“She remembered everything. The world remembered nothing.”
Jackson
I was dumped—unceremoniously, unapologetically—at the edge of a horse ranch in the middle of Chestnut Ridge, which, for the record, is a town so remote it makes Forgotten Hollow look like downtown Del Sol Valley. I am not joking, the main means of transportation here were horses and beat-up pick-up trucks. Blaine didn’t even slow down. Just grabbed me, ported us here, shouted “Save a horse, ride a cowboy, yeehaww!” and was off in a cloud of dust and profanity.
I stood there, suitcase in one hand, notebook in the other, staring at a landscape that looked like it had been carved out of some cowboy dude ranch travel ad. Horses roamed freely—no stalls, no barn, just open shelters and sun-bleached fences. Feed bins the size of bathtubs sat under corrugated roofs. The air smelled like hay, sweat, and something vaguely equine. I was wearing boots, thank God, but they were designer and not remotely prepared for this terrain.
Jackson Kershaw didn’t greet me in a manner I was used to. No handshakes and exuberant welcomes. He just tipped his cowboy hat, nodded, muttered “Mornin’. I am Jackson. Nice to meet ya, y’all can put yer things in the cabin, when ya come in, door in the back on the right is yers,” and kept walking. Tall, broad, sunburned, and built like a rodeo god. His drawl was so thick I needed subtitles. I did as told, entered a small cabin, found the … well, I will courteously call it ‘the guest room’, put down my things, forewent the unpacking as there was no dresser or wardrobe, just a stand with a rod attached. I opened a window and was vis a vis with a horse, who nayed right at me, startling me. Then it turned, farted which echoed off the walls and trotted off. I closed the window and shook my head. Why? WHY?!
I grabbed my notepad and pen and scrambled after Jackson, trying to keep up while jotting notes on a pad that kept flapping in the wind like a rebellious bat. First I read him what I had been told so far, which wasn’t much. “Nah, Jackson is hard to explain, best experienced. Trust me, it’ll be an experience you won’t forget,” Blaine had told me with his crooked smirk that already let me know this wasn’t going to be easy.
“Umm… so wait. You have three kids…”
“Four. Five countin’ Nathaniel, but he ain’t really mine. Is Bri’s with Brad. Cute kid though.”
“Wait… what? Hang on. Who’s Brad again?”
“Wife’s ex.”
“Ah, the doctor. From Brindleton Bay.”
“Yup.”
“What is his full name?”
“Bradford.”
“And the first name is Brad? Brad Bradford? Or did you mean his last name is Ford?” I wondered confused.
“Nah, that is the first name. Bradford. Last name’s Cunningham.”
“Cunningham. Oh, like the medical centers?”
“Yup. Those are his. Got one up there in San Sequoia, that’s where Connor works, mah brother-in-law, Bri’s big brother. Then one in Brindleton Bay, San Myshuno and hell knows where else. Gotta ask the wife that stuff.”
“Wife?” I blinked. “I thought they’re divorced.”
“Nah, he’s married.”
“Oh. I thought you were seeing Briar Rose again.”
“I am! He ain’t married to her no more. Neither am I. He’s married to Viola. I ain’t married to no one.”
“Viola?” I was leafing through my notes, unsuccessful. “I’m sorry, who is Viola now?”
“Told ya, Brad’s wife.”
“Ah. Okay. Viola Cunningham then.” I scribbled something illegible and resolved to ask someone else for the family tree. “And she is Nathaniel’s mother.”
“No! Jeezes H. Christ woman! Nathaniel is Brad and Bri’s. Brad had two kids from another marriage, and now he and Viola got a little girl too. And I got a lil girl with a dead ex.”
Huh?! I wasn’t following. I opened my mouth to ask about the dead ex, but a dust cloud rolled in like a biblical omen. Jackson shielded his eyes and muttered, “Thank the Lord. There she comes. Ya can ask her all that.”
“Who? What?”
A white Range Rover barreled down the gravel path, parked with a dramatic crunch, and out stepped a woman who looked like she’d just walked off a San Sequoia runway. Beautiful, polished, and unmistakably a Cameron. Had to be Briar Rose. I recognized that hair color. Her mom, Hailey, had the same.
She hopped out of the car and ran toward Jackson, who caught her mid-leap. Her legs wrapped around his waist, they spun, kissed, and laughed like no one was watching—which I very much was. I turned away, awkwardly, and looked up at the sun, praying the potion would hold. It was hot. Brutal. As a mortal, I’d have melted. As a vampire, I was still not 100% sun-proof, and I could feel my skin tingling like it was considering peeling off me like a banana. Oh Leeora, hopefully your potion won’t abandon me.
I backed into the shade of a feed shelter, clutching my notebook like a shield. Somewhere behind me, a horse snorted. Somewhere in front of me, Briar Rose was still wrapped around her ex-husband like a designer scarf. And somewhere deep inside, I knew this chapter of the biography was going to be chaos.
Beau Wyatt
I hadn’t even finished scribbling down Briar Rose’s full name when a voice behind me drawled, “Ma’am, watch out, yer just ‘bout standin’ in the feed bucket.”
I turned. Slowly. Like a horror movie protagonist who knows the jump scare is coming.
There stood a teenage boy—tall, lanky, sun-kissed, and scowling like I’d kicked his horse. He wore a faded rodeo tee, jeans that had clearly survived a stampede, and boots that looked like they’d kicked more than dirt. And I didn’t need an introduction to tell me this was Kershaw Junior.
“Sorry,” I said, stepping away from the bucket. “Beau Wyatt, right?”
“Yup,” he muttered.
“Alright, nice to meet you,” I said, brushing hay off my coat. “So, you work here, with your dad?”
“Yup.”
“Your dad said you hate big towns.”
“Yup.”
“Your sister lives in San Sequoia?”
“Yup.”
“Can you say anything else?”
He squinted at me. “Yup. So, I work with mah dad ‘fore school an’ after. And I got three sisters in San Sequoia.”
I sighed and flipped to a fresh page in my notebook. “Okay. Okay, Beau Wyatt Kershaw. You are … fourteen?”
“Fifteen.”
“Favorite horse?”
“I like ‘em all, but guess Patches and Blazin’ Belle.”
“Favorite food?”
“Steak.”
“Favorite parent?”
He paused. “Who has that? I mean, momma’s momma and pops is pops. Ain’t got no favorite, but guess it depends who ain’t hollerin’ at me for somethin’.”
I snorted. He didn’t smile, but his eyes twitched like he wanted to.
Jackson walked past, hauling a bale of hay like it owed him money. “Don’t let him sass ya too much. He’s got chores. Ya gon tell yer mother hello or did I raise ya rude?”
“I was gon’ finish with the horses first so ya don’t yell at me.”
“What the heck, kid? Go and kiss yer momma and help her! Git!” Jackson casually pointed behind himself with his thumb where Briar Rose was pulling things out of the car.
“HEY MOMMA!” The boy ran off and hugged his mother, talking with her then carried the bags in for her, observed with a proud smile by Jackson.
“I’m trying to interview him.” I told him.
“Then ya gon’ have to follow him. No slackin’ on the ranch until work is done.”
