Burned (House of Night #7)(51)

It really bothered me that my memory was messing up. And, what's worse, even though you'd think if my memory was jacked, I wouldn't know it because I, well, wouldn't remember it - I was wrong. I knew I was missing hunks of stuff in my mind - some of it new stuff, like that I just now remembered the scary thing that had chased Heath and me into the grove. Some of it was old stuff, though.

I couldn't remember what my mom looked like.

I couldn't remember the color of my eyes.

I couldn't remember why I didn't trust Stevie Rae anymore.

What I could remember was even more upsetting. I remembered every instant of Stevie Rae dying. I remembered that my dad had left us when I was two and basically never come back. I remembered that I'd trusted Kalona, and that I'd been so, so wrong about him.

My stomach felt sick, and, like that sickness was driving me, I kept pacing around and around the inside circumference of the grove.

How could I have let Kalona fool me so totally? I'd been such an idiot.

And I'd caused Heath's death.

My mind skittered away from that guilt. The thought was too raw, too horrible.

A shadow caught at my vision. I started, turned quickly, and came face-to-face with her. I'd seen her before - in my dreams and in a shared vision.

"Hello, A-ya," I said softly.

"Zoey," she said, dipping her head in hello. Her voice sounded a lot like mine, except there was a sense of sadness about her that colored everything she said.

"I trusted Kalona because of you," I told her.

"You had compassion for him because of me," she corrected. "When you lost me, you also lost compassion."

"That's not true," I said. "I'm still compassionate. I care about Heath."

"Do you? Is that why you are keeping him here with you instead of allowing him to move on?"

"Heath doesn't want to leave," I shot back, and then closed my mouth, surprised at how angry I sounded.

A-ya shook her head, causing her long, dark hair to flutter around her waist. "You haven't stopped to think of what Heath might want - what anyone besides you might want. And you won't, not really, not until you call me back to you."

"I don't want you back. It's because of you that this has happened."

"No, Zoey, it's not. All of this happened because of a series of choices made by a number of people.

This isn't all about you." Shaking her head sadly, A-ya disappeared.

"Good riddance," I muttered, and started to pace again, even more restless than before.

When another shadow flickered at the corner of my vision, I whirled around, ready to tell off A-ya once and for all, but instead my mouth flopped open. I was staring at me. Well, actually, the nine-year-old version of me I'd seen with the other figures before they were scattered by whatever was chasing Heath and me.

"Hi," I said.

"We got boobies!" the kid me said, gawking at my chest. "I'm really glad we got boobies. Finally."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. Finally."

"I kinda wish they were bigger." The kid me kept staring at my boobies until I felt like crossing my arms over my chest, which was ridiculous because she was me - which was just weird. "But, oh, well, it could be worse! We could have been like Becky Apple, heehees!"

Her voice was so filled with joy that she made me smile in response, but only for a second. It was like it was too hard for me to hold onto the joy she seemed to glow with.

"Becky Renee Apple - can you believe her mom named her that and then had all of her sweaters monogrammed with 'BRA'?" the kid me said, and then broke into giggles.

I tried, unsuccessfully, to hold onto my smile while I said, "Yeah, that poor girl was doomed from the first day of cold weather." I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face, wondering why I felt so inexplicably sad.

"It's 'cause I'm not with you anymore," the kid me said. "I'm your joy. Without me, you can't ever really be happy again."

I stared at her, knowing that, like A-ya, she was telling me the truth.

Heath murmured in his sleep again, drawing my gaze to him. He looked so strong and normal and young, but he'd never step on another football field again. He'd never gun his truck around another slick corner and whoop like an Okie. He'd never be a husband. He'd never be a dad. I looked from him to the nine-year-old me.

"I don't think I deserve to be happy again."

"I'm sorry for you, Zoey," she said, and disappeared.

Feeling kinda dizzy and light-headed, I paced.

The next version of me didn't flicker or flutter at the edge of my vision. This version met me head-on, blocking my pacing path. She didn't look like me. She was super tall. Her hair was long and wild and a bright copper red. It wasn't until I met her gaze that I saw our similarity - we had the same eyes. She was another piece of me; I knew her.

"So who are you?" I said wearily. "And what part of me am I going to be missing if I don't get you back?"

"You may call me Brighid. Without me, you lack strength."

I sighed. "I'm too tired to be strong right now. How about we talk again after I take a nap?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Brighid shook her head disdainfully. "Without us, you won't take a nap - you won't get better - you won't rest. without us, you just get more and more incomplete, and you drift."