice.

“What is it? Are you all right?”

His body trembled next to me. “I’ll be fine. It’s just . . . that took more out of me than I’d planned.” Dante untangled himself slightly from me. He still held onto my arms, but I could tell that he wanted—needed—to sit down.

“You planned this?” I sat down on the flat ground, pulling him into place next to me. I crossed my legs under me, but I didn’t let go of his hand. The small contact was not enough after being apart for so long—in body, soul, and mind—but it would have to do.

“Well, not all of it. There was always the chance you might have said no.”

“Not likely.”

Dante smiled, then winced. He touched the bandage at his temple with fingers that trembled.

“Your eyes,” I said gently. “Are they bothering you?” With the block in my mind destroyed, I knew exactly how Dante had been injured. As much as I didn’t want to remember that moment when Zo had drawn a blade across Dante’s eyes, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

“No more than usual.” His voice was as shallow as his breathing.

I reached for the cloth, barely touching the edge. “Will you show me?”

A muscle jumped in Dante’s jaw. “You don’t want to see—”

“Yes,” I interrupted gently, “I do. Please.”

He hesitated, then gave one swift nod.

I shifted to my knees before him, my heart fluttering.

He sat as still as a statue as I quietly slipped my hands over his shoulders to the back of his neck. I touched the knot holding the bandage in place and, with shaking fingers, I slowly and carefully worked it free, trying not to pull the fabric tight against his eyes.

As soon as the knot was loose, Dante reached up and held the edges in place. “Abby—” he started. “No. Here—I’ll do it.”

“All right,” I said. “I’m ready.” I sat back on my heels, giving him the time he needed to unveil his eyes.

He took a deep breath, held it, then let it go. After a long moment, he lowered the bandage, crumpling the fabric in his hands, and turned his face to me.

I had thought I was ready for anything, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw or for the sharp stab of anguish I felt.

My throat closed up at the sight of his eyes; I couldn’t look away. Dante’s eyes had once been the gray of storm clouds and iced steel, but now a film covered them that was as thick and sluggish as the one that skimmed the surface of the river. A bold scar carved a path on his face, drawing a line from cheek to cheek, right across his eyes.

It was impossible that he could see anything.

I realized too late that he was waiting for me to say something. “Dante—” I started, hoping I could mask the despair in my voice.

He heard it anyway. “I’m sorry,” he said and raised the bandage, poised to cover his eyes and hide them away again.

Touching his wrist, I stopped him. I could feel his heartbeat racing as he waited, tense and on edge, for me to do something, say something.

I reached out and placed my palm against his cheek—a perfect fit—and turned his face toward me. My fingers brushed the very edge of the scar that marked the length of his wound.

He flinched, but barely.

I took a deep breath. My words were steady and sure, though my heart shook with uncertainty. “V once told me that the only person who could hurt a Master of Time was another Master of Time. Tell me he was wrong. Tell me Zo’s attack wasn’t permanent. Tell me he . . . missed.”

He knew what I wanted to hear, but he was Dante, so he gave me the truth instead. He always gave me the truth. “V was correct. A wound inflicted by a Master of Time is different from other wounds. The damage done is permanent. Zo’s attack was precise, and since he gave me these wounds, they are . . . irreversible.”

The hand I had pressed against his face flashed cold. A trembling started in my fingertips, rippling down through my wrist, my arm, and into my chest. “No.”

But denying it wouldn’t change the truth. Dante’s eyes—his beautiful, clear eyes that could see into the soul of me—were gone. Blinded by Zo’s blade. The scar would stay, and the gray film that covered his eyes would remain as a veil over his vision for as long as he lived. And as a Master of Time, he would live for a very long time.

“No,” I said again, louder, covering my mouth with my hands.

Tears ran down from my own eyes. I almost didn’t feel it when Dante reached out and brushed them away. “Ah, no, Abby. It’s not worth crying about.”

“But you’re blind,” I blurted out. “You can’t see
anything!
”

“I can see you,” he said quietly. His wounded eyes found mine and didn’t let go.

My words died on my lips. I felt hope rise up in my chest, sharp and bright.