So, I did. Once the greeting was over I followed Beau across the ranch like a lost puppy asking questions that felt stupid to ask a teen boy. He tossed hay, refilled water troughs, and shoveled horse apples into wheel barrels, which I accidentally dumped out when I was trying to help him. I never used one before and let me tell ya, it looks a LOT simpler than it is. And nothing like getting schooled by a fifteen-year-old-Jackson with a twang so thick I had to squint to understand it – which makes no sense but I did it. I tried to keep up, scribbling notes while dodging curious horses trying to eat my notepad, hoping over piles of manure and dodging rising dust clouds.
“Wait—so your mom is Briar Rose, right?”
“Yup.”
“And your dad is obviously Jackson.”
“Yup.”
“And your twin sister is Briony.”
“Yup.”
“And she lives with your mom.”
“Yup.”
“Do you miss her?”
He stopped. Turned. Looked at me like I’d asked if horses could vote.
“She’s mah sister,” he said. “So yeah, I guess. But we go down there jus’ bout every other week and we spend the holidays and birthdays and all that, so it ain’t too bad. Before ya ask, yeah, I miss my other siblin’s just the same. They’re just little and it’s easier to talk to Briony cos she can have a real conversation. And I miss my grandparents too, both sets, don’t have a favorite and I miss my aunts and uncles too. And yes, we all like Brad and Vi just fine too.”
“Right.” Wow. Father and son definitely can be described as the no-nonsense types.
He went back to shoveling.
I sighed and leaned against a fence post, trying to make sense of the family tree. It wasn’t a tree—it was a tumbleweed tangled in barbed wire. Briar Rose had been married three times: twice to Jackson Kershaw, once to Dr. Bradford Cunningham, the doctor tycoon with medical centers in every major city.
During their marriage, Bri and Brad had Nathaniel, who lived with his father but saw Bri often. Brad was now remarried to someone named Viola. Jackson had also been married three times—twice to Bri, once to a former ranch hand and rodeo rider everyone called Boone, no idea if that was a first, last or just a nickname, who ditched Jackson right after giving birth to Savannah Rae, was MIA for half a year or so, then died in a rodeo accident. Jackson was left raising Beau, who was in grade school then, and a newborn, Savannah Rae, by himself which ‘didn’t go worth a damn’ as he put it. Savannah now lived with Bri’s older brother Connor, a doctor and Chief Medical Officer in San Sequoia, until she was old enough to return. Beau and Briony were twins—he lived here, she lived with Bri in the city.
Bri and Jackson also had a toddler daughter together, Eden Leigh, born out of wedlock. Jackson wanted to marry Bri again. Bri didn’t. Every other weekend, Jackson and Beau drove to San Sequoia for family dinners hosted by Bri’s parents, Chase and Hailey, where Briony, Savannah, Bri, and Eden Leigh gathered like a sitcom cast with unresolved plotlines. And somewhere in this chaos, I was supposed to write a biography.
A horse sneezed on me.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my coat and muttered, “I used to write poetry.”
Beau glanced over. “You still can. Just don’t do it near the horses. They don’t like perfume. Makes them sneeze and if you don’t watch out ya’ll be covered in horse snodder top to bottom.”
I stared at him.
He winked.
And for the first time since arriving in Chestnut Ridge, I laughed.
Briar Rose
I stepped back into the cabin, notebook tucked under my arm, boots coated in dust and horse spit. Briar Rose was already at the table, fists planted on her hips like she was about to launch into a Broadway number titled Jackson, You Idiot.
“Okaaaay,” she said, eyes locked on me. “So who’s this, Jackson? You already got a new woman living with you when I’m not looking?”
Jackson didn’t even glance up from the coffee pot. “Yup. Live-in sex slave, for when it takes too long fer ya to come back home.”
I cringed. Was he trying to get me killed?
Bri scoffed throwing at toy bear at him she was playing with, presumable from when the smaller kids visited. “Well, someone’s gotta make real money, and clearly, that isn’t YOU.”
The toy hit Jackson square in the back and bounced off, he picked it up and pretended to throw it at her, making her squeal and laugh. He tossed it toward the couch.
“I am makin’ money. ’Nuff to live off. Just can’t do all the travelin’ and gettin’ yer nails did and all that.”
“Would be a waste here anyway. Oh my God, look at her face.” She burst out laughing, pointing at me. “HAHAHA, I’m SO sorry, I had to. I know who you are. Mom and Dad told me. I am Bri, guessing you figured that out already. You’re cuter than I expected, but not Jackson’s type anyway. He likes his women scruffy, drunk and unintelligible.”
“Well,” Jackson drawled, pouring coffee into a metal mug, “at least yer self-aware there, darlin’.”
Bri flipped him off.
He didn’t even glance her way. Just lifted two fingers off the mug in a lazy flick—half salute, half “bless your heart”—like he was swatting away a mosquito with too much attitude. The coffee kept pouring, steady as ever.
“I wasn’t talking about me, Jackson,” Bri said, narrowing her eyes. “I meant the random ranchhands you impulsively marry and knock up like it’s a hobby.”
She crossed her arms, lips curling. “Oh, you think you’re funny? You’re not. Self-care—looking decent, smelling decent—is actually important to some of us. You know, people who live in civilization. Around other humans. Who bathe. Who expect basic hygiene. Which you wouldn’t know a damn thing about, Kershaw.”
There was a sharpness to her tone, a little too pointed to be casual. And though she’d never admit it, I could’ve sworn I caught the faintest whiff of jealousy curling beneath all that righteous indignation—like smoke from a fire she didn’t mean to light.
If Jackson noticed, he didn’t show it.
“Nah,” he said, voice slow and steady as a creek in July, “cos I got logical priorities and no time for no such nonsense. The hell would I douse mahself in cologne that only attracts bugs, wildlife, and maybe a confused raccoon? Or get me a manicure? What, so I can scratch my head fancy-like while fixin’ a busted fence? That jus’ makes no damn sense, Bri.”
He took a sip from his mug, unfazed.
“Ya used to live here too, Bri, I know ya remember some of it all. I’m just sayin’—out here, self-care means not steppin’ in manure and rememberin’ which end of the shovel bites. Maybe a real nice meal when the chores are done. Civilization’s nice and all, but none ya learn there is of any use here, neither are fancy clothing. I know ya know that.”
If there had been jealousy in her jab, it was either entirely lost on him—or he just chose to ignore it, like a man who’d long since learned which fires were worth pokin’. The fire he refused to poke now turned to me.
“You hearing this man? Has he behaved or been giving you grief?” she asked me, finally turning her attention away from roasting her ex-husband.
“I wouldn’t call it grief,” I said, accepting the mug Jackson handed me. “But it’s pretty clear Jackson doesn’t like people asking him questions.”
“Oh, don’t I know it! Usually mumbles some incomprehensible crap like a Neanderthal then.”
Jackson smirked. “Nah, that’s jus’ what ya hear when I talk. Got that wife hearin’ on. Victoria heard me jus’ fine—been scribblin’ down a lot in her lil pad there.” He handed Bri her mug, then sat down with his own, and I couldn’t help noticing the way his long legs looked in those worn-out jeans.
Okay, Bri. Yeah, I gotcha girl. I can see how that could be addictive.
