Page 35 of The Souls Harvest
I jump, and so does Alphonse Tydell, as his pink eyes widen and fall on me while the other teachers only clear their throats or hum in agreement.
“Thank you,” Roden continues with a quick bow. “Evelyn, please, an open heart is all I ask. July needed a bit more time; her mind was too agitated when I met her.”
“But we don’t have time—” Popplewish replies from behind me.
“Well, we’ll have to make it then… After all, you only brought her here last night. A sudden change of plans requires quick thinking.”
“What about safety?” Popplewish disputes.
“Do you think it would’ve been better to let her snoop around and ask questions of the wrong people? What I asked you to do was probably the only thing that saved the Chapter and July. Let’s not forget about your pretty protégé…”
Popplewish lets out a loud sigh of exasperation. “And I’m starting to regret it, Roden. She seems to fight harder every time her memory gets reset.”
I can’t ignore her fists clenching when she walks past me. Her dark blue velvet nightgown sweeps the floor, but everything around her remains silent, unmovable, as if her feet don’t even touch the ground.
Would she remember me?
My head spins slightly, but I know I must stay alert. I listen to their dialogue as if watching from behind a glass wall.
Roden observes Popplewish from behind his steaming cup of coffee, his icy, grey eyes narrow on her back as if searching for something she left unspoken. Then he takes a quick sip and says, “We can’t lethimescape again, and July is our only weapon at the moment. What would you like to do? Waiting, who knows for how many years, hoping we find someone else with her power? Unless you want me to—”
“As you wish,” Popplewish snaps at him, spinning towards me.
I’ve never seen her drop her guard like this. Defeated, she stares at me, the need to tell me something flashing behind her pastel eyes. But I’m soon left staring at her back again as she walks to the table and sits next to Lily Drestall, acknowledging her with a nod and half a smile.
Roden summons the attention hedeservesby tapping the top of his cane against the wooden edge of the table. “Good, now we can all sit comfortably, and—” he stops, focusing on the door, still open, behind me.
Theresa sways in, like a feather across the floor, as she glides up to me, holding an extra chair. When she puts the chair down, Roden snaps his fingers—and I collapse on it like a rag doll.
The flimsy veil that has covered my true sight up until now shreds, and I begin to connect each face in the room to a specific memory. Nikrah Skell’s intense blue eyes, with a little sunshine explosion in the centre, his lists of dates, and comparison of thevarious ages of Horigos to a giant pile of pancakes. Proja Dryb’He and his lessons on handling a still-pumping soul and placing it back in its new vessel without damaging it.
When I look at Popplewish, the image flashing in my mind almost stops my heart. For a split second, I’m in the back of her car, fearing for my life and doubting Galen—my best friend.
Would she remember…me
…some.
“No!” I take my head in my hands, terrified all my memories will fall through the cracks again. “I want to remember it all.”
Roden, unfazed as if I didn’t just shout in front of everyone, walks towards me, holding one hand up, “Breathe, July—”
I push my chair back, shaking my head, “Don’t come near me…Where is Galen?” I search around the room, hoping to see his face.
I stand up too abruptly, and my legs don’t respond when I try to run away. My eyes dart from face to face so quickly it hurts. I shut them tight, feeling a hand hovering over my shoulder like static electricity.
“July, calm down…” Popplewish’s voice is like a wake-up call from a nightmare.
I press my fists onto my eyes, and my ribcage inflates nearly to its breaking point. When I exhale, a needle pricks the bubble of emotions stuck in my belly and memories begin to bleed out.
Immaterial, hot blades slice through my chest when all the memories climb back out, digging their claws into my mind. Of me throwing up outside a restaurant and a car taking me somewherewhile I’m half-conscious. The screens, the voices—the light. It has to be real; I’m not imagining it because what I taste on my tongue is blood, not just the bitter flavour of lies.
“Quick, give her a tissue…” A quivering voice speaks from someplace far.
“She’s bleeding,” another voice adds, worried.
“It’s just a scratch, leave her alone…” Popplewish—Evelyn Popplewish. She’s trapped me in this never-ending nightmare.
“Galen…” I find my voice again.