Dante’s mouth moved in that small smile I loved. “I told you that before, remember?”

“But what about the bandage—?”

“I can
always
see you,” he repeated. “Even through the bandage. Even through the darkness. You are as clear to me now as you were the first time I saw you. Only now it’s like you have a halo of light around you. I can see a little bit of whatever that light touches”—he took my hand and squeezed it gently—“but that’s all.”

“But why me?”

“Because you are my constant. You are my North Star. From the moment I first saw the river, I saw you in it. You are my past, my present, my future.” He leaned forward, brushing my hair behind my ears. “I don’t know why,” he said, “and I don’t want to. I don’t want to find out it was a mistake. I don’t want to lose what little I have left of you.”

“You still have all of me,” I said. “Always.”

“Thank you,” he said. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know.” He drew closer and pressed a kiss to my closed lids, one on each eye, and then a third on my forehead.

“We’ll find a way to get your sight back. If we work together, I know we can do it,” I said. I didn’t know how to fulfill that promise, but I knew I would do whatever it took. I had to.

“I’d like that,” he said. He wrapped the bandage around his head again, knotting it in place with a single, sharp tug.

“Thank you, Dante,” I said. “Thank you for sharing that with me. For trusting me with it. And thank you for restoring my memories. How did you know what would work?”

“When I found you on the bank after Zo had hurt you, I promised you I would figure out a way to help you. When I realized that Zo had used his music to take away your memories, I thought it only fitting that I use my poetry to bring them back. Poetry seems to follow the same rules as music—the rhythm and cadence and counting—but it’s easier for me to access and use. Besides, I’ve done something like it before, remember?”

Of course I remembered. I felt stuffed to the seams with memories. It was easy to sort through them and select the one I wanted. “The Poetry Slam at the Dungeon last February.” I furrowed my brow. “Wait, was that the same poem? You used the one from the Poetry Slam to heal me?”

He blushed a deliciously dusky shade of red. “It was the only one I had. And it’s my best one.”

“It was beautiful,” I said, and I meant it.

Dante tilted his head. “You understood the poem?”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I said it in Italian.”

“I—” I opened my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. “Are you sure?”

A smile quirked his lips. “Pretty sure.”

“Then how . . . ?” My shoulders slumped as I thought through all the possible answers. It was a pretty short list.

“Do you remember having any problems with the language since you passed through the door?” Dante asked.

“No, none.” I frowned in thought. “Well, I could tell something was different right away because I could understand everyone I talked to. It’s like I’m speaking English—which feels
right
—but it sounds like I’m speaking Italian—which strangely doesn’t feel
wrong.
When I mentioned it to Orlando, he said I spoke the language like a native.” I tapped my finger against my lips. “Do you think it was because of the door? Did it change something about me?”

“Well, yes, it is designed to fundamentally change something about you,” Dante said. “But not like this. I wouldn’t have thought it would affect your language.”

“Maybe it happened later?” I suggested. “Once I was through the door, I mean.” I immediately shook my head. “No, that can’t be. I saw Orlando on the bank as soon as I came through the door, and we had a long conversation where we both understood each other. And he probably speaks twenty-first-century English as well as I speak sixteenth-century Italian.”

Dante and I both thought for a moment, and then he said softly, “A gift.”

I pulled my mind back from where I had been attempting unlikely answers. “What?”

“All of us who crossed over developed some kind of talent on the bank—a specific and unique gift to compensate for the loss of our relationship with time. I could see downstream to the future. Zo could enforce obedience. Tony could hear echoes of the past; V had a perfect sense of direction.” Dante raised his eyebrows. “Maybe yours is a gift of language.”

“Do you think so?”

“It’s the best answer I have at the moment.”

“Well, it would explain how I could talk to Orlando on the bank, but if the gift only works on the bank, then what about once I was back in the river? I’ve been around a lot of people and I’ve understood everybody.” I thought for another moment, absently lifting my fingers to my neck, searching for a locket that was still gone.

“Your locket,” Dante said suddenly, his voice unexpectedly sharp. He reached out and moved my hand away from my throat. “Where did it go? Did you lose it?”