Bri stuck her tongue out at him, took a sip of her coffee, and glanced out the window. Clearly, this was just them being them.
I sat down and slurped the strong brew. Ahhhh, just how I liked it—dark, hot, and strong enough to wake the dead.
But Bri nearly made me spill it when she shrieked like a banshee.
“Jackson! Beau’s riding off!”
Jackson didn’t even look up. “Yeah,” he said, casual as a nap in the sun.
Bri’s jaw dropped. “Yeah?! That’s all you’ve got?!”
Jackson shrugged, still stirring his coffee like he had all the time in the world. “He’s goin’ out.”
“Going out?!” Bri threw her hands up, pacing like she was trying to stomp sense into the floorboards. “What does that even mean?!”
“Means he ain’t stayin’ in,” Jackson replied, voice slow and steady. “He asked, I said when he got his chores done he could go. He’s done, so he’s goin’. On account of ya not tellin’ nobody you was comin’. I ain’t goin’ back on mah word now, and he can’t. Normally he woulda come in and told me goodbye—probably didn’t wanna earn a guilt trip with y’all bein’ here. Means ya gotta spend the night so ya see him tomorrow when he’s back.”
“Back from where, Jackson?!” Bri sounded testy.
“Seein’ his girl. He and some friends are goin’ campin’, and his girl’s along.”
That stopped her cold. Bri blinked, then narrowed her eyes like she’d just spotted a snake in the henhouse. “Girl?! What girl?!”
Jackson ducked into the corner of the kitchen, suddenly very interested in a drawer full of mismatched utensils. His whole posture screamed, Don’t wanna do this right now.
I’d only just met him, but even I could tell this was a conversation he’d rather wrestle a rabid bear than finish.
Bri wasn’t having it. She shot out of her chair, marched over, and grabbed his arm, spinning him around like a sheriff about to make an arrest.
“JACKSON?! What does ‘his girl’ mean?! And you let him go camping with her?! Overnight?!”
Jackson blinked, caught mid-spin, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Well,” he drawled, “girl means like a boy, but with boobs and some other diff’rent parts.”
I snorted. Bad timing. Tried to pass it off as a cough while mentally calculating the odds of disappearing into thin air.
“Jackson! Quit being cute! Our son has a girlfriend?! And you let him go camping with her?!”
“Yeah!”
“Overnight? With a girl!? Are you CRAZY!? When were you gonna tell me that Kershaw nugget?!”
“I’m tellin’ ya now…”
He turned and walked off like the conversation had reached its expiration date, coffee in hand, boots thudding against the old floorboards.
Bri followed, still firing questions like a one-woman interrogation squad.
“You don’t get to just walk away!”
“Sure I do,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s mah house.”
“You kept this from me! You didn’t think I’d want to know our son is dating?! And staying overnight alone with a girl?! Jackson, come on now, that has to ring some alarm bells, even with you!”
“Nah, it don’t and nah, I didn’t keep nothin’ from ya. Just hadn’t told ya yet, ‘cause it just came ‘bout. Ain’t much to tell, and I knew—I knew—ya’d react jus’ like ya did,” he muttered, pushing open the bedroom door and stepping inside.
“Of course I react like that! How could you just let our son have his first girlfriend and I have to find out like this? Don’t I get any say in Beau’s upbringing?!”
“Nah, that’s rich comin’ from ya! I had to watch our daughter run around dressed like an adult since she was barely old enough to read the signs at those fancy cosmetic studios and boutiques ya kept draggin’ her to! I did not like that. Not one bit!”
“That was Briony’s choice. She’s always loved clothes and hair and makeup! Don’t make it sound like I forced her! I just didn’t stop her.”
“Maybe ya should’ve! Too young. But fifteen ain’t too young for a boy to start learnin’ about love and how to be a man…”
“Oh, don’t even go there! I sure hope he isn’t learning about love and being a man in the way I’m thinking!”
“Well, he gotta learn somehow. Not like he don’t know which way’s up. He grew up on a horse ranch. Where we breed horses. He’s familiar with the process of the birds and the bees!”
Bri huffed. “Yeah, because his father’s livestock are the best teachers. Which one of your stallions taught him how to use a condom, hm? That’s your job! I’m doing all that with our daughter. Who does NOT have a boyfriend yet, because she’s too young!”
“Better for the health of the male teenage population of San Sequoia, ‘cause I might just teach any young man gettin’ fancy ideas with my little girl how a shotgun works!”
“Ha—hypocritical much? Seriously, Jackson, you didn’t think maybe I’d want to meet her? Or ask if she’s nice? Or if she’s—”
“Bri,” he said, setting the mug down and turning to face her, “I ain’t hidin’ nothin’. Beau’s got a girl. She’s sweet. She don’t chew with her mouth open. That’s all I know. Now if you’re done hollerin’, I’d like to sit down and finish my coffee before it turns into brown ice.”
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes blazing—but followed him back to the table and sat down like nothing happened.
Well. I was starting to see why they couldn’t live together. This on the daily? Probably not great for those kids either.
I stayed in the kitchen, sipping my coffee and pretending I was invisible and didn’t notice how the argument seemed to turn into sexual tension that made the air flicker. What a couple.
I took another sip of coffee, quietly flipped to a fresh page in my notebook, and wrote:
Chapter: Chase & Hailey (note: Chase is the thirdborn son)
Subsection: Descendants – Briar Rose Cameron and Jackson Kershaw
Scene: The Girlfriend Reveal and Other Explosions (potential anecdote of interest)
This chapter of Blaine’s biography was going to need footnotes. And a warning label. Then again, his and Scarlett’s origin story wasn’t run-of-the-mill either. Nor were any of their children whom I had the pleasure of interviewing so far. Two were already dead, as were their spouses, so I would have to interview their kids, which was easier said that done. One had two kids, one of which married to a royal, the other had been Hollywood royalty, as were his son and grandson, and Scarlett had already warned me that getting on their schedule would be a tightrope dance. So far I heard anything from funny over heartwarming, whirlwind marriages, dramatic divorces, surprise pregnancies, and so much more which I already had no clue how to make sound even halfway non-fictional. Oh jeezes Christ, what did I get reeled into this time? I barely had notes on all their kids, spouses, and two of the grandkids. Bri and Jackson were number three of… Blaine didn’t even know how many. Not enough fingers and toes. This wasn’t going to be a biography. This was going to be an encyclopedia about the Cameron family. With appendices. And a glossary. Possibly a family tree that required scaffolding.
Girl Talk, Straight Talk
A few hours later, Jackson had returned to chores, Briar Rose had to take some calls. When things had calmed down again, Briar Rose plopped down beside me at the table, glancing at my notes with a smirk.
“Reminds me of myself when I write.”
I looked up at her, unable not to notice how pretty she was—that rare merger of girl-next-door-cute and runway-beautiful, like someone who could model for a skincare brand and also win a pie-eating contest. She seemed younger than she could be with a fifteen year old kid, all bubbly charm and mischievous sparkle. She reminded me so much of her mom. I adored Hailey. While I wasn’t asked when I received my fangs, Hailey and Chase were the kind of people I was genuinely glad chose this path again. I loved them.
“You write?” I asked, intrigued.
“Nah, not like you. I write music and lyrics.”
