Spells for Forgetting(12)

I pinched my eyes closed, trying to erase the image. “Lunchtime. Maybe twelve-thirty?”

The sound of Jake’s pen scratching across the paper roared in my ears. “Do you know where she went after that?”

“No.”

“You didn’t ask?” he said, more impatiently.

I swallowed. “No. But she must have come by the house later because when I got back, I found a note on my dresser.”

He nodded, still scribbling. “What did it say?”

I tried to think, sorting through the hundreds of moments spinning in my head. Lily on the dock in the rain on her birthday. Lily in the woods, chasing me through the trees. Lily lying across my bed with her feet propped up on the wall.

I sniffed. “It said to meet her at the beach before the party. But she never showed.”

“Which one?”

“Halo Beach.” My voice wavered.

“Did you see her at the orchard last night?”

Last night. Was it morning already? I looked to the window, where the swell of dawn was casting the sky blue. I shook my head in answer, tears springing back up into my eyes. When the ache in my throat exploded into a broken cry, I pressed my face into the blanket.

Jake set down his pen, falling quiet for a moment. “Did you see August yesterday?”

I wiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand, looking up into my uncle’s worn, drawn face. For the first time ever, I thought he looked old. “What?”

“When’s the last time you saw August, Emery?”

Beside me, Nixie looked as confused as I was.

“Why are you asking about him?” I said, weakly.

“Just answer the question,” he snapped.

“Easy, Jake.” Nixie’s voice was a sharp reproach.

“Look, I need to know where everyone was last night.”

“I met him at the lighthouse. Yesterday morning,” I said, defensive.

Jake picked up the pen again. “Do you know where he went after that?”

My gaze narrowed at my uncle. I didn’t like the look in his eye. “To the orchard. He had to work and then he was supposed to help his mom set up for the graduation party.”

“Did you see him at the orchard?”

“No.” I breathed. In the swarm of images racing through my head—billowing smoke, blinding flames, people running in the woods and shouting—he wasn’t there.

“Jake, we need to get going if we’re going to catch the ferry in time,” Nixie said, getting to her feet.

I swallowed down the nausea that boiled in my stomach, remembering what my father’s face had looked like when they put him into the helicopter to take him to the hospital on the mainland. They’d only had room to take my mother and she was waiting for us in Seattle.

Nixie pulled me to a stand and I leaned into her, trying to feel my feet beneath me.

“Just ask Eloise, Jake,” I said unevenly. “She’ll tell you. August was with her.”

Jake only stared at me, his eyes running over my face as if he were looking for something there, and the faintest fleeting thought skipped across my mind.

He didn’t believe me.





Seven


    EMERY


I paced the floor of the tea shop in the dark, my hand clamped so tightly to the hem of my sweater that the wool was damp to the touch.

Main Street and the harbor were empty, the light bending and fading as the sun went down over the rooftops. The hours had passed in a panicked blur with me watching the street from the window in a cold sweat.

Abbott Wittich, the editor of the Saoirse Journal, would be finishing his rounds, going door to door to call for a town meeting. In only minutes, everyone on the island would have heard that August Salt was back.

I watched a single leaf blow down the center of the street before my eyes lifted to the bare branches that lined the walkways. The trees. The starling. There was magic in the air, thick and fragrant. I could feel it bubbling up from the earth like a spring.

Floating lights appeared in the dark outside, lanterns bobbing in the trees like fireflies, all headed for the chapel. In the next moment, the doors down the street swung open and amber light spilled out onto the rain-soaked cobblestones, where half the town was already gathered.

I wiped my slick palms against my jeans and waited for the street to empty before I wrapped my scarf around my neck and opened the door. A shadow moved over the walk as I shut it behind me. Dutch.

His blue jacket looked black in the darkness and his blond hair was only half-tucked beneath its hood. Both hands were shoved into his pockets, his face illuminated by the light from the chapel. It reflected in his eyes as he looked up at me from the bottom of the steps.

He had the same look on his face that I knew was on mine. Dread.

“Was coming to see if you’d heard.” His gruff voice was made deeper by the cold.

I hadn’t seen him since our argument the night before, and I’d thought about going to find him at the orchard after my uncle came to the pub. But I hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of being the one to tell him. I could hardly think the words, much less say them out loud.

August was back. After all these years, he was back.

“I heard,” I said softly, hating the way it sounded.

For years, I’d have given anything to hear that August had come home. I’d imagined it a million times, until there were tears streaking my face and a pain cracking in my chest. But I’d cut that part from me long ago. So why did it feel like it was hard to draw breath?