“Oh right. I know some of your music. You seem so… normal. Not like some untouchable celebrity. I forgot.”
“Thanks! I like that. Yeah, I try to stay normal. Mom and Dad taught me that. My siblings and I grew up in the limelight with my dad in a band and of course grandpa Blaine up on stages. Hey, did you interview Iris yet? My twin sis?”
“Yeah. She was my easiest interview ever. So organized and specific. We were done in like half an hour.”
She laughed. “Yeah, sounds like her, the no-BS type. But then you talked to her husband Jasper, right?”
“Oh my God, yes, and he can talk! He talked and talked. Eventually I gave up on taking notes and just recorded him while swooning.”
“I know, right?! Jas is my bestie, ever since we were little. I love him, but even I can overdose on him.”
“I remember. Sister from another Mister something, right?”
“Yeah, and Brother from another mother. Yup. He’s such a sweetheart. So, now that you know so much about my family…” She leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Spill the tea. You’re dating my Uncle Gavin… and you have a baby with him?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, then froze. My smile vanished into a horrified gasp as the realization hit me like a runaway stallion.
Oh no.
I stared down at my notepad, dwelling on the fact that I was going to end up in this biography too.
Gulp. Sweat.
This wasn’t just Blaine’s story anymore.
It was mine too.
Bri leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh my God, you just realized it, didn’t you?”
I nodded slowly, like someone who’d just been told the plane they were on was actually a reality show.
“You’re part of the story now,” she sang, tapping my notebook with one perfectly manicured nail. “Welcome to the chaos. Oooh, am I gonna be calling you Aunt Victoria soon? Tell me! Poor Gavin was so stuck with that Bianca. My mom and Maddie just can’t with her. They legit threw a party when they got divorced, true story! Then again, my parents always throw parties, been that way ever since before we were born.”
“Yeah, and I thought I was just documenting it. And no thank you for now on the Aunt part. I don’t think Gavin or I are ready for that yet and the baby wasn’t exactly planned,” I muttered, flipping a page like it might erase my involvement.
“Yeah, same old story. My family has a term for that, Cameron Curse. Unplanned pregnancies with the most unfortunate timing. We all can tell tales of that. You’re basically a Cameron by scandal.”
“Oh jeeze …” I blinked.
“Yeah! That’s how most of us got here who weren’t born into it, some of us as Cameron Curses. You think Jackson and I got back together because of logic? Please. It was hormones and pure unbridled love and unresolved sexual tension. I loved Braddy, my ex, still do, but I am infected with Jackson and he’s just the one for me. And same is true for him. We both tried to move on, man, did we ever. Completely pointless.”
I snorted. “That sounds like a country song.”
“Funny you say that—I wrote one about all that. Not normally my genre but if you dated a man like Jackson for as long as I have, you can’t help the occasional twang. It’s called Hay Bales and Heartbreak.”
I stared at her.
She winked.
I looked down at my notes, which now included a doodle of a hay bale with a broken heart and the words Chapter … Whatever: The Biographer Becomes the Biography.
Bri sipped her coffee and leaned back, satisfied. “You’re gonna need a second notebook.”
I groaned. “I’m gonna need a therapist.”
She grinned. “We’ve got a few in the family. I’ll introduce you at the next ‘all-hands-on-deck’ family dinner.”
Then she got up and dug through some cabinets, then in some odd spots in the living room which was practically all one room, until she victoriously held up her arm with a whiskey bottle and came back over.
“You pregnant?”
“Oh God I hope not. If I am, I will hang myself!”
She laughed a pearly and contagious laugh so I chimed in. “Girl me too. When I was sixteen I had an emergency surgery and lost one ovary, the other badly damaged. Caused so much bad stuff, but I was told I would never have kids. Here we are four kids later, now one was a set of twins but still. I am done. One hundred percent done. So … you wanna?”
I smiled at the booze.
“What about Jackson?”
“Well, if he gets done with his chores in time he may get to enjoy some of his booze too.” She winked, grabbing two
“Why won’t you marry Jackson again? Watching you together it’s pretty clear you are the real deal.”
“Oh, we are. Totally. But .. well … he lives here and can’t do city life. I can visit, but I cannot live here. We both tried it. Man did we try. But it became the reason for each divorce. Plus, Briony has a severe allergy to some native weeds here. She can’t live here long term. So, it’s like that fable about the moon and the sun being in love, but they can never be together or the world ends.”
“Wow.” I said and somehow, for odd reasons I can’t explain, it made me think of Alder. No, I didn’t want to marry him, not even be romantic with him, but I missed him so. Still couldn’t forget what I saw him do. He had sent letters to Forgotten Hollow. I burnt the first two. The third came with magic. I tried to burn it, tear it up, flush it. Every time it ended up waiting for me on my dresser again. I gave up trying to get rid of it and just left it unopened.
Yes, childish, I know. But I couldn’t help it.
Bri and Jasper’s childhood rhyme came to mind. Somehow, that was how it felt with Alder. He was a brother from another mother, and I was his sister from another Mister, in a way. I trusted him with so much about myself and he me with his, leaving out a few life altering essentials, mind you. Then again, telling someone about crazy crushes and people you hate at work is one thing to share, but ‘oh yeah, and I am also a very dangerous mage who can literally kill someone with the flick of my wrist, but my hobbies are poetry, botany and I can craft healing herbal teas in my sleep’ goes down a bit rougher.
Bri planted a metal mug in front of me, half filled with whiskey.
‘Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
I considered it for a moment, then took a long sip, and looked at her.
“Okay, I gotta ask this. Your other ex. Tell me a little about all that. What caused the rift, how the co-parenting is going, …”
“Rift? With Brad? Oh jeeze, you are barking up the wrong tree, girl. I love Braddy, still, how could I not? He is the sweetest guy you will ever meet, with a heart of pure gold, hands down. And he is so cute!”
I looked at her, puzzled. “Then why are you not married to him anymore?”
Her smiled faded to something unreadable, melancholic. “Hard to explain. I don’t think he and I really fully understand it. Maybe he is too nice? I don’t know. It’s just Jackson for me. We tried, so hard, both of us to not want each other, but this love might be toxic, but runs too deep to deny. I set Brad free when I realized that, hating myself for breaking his heart. He found someone new, luckily, and she is amazing and perfect for him. And, one of my best friends.”
“Ah,” I made, wondering how the hell to make this plausible without needing fifty subsections. I wasn’t even sure I understood it. Yeah, the wealthy for you and the entertainment crowd. They just don’t roll by our rules.
Bri nudged me, grinning. “Love really is complicated. Maybe not always as complicated as it has been for Jackson and me, and Braddy and me, but I think this is the closest we all have been to truly happy as we can probably get. There, that was your long answer to the question why I won’t marry Jackson. Cos, I don’t want another divorce. He is sweet, and I am sure he is the one, but we can’t live together. So, why marry? Now it’s a choice we both make, to be together as much as we can and as intensely as we can. Coparenting is working great as is. Why chance it? Why not live our lives the way we know we can sustain happiness?”
I nodded. Somehow, she, who seemed like a child in an adult body, had so much wisdom.
Yeah, why not live life the way it makes us happy. Universally true. Even for me.
Unlike Bri and Jackson, however, I hadn’t figured out how to be happy yet. Was my happiness living with Gavin on his little retreated estate in the Henfordian countryside, raising our daughter?
Did my happiness include or exclude Alder?
Should it?
Well, after a few more days on the ranch, spending my sleepless nights – since I didn’t need so much sleep anymore – listening to Jackson and Briar Rose’s enthusiastic lovemaking we moved the show to San Sequoia where I was part of the bi-weekly weekends with the grandparents and other siblings there. I was to remain there for a week to do the week with Briar Rose, Briony and the little ones best I could, I had already gotten all the notes I needed from Chase, Hailey, Colton, Maddie, Iris Marie and Jasper. Connor and Keira were gonna come over, schedule allowing, if we couldn’t get enough together, I was gonna stay with them for a week next. Their son Chris, also a young doctor, was currently on vacation with his fiancée Cadie, his best friend Craig and his girlfriend whose name I forgot, mostly cos I wasn’t gonna interview them. Not part of the family, thank God. This family was HUGE! I still had no idea how to get all that into one book. Luckily, I was dating one of Blaine’s kids, so if some of my notes made no sense to me down the line, Gavin could unravel it for me.
San Sequoia
We pulled up in Jackson’s beat-up truck, the engine wheezing like it needed an inhaler. Beau hopped out first, boots hitting the gravel with practiced ease, while Jackson muttered something about “damn city traffic” and slammed the door behind him. Next he grabbed my luggage off the back and hauled it in like it weighed nothing, while Beau was greeting three big dogs. I knew two of them were Connor’s and one lived here with Chase and Hailey. I followed them inside, notebook tucked under my arm, still coated in ranch dust and horse spit from a week of chasing down Kershaw family lore.
Seaglass Haven, the beautiful name of this sprawling estate, was already humming—music spilling from open windows, laughter echoing across the lawn, and the scent of grilled food curling through the air like a siren’s song. Chase and Colton, the legendary duo of 2Dark 2C, jamming casually on the patio with a few family members chiming in. No one here needed a spotlight—they were the spotlight.
Inside, the house was chaos in the best way. Iris and Jasper were mid-banter, which for them usually meant bicker, but those two were deeply in love despite it, near the drinks table, Connor was triaging a minor burn in the kitchen like he was still on shift, and Hailey was orchestrating the buffet with the precision of a general and the grace of a goddess. Even though less than half here were vampires, everyone looked radiant, ageless, and utterly alive. The youngest grandkids darted between legs and furniture like caffeinated fairies, chased by overstimulated black shepherds and a large cream and brown mutt, whose name I found out when he almost made Jackson trip “Dangit Snuffins, ya retched mutt!” he yelled, already bending down snuggling the dog, who didn’t care about the reprimand, only about the hot dog on Jackson’s plate with which he took off. “Hell, ya damn dawg! That had hot sauce and mustard on it, y’all be shitting everywhere!”
I tried to blend in, but I felt like a smudge on a masterpiece. I hadn’t embraced the vampire life—not really. It was all I had left, sure, but I hadn’t claimed it. I still flinched at blood packs, still hesitated near mirrors, still disappointed not to see myself anymore, the void still felt strange and nightmarish, still wondered if this was all some elaborate fever dream.
And then the scent of the food hit me.
Hmmmmmm.
I might have drooled a little.
The buffet was a mosaic of temptation—roasted vegetables, spiced meats, delicate pastries, and sauces that shimmered like potion. I hadn’t touched mortal food in months. The last time I tried, I’d ended up projectile vomiting at Cesare’s ball. Nothing better to spoil my appetite. But tonight… something shifted. This felt so warm, welcoming, normal. Made me feel welcome and … normal. A feeling I had almost forgotten how it felt.
I grabbed a glass of champagne, the warmth of the booze welcoming and grounding even more, so I reached for a second after downing the first like sparkling water.
I hovered near the buffet table, pretending to scribble notes, while my eyeballs scanned the delicacies like food porn, trying hard to keep myself from sniffing the air like a dog, then reached for a sliver of grilled peach wrapped in prosciutto. Just a nibble.
It stayed down.
And it was good. Gooooo-oooood!
Damn I had missed food.
Jackson’s little cabin had always smelled sooooo damn good with his homestyle simple meals. But I really didn’t want him to drawl on and on after I puked all over his wooden floors, so I refrained.
Instilled with courage, I tried another—roasted date with goat cheese. Hmmm. Still fine. My stomach rumbled.
Wait. Do vampires even have growling stomachs? I hadn’t had one since … well, since I woke up to fangs.
I backed away, heart thudding. Well, imaginary, obviously. We don’t have heartbeats. Mind playing tricks. Andyway, I dropped my notepad down on some credenza, realizing this was a party and I wouldn’t interview nothing here, grabbed a blood pack from the cooler near the patio and slipped outside, hoping the familiar taste would ground me and keep me from devouring everything in sight.
I drank.
And immediately gagged.
The blood came back up in a violent heave, staining the grass and my boots. My body convulsed, rejecting what had sustained me. I felt so sick. Awful. I stumbled inside, past the laughter and music, up the stairs to the guest room I would be staying in. The bathroom light flickered as I leaned over the sink, rinsing my mouth, trying to breathe.
Still feeling sick I glanced up, a reflex. And then I saw it.
My reflection.
Clear. Whole. No distortion. No absence. WTF?!
I blinked. Touched my face. HUH?!
I had to be hallucinating. Projecting.
Had I turned into such a lightweight that two glasses of bubbly would have me hallucinate? Damn. I thought I was told vampires have a much higher threshold, not lower. Seriously now. Could nothing ever be normal for me?
I grabbed my bag and dug for my toothbrush and toothpaste and started scrubbing to get the taste out of my mouth. After a rinse I grinned at myself and … teeth! NO FANGS!
I screamed.
And fainted.
The door flew open and Connor was there in seconds, he could port and has vampiric speed since he was originally born a vamp, catching me before I hit the tile. His voice was calm, commanding, but I couldn’t hear it. The world went black.
Jump Scare
I woke to soft sheets and the scent of eucalyptus. Connor had left me alone, respecting my silence. I sat up slowly, heart pounding, yes, there definitely WAS a heartbeat, mind racing. Licking over my teeth again and again, starting into the mirror by the door at myself. WTF?! I couldn’t tell them. Not yet. Not until I understood.
Now what?
Cesare?
Riordan?
Umm, no, because by now I was privy to way too much knowledge that mortals cannot have about vampires. I wasn’t sure that they wouldn’t lock me up for Cesare, a passionate scientist, his immense knowledge and curiosity to finding out how things worked had given us … well, them … several cures to make that eternal life more pleasant, to experiment on. Or maybe Caelan would get a hold of me and just off me, since I might now be a threat? Not like I hadn’t given him plenty of reason to wanna.
Oh hell! If I ended up on the bad side of vampires now, I might well jump off the next high rise. How was I supposed to hide from them? Finding people was literally what Caelan, Connell and Damon did for a living and I already had been there long enough to know their success rate was nearly 100%.
Oh my God!
Then I had an idea. Not the best choice, but at least something. I faked a call. A commission gone wrong. A gallery emergency. I needed to leave, because some fictional previous client of mine was losing their fictional shit.
Hailey offered to port me to where the heck ever I told them the disgruntled client was, don’t even remember my own lies now. So, I declined. I needed time. Space. Mortality.
I booked a flight to Ravenwood. Secretly.
Hailey dropped me off at San Sequoia International.
I got on the redeye out. First one with room. My seat couldn’t have sucked worse, but I would have flown sitting on the toilet seat or taped to the wing. Just out.
Alder
A cab dropped me near Alder’s home, the woods whispering around me like old friends. I ran to the door, my luggage bouncing behind me, I reached his door, fists pounding, voice breaking.
“Alder! Please! I need help! Open up! ALDEEEEERRRR!”
It took a felt eternity until the door unlocked and Alder appeared—barely dressed, robe hastily thrown on, the sash half-tied and his dark, silken shorts unmistakably visible beneath. He was still fumbling with the knot when I grabbed him and shook him, urgency overriding modesty, panic eclipsing propriety.
“Alder, I need help!” my tone was mostly a scream, his eyes wide, as he stumbled backward, robe half-tied, hair tousled, eyes scanning me like I was a ghost he hadn’t expected to see again.
“Victoria?” His voice was hoarse, sleep-rough, but steady. “What—what happened?”
“I don’t know!” I cried, gripping his arms, shaking him harder than I meant to. “I don’t know what I am anymore! I was at the party, and the food smelled too good, there was music, everyone was laughing and having fun, the food … well I ate some, and it stayed down, and then I drank blood from a conserve and I puked, I was so sick, miserable and then—and then—” My voice cracked. “I saw myself in the mirror. Alder, I saw my reflection. I brushed my teeth and my fangs are gone!”
He blinked. Once. Twice. I could almost see the question marks forming all around his head. Then he gently pried my hands off him, guiding me inside with that maddening calm he always carried, after quickly dragging my suitcase in and shutting the door, like the world could be burning and he’d still make tea before reacting.
“Come in,” he said. “Sit down. Calm down first.”
“No! I can’t sit! I need answers!” I was pacing now, frantic, my boots thudding against the wooden floor. “I flew here, I lied to Hailey, I told them I had a commission emergency, I just—I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t breathe, I—”
“Victoria.” His voice cut through my panic like a blade through fog. “Sit.”
I collapsed into the nearest chair, trembling. He moved to the kitchen, methodical, quiet, gathering herbs like he was preparing a ritual instead of a beverage.
As he turned toward the kitchen, I hesitated, eyes trailing after him. The robe, the shorts, the tousled hair—it all screamed “not alone.” I remembered the man I’d seen him with weeks ago, the kiss they shared, the quiet intimacy. Was someone here? Had I interrupted something?
“Alder,” I said, voice low now, “were you… alone?”
He didn’t turn. Just smirked faintly and said, “Yes, Victoria. I was asleep. Alone. Until someone started banging on my door like the world was ending at four-forty-five in the morning.”
I jumped up again, grabbing his arm.
“Don’t make tea! I need you to tell me what’s happening to me!”
“You’ll get answers,” he said, gently removing my hand. “But you need to breathe first. Go sit. Please. You working yourself up into a hysteria won’t help anything. Please.”
I stumbled back to the chair, heart pounding, hands shaking. And then I broke.
I sobbed. Loud, messy, uncontrollable sobs that made my chest ache and my throat raw. Alder didn’t flinch. He poured the tea, placed the cup in front of me, and sat across from me like we were discussing weather.
I stared at him, furious. “That’s your response?! Tea?!”
He sipped. Calm. Stoic. “The last time I saw you, you vanished before we could talk. So I sent you a letter.”
I froze.
“You never replied,” he continued. “I assume you still haven’t read it.”
I shot up from the chair. “You’re worried about a letter?! My life is falling apart—AGAIN!”
He didn’t raise his voice. “Had you read it, you would’ve known something I only discovered by accident. In an ancient writ. Vampires and mages are mortal enemies …”
I scoffed and cut him off. “A history lesson? Now? About crap I already knew?!”
He didn’t blink. “One reason for that is because, in rare cases, the blood of fae and mage can cure vampirism. I am part of both, as you now know. Half of each but double the mystic energy.”
I stared at him. “So? I don’t drink people’s—”
Silence.
Memory.
There was a time, few weeks ago, when I barely had sun resistance. I was here in town with Riordan for training purposes, but desperate to see Alder. I was told no. Stubborn and undeterred, I had snuck out, underestimated the rising sun, and got burned—badly. Alder found me. Carried me inside. Treated me with herbs and poultice, whispering reassurances while I writhed in pain.
And then, when nothing else worked, he offered me his wrist.
I hesitated. I cried. I drank.
Just enough.
Just once.
I looked at him now, eyes wide, breath caught.
“You think… that’s what did it?”
He didn’t answer. Just sipped his tea.
And for once, I didn’t scream.
I just sat there.
Shaking.
Waiting.
I couldn’t sit still. The tea sat untouched, cooling beside me while Alder watched me with that maddening calm that made me want to scream and sob at the same time.
“Alder,” I said, voice cracking, “what do I do now? Where do I go?”
He didn’t answer. Just waited.
“My daughter is at the castle. The vampire castle. In the middle of a vampire town. I can’t get there without someone porting me unless I want to get killed by those creepy sentinel guards or Caelan himself, and I can’t port myself—I never learned, I was too new, too much, too distracted—”
I stood, pacing, hands in my hair. “And what if I find someone to port me and they realize I have a heartbeat? What if they feel my body heat or see I have no fangs? What if they smell it on me?”
I turned to him, eyes wild. “What guarantees me I could sneak this past Cesare? Or Caelan? They would take one look at me and just know. They’d know I’m mortal. Alder, how am I supposed to get my daughter?!”
I was spiraling. My breath came in shallow bursts, my chest tight, thoughts stampeding like wild horses through a burning field. Not having a heartbeat, a pulse, a breath—those had been hard enough to lose. But having them back all at once felt like sensory overload, like my body was screaming in languages I’d forgotten how to speak. I almost wished it would all vanish again. The pounding in my chest was so loud, so foreign, I thought I might be dying. A heart attack. Or maybe just a resurrection gone wrong.
And then Alder moved.
He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around me, firm and grounding. I froze, breath hitching, heart pounding against his chest.
“Victoria,” he said, voice low and steady, “your daughter has a father who would never let anything happen to her.”
I blinked, stunned.
“And that father,” he continued, “is Cesare’s grandson.”
I stared at him, trembling.
“She is protected,” he said. “By blood. By legacy. By love.”
I couldn’t speak.
“You will be fine,” he said, holding me tighter. “And she will be fine.”
I broke again. Not into sobs this time, but into silence. A silence so deep it felt like the world had paused to let me breathe.
And for the first time since the mirror moment, I did.
I sobbed into Alder’s arms until I had nothing left. No words. No breath. Just the sound of my own heartbeat—too loud, too mortal—echoing in a room that had once felt like sanctuary.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t shush me. Just held me, steady and silent, like he’d been carved from the same stone that built the castle I could no longer enter.
When I finally pulled back, my face was blotchy, my throat raw, and my soul scraped thin. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my coat and whispered, “What are we now?”
He blinked, slowly. “We?”
“You and me,” I said, voice barely audible. “We started out as strangers. Then roommates, by accident. Friends, I think, by choice. Lovers… maybe by magic. But now?”
I looked at him, searching his face for something I couldn’t name. “Some of it felt real. Some of it still does. But it’s not romantic. Not for me. Not like that. You know it’s Gavin for me, I mean, he and I have a daughter. And yet… it’s more than just acquaintances for us. Isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer. Just turned toward the kitchen.
I followed, confused, until the scent hit me—rich, savory, layered with something I couldn’t place. It smelled good. Too good. Suspiciously good.
Alder stood at the stove, stirring something thick and golden in a cast iron pot. He dipped the ladle in, blew on it once, tasted, and nodded to himself like he’d just confirmed a prophecy.
Then he turned, filled the ladle again, and held it out to me.
I hesitated. Then leaned in and took a fairly big sip straight from the ladle, letting the broth roll across my tongue. It was velvety and tangy, with something tender—chicken, maybe?—and something sharp, like wild garlic or lovage. There was a faint floral note, a whisper of smoke, and a depth that made me think of moss-covered stones and old forest kitchens.
I chewed slowly, suspiciously, on something soft and savory that might’ve been leek or might’ve been… not leek.
I narrowed my eyes. “What is this?”
Alder wiped the ladle clean with a cloth, bone dry as ever. “Frog parts. Ox balls. Cat eyes. Simmered in a creamy basil sauce with a hint of grave dust and regret.”
I froze mid-chew. “You’re joking, right? RIGHT?!”
He raised one brow. “Am I?”
I stared at the pot. “You’re a mage. That’s basically a witch. You could be cooking anything.”
He turned back to the stove, utterly unfazed. “You liked it.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s… divine.”
“Chicken. Leeks. Wild garlic. A bit of smoked paprika. A touch of saffron. And a dash of your paranoia.”
I grabbed a piece of bread from the table and lobbed it at him. He flicked his fingers and the bread froze mid-air, rotated once like a smug little moon, and landed neatly on the counter.
“Show-off,” I muttered.
He smiled—just barely—and turned back to the stove.
“Ciorbă de pui cu leuștean,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s ancient Ravenian. Chicken sour soup with lovage. An old recipe, though I’ve added a few Innisgreen touches.”
“Like the grave dust?”
“Exactly.”
I snorted, I stepped forward, grabbed his stirring hand, and guided the ladle back to my mouth. He didn’t resist. I fed myself from his hand, wiped my mouth with the back of my other hand, and looked up at him, defiant.
He shook his head, smiling now. “Ballsy, considering you supposedly fear me so much.”
“Well,” I said, licking a bit of broth from my thumb, “way I see it, if you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it already—and there’s nothing I could do about it. Might as well go out with a full belly, seeing how clearly I can eat again now.”
I paused, letting the warmth settle in my stomach. “Odd how much I missed that. Eating. I mean, I could’ve probably adapted to the vampire bit, but that part? Just not it for me. I never realized how much joy I get from food. Almost more than sunlight. Although that’s a close second on the list of things I don’t enjoy doing without.”
Alder glanced over, ladle still in hand. “Do certain mages make that list?”
“Possibly.”
He gestured toward the table. “How about we eat some of this from a bowl, pretending to be civilized people?”
“Killjoy.”
We both laughed—real laughter, not the brittle kind that covers wounds. We settled at the table, eating, smiling, the soup between us like a peace offering from a world we didn’t quite belong to anymore.
And just like that, the tension softened. Not gone. Not forgotten. But softened.
We weren’t what we had been. We weren’t what I thought we should be now.
But we were still something.
And I wasn’t ready to let that go. And somehow I knew Alder would be there for me, just like he was when we started out. And while I still remembered the trauma of seeing how powerful he could be, experiencing him like I did tonight I realized he was also still the nerdy, quiet, shy, sweet and kind poet I met him as.
Unraveled
I woke slowly, the kind of waking that feels like surfacing from deep water—limbs heavy, thoughts slow, heart unsure if it’s ready to beat again. The guest room was unfamiliar but warm, the light outside still dim, early morning pressing against the windows like a secret.
I sat up, blinked at the soft gray walls, the books stacked in uneven towers, the faint scent of dried herbs and old paper. No eucalyptus this time—thank God. Just quiet.
My clothes from yesterday were folded neatly on the chair, but I didn’t want them. I found a pair of yoga pants in my suitcase, a thick hoodie, and my favorite wool socks—the ones with the little moons stitched into the ankles. I dressed slowly, like my body needed convincing.
The house was quiet.
I padded down the hall, past the framed poetry clippings and dried lavender bundles, until I found Alder in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair still sleep-tousled, scribbling something into a notebook with one hand while stirring a pot with the other.
He looked up, startled for half a second, then smiled. “You’re awake.”
“I think so,” I said. My voice sounded like it had been borrowed from someone else. “How long was I out for?”
“Oh … almost 24 hours straight.”
“Oh jeezes. Welcome back to mortality and sleep deprivation. Didn’t miss that.”
He gestured toward the counter. “Tea’s ready. I know you prefer coffee—I’m planning to stock some now. Had I known you’d come …”
I blinked at him, the words landing like a hug I didn’t expect.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the mug. It was warm. Floral. Not my weapon of choice, but grounding enough.
He didn’t ask how I slept. He didn’t need to. I looked like a bear freshly risen from hibernation.
He was clearly busy, getting some herbs and potions ready for some of the shops downtown, so I wandered into his yard, letting the morning settle around me like a shawl.
That’s when I saw her.
Leeora.
She was walking past the edge of the property, not far, but distant enough to feel unreachable. I smiled, lifted a hand to wave—but her gaze passed over me like fog over glass. Blank. Unknowing. Like I was a stranger.
I didn’t press it. Not with Leeora. Not with a witch that powerful. But something twisted in my stomach.
Later, when I told Alder, he paused. Too long. Then he diverted—poetry, old memories, the middle rowhouse in Henfordshire. We ended up on the couch, flipping through his newest verses. Laughing. Remembering. And then, quietly, he said:
“I missed you. Like this. Not across the table. Not across the room. Not polite strangers. Not staring at me like you can’t trust me. When I would do anything for us to get back to how things used to be.”
I swallowed the ache in my throat. Told myself it was innocent. Friendship. Not a confession.
I shifted the topic—Cesare, Blaine, Scarlett, Gavin. Maybe someone could help.
“I think I should call Scarlett. She might not know what to do, but I’m sure she’d have ideas. And she could talk to Cesare, so I don’t end up on his kill list for knowing too much. I really hate that. Just when I started to like that job. And Cesare’s actually a pretty cool dude. So smart. He knows everything. And Riordan—such a sweetheart. Yeah, I definitely need to fix that. Maybe I can still work there. Somehow. Like swear an oath, and if I break it, Caelan can come for me or whatever.”
I paused, then snorted. “I mean, who would I even tell? Either they’re vampires themselves or they’d have me locked in a padded room.”
I giggled, picturing myself trying to explain vampire politics to our old neighbors. If you’ve ever lived in a small town, you’d double over too. No. Just no.
That’s when Alder interrupted me.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
“None of that will work.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“They don’t remember you, Victoria.”
I stared at him, the words not computing.
I blinked. “Wait—what do you mean they don’t remember me? I just came from there. Blaine dropped me off with Jackson himself, after I told Scarlett goodbye. And Chase’s family isn’t exactly small. Someone will help.”
“No. To them, you don’t exist. At least they do not know you exist. Neither does Gavin. Nobody has ever met you. Not even the Baroness. She won’t remember me either. None of them will. None of what happened actually happened to any of them. Only to us. There won’t be any records of us anywhere. We never lived at Montfort Court 3b.”
“Wha- … what?!” My eyes were huge, my mind blank.
Alder’s voice was steady, too steady. “To put it in a way you might better understand: I basically turned back time in a manner of speaking, in a very oversimplified term.”
I stared at him. “You what? Alder, quit playing! This is no longer funny. You are scaring me!”
“I am not joking. Nor trying to scare you. Everything has been erased. For everyone. The vampires. The mages. All the people we have met in the past two years. I rewound it all, so to speak. All except us.”
My stomach dropped. “But… my daughter.”
He hesitated. And in that silence, something bitter bloomed—an answer I already sensed, but hadn’t dared to name.
I stepped forward, voice rising. “Alder. My baby. What happened to her?”
“There was no Victoria and Gavin,” he said quietly. “So there was never a pregnancy. No birth. No baby.”
I felt the air leave my lungs. “What? WHAT?! What are you even saying? If this was all before I moved to Henfordshire, then—then none of it happened? That’s when I met you, Alder. That’s when everything started. Two years … lost?”
I was pacing now, frantic. “That means Gavin’s still married to Bianca. And Scarlett—she was my best friend! You’re telling me she doesn’t remember me?”
I grabbed the edge of the counter, trying to steady myself. “I wrote so much. All those tomes to record things in, all those scrolls at the castle—I documented everything. Someone will find them. They’ll read them. They’ll remember me. Can vampires even have their minds erased like that?”
“Victoria, I didn’t erase time, I practically rewound it, and yes, that affects every living thing and even the undead. To every flower, every tree, every rabbit on a meadow, every person and every vampire none of that ever happened. You saw Leeora, you know how powerful she is. She didn’t remember you. There are no traces for anyone to find as it never happened in their reality. Only ours. And we have no proof. It may well have been a dream. A premonition.”
“I have proof! At the castle. My baby’s birth certificate, all the doctor files, the hospital bills … clothing … I mean, a doctor can look at me and know I have given birth before. Since time stood still for us. Right?”
“No,” Alder said, quiet but firm. “There isn’t any evidence. Not in the castle. Not in the records. Not even on you. Because none of it ever happened. Nothing outside these walls remembers. It’s two years ago—just before you moved to Henfordshire. You’ve only just left Oasis Springs.”
I staggered backward, heart pounding. “You’re telling me my baby is gone?”
He met my eyes. “Not gone,” he said. “She never existed.”
I screamed. I didn’t care how loud. “NO! No, no no no no! NO! Alder, no! She was real! She was mine! I held her! I named her! She had Gavin’s eyes and hair and she smiled when I sang to her—how could you?! You can’t do that to a mother!”
“You can be a mother again! We can be parents, together. How it should have been. My biggest regret was that I played my part so well, I believed it. I wanted it. I wanted her to be mine. Had I had the control and skill I do now, had I known then how powerful I could be as Gwydion taught me, I would have never ended that. I would have killed those mages forcing me,” Alder said, voice cracking. “I remember everything. And I swear to you, I didn’t do it to hurt you. But Gwydion met his love in a rather unconventional way and they are so much in love. She forgave him, they have children, a family. She loves him so. That is what I want for us.”
I was shaking. “You erased my child and speak of love?!”
“I erased the world that made her. I kept you safe. I kept our bond. But she was too new. She unraveled in the reset. You can have a child again. You retained your youth, I wasn’t certain that would happen or if my blood would fully reset you, but all it did was keep you as you were, just without the vampiric spark. It’s perfect. It’s a sign. It was meant to be. WE are meant to be!”
I collapsed onto the couch, sobbing, clawing at my chest like I could rip the grief out.
“She’s gone,” I whispered. “And no one knows. No one remembers. Not even her father. Oh my God, Gavin. We were going to live together, maybe get married, now he doesn’t know who I am?! Not Scarlett. I finally had a best friend! Not Cesare. Just echoes.”
“I remember,” Alder said. “And I won’t forget. Not ever.”
I looked up at him, eyes burning. “You had no right.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve let me die. Erased me too. I am so tired of my world crashing down on me, again and again, and me having to claw out of the rubble. This is cruel! Why did you not just kill me, Alder?!”
“Never.”
Silence.
“You and I, Victoria,” he said. “That was always how this story was supposed to end. Nay, not end, it’s a beginning. For both of us. Our renaissance. I can’t let you go again. Not ever. You saw me. All of me. And I saw you. That’s sacred. That’s ours. You saw all the terrible things I had done, yet you still kept coming back to make sure I was alright. You still cared. That is what it is all about. That is my purpose. You can love me again.”
The room spun.
I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
And then the world went black.
The Big Bang
I woke with a scream.
Not from pain. Not from a dream. From memory.
The room was dark. The air felt scorched, like magic had burned through the walls and left behind only silence. My body ached. My chest throbbed. My mind was a storm.
I remembered everything.
The reset. The erasure. The child who never existed.
I couldn’t breathe.
I searched for Alder. He wasn’t home. I felt restless. Stuck. Panicked. I felt shackled even though I wasn’t, I could barely breathe. I had to do something. I had Alder’s blood in me, some of his magic. So, ergo, maybe I could do what he did.
I tore through Alder’s shelves, desperate, frantic, searching for anything—any spell, any relic, any forbidden rite that could undo what he’d done.
I found it. A tome bound in black leather, etched with runes that shimmered like oil on water. The language was ancient. The warnings were clear. But grief made me reckless.
On the shelf with all the other big tomes. Somehow I just knew. I pulled the heavy book out, slammed it on the counter and it felt like it was alive and recoiling from the impact. I leafed through. I had already seen previously that apparently mages were adamant about titling their sections well.
Remembrana Ultima: Rite of the Unraveling Thread.
The warning was etched in red, like blood dried into the parchment. I read it. I ignored it.
I began the incantation.
The air thickened. The walls groaned. Magic surged through my veins like wildfire. I called on time, on memory, on blood and bone and the sacred bond between mother and child.
“I call her back!” I screamed. “I call her name! I call her soul!”
Alder burst into the room, eyes wide, robe flying behind him like a storm cloud.
“Victoria, STOP!”
I didn’t.
He lunged for me, grabbing my wrist, trying to wrench the book from my hands.
“You don’t know what you’re doing!” he shouted. “This magic—it’s unstable! It’s forbidden! And it doesn’t do what you think it will do!”
“I don’t care!” I screamed back. “You took her from me! You took everything! I am taking it back!”
The runes flared. The air cracked. The floor split beneath us.
Alder’s grip tightened. “Please—don’t do this!”
But it was too late.
The incantation finished.
The room exploded.
White light. Blinding. Consuming. Endless.
EchoesOfLegacy 