Page 70 of Kick the Candle (Knight Games 2)
"You wouldn't possibly know how to put the brakes on a memory would you?"
He shook his head. "I only know that the past can't hurt you. Not really."
"The past can totally hurt you. That's why people say 'don't live in the past.' People who suffer from PTSD are injured by their pasts on a regular basis."
Poe cleared his throat. "You won't physically die."
I rolled my eyes and gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up. "Thanks for the pep talk."
"Just trying to help." He sighed.
I turned back to the book, resting my hands on either side of the crease. In a loud and clear voice, I said, "Show me what happened to the Book of Flesh and Bone."
Light poured out of the pages, filling the attic, blinding me. When I could see again, I was in another world.
* * * * *
The smell of dried herbs and smoke filled my nostrils. I was nestled in a wooden chair, watching the fire crackle under a cooking caldron. As before, I was living my memory from the inside out, along for the ride as my former self took the wheel and drove me through the events of her past. I was in a cozy cottage. Daylight shone through a small window near the door and my stomach growled for the lunch warming in the pot.
There was a knock on the door. I made sure my lengthy black hair was braided and coiled neatly behind my head. With a surprisingly dark, russet-colored hand, I smoothed the fabric of my floor-length black skirt as I moved to answer it. I was covered in yards and yards of black material only broken by a wide lace collar.
Rick was on the other side of the door. Not the Rick I knew, but a softer, more innocent version. Human. He was dressed in the Puritan fashion, black suit, white collar. His dark hair fell in long waves to his shoulders.
"Good day, Enrique."
He smiled, and a blush colored his cheeks. Breath caught in his throat, his eyes flicked away bashfully. "Miss Lockhart, you must excuse me, as I find your beauty arresting and forget myself even as I try to speak."
"If thy speaketh truth, then come partake of it, as you have before." I gave him a sultry smile, leading him inside by the hand, and closing the door behind him.
Rick's voice broke when he answered me, "I pray a day will come when I can openly do so as your husband. But not today. I've come to warn you. Monk is convinced of your guilt and will not be undone. He comes now to take you to the stake."
I snickered. "Monk will not take me. The impertinent windbag hath not the strength."
"Please. I beg of you. Run. You must flee." Rick took my hands in his, tears flowing openly down his face. "You cannot ask me to watch you burn. Though the flames not touch my flesh, the fire would consume me, eternally."
"Do not worry thyself, Enrique. I shall plead my case, and Monk's wrath shall pass over me." All I had to do was look Monk squarely in the eye, and I could bend his thoughts to my will.
"Pass over you? When you have stew in your pot and still the hint of meat on your bones."
"I've kept stew in many pots." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "But even I have limits."
A gaunt cheek pressed against mine, and I could feel his bones under the thin blanket of his skin. He was starving. All of them were starving. And I had a pot of stew. "Would you share my lunch with me?"
"No, no, listen to me. It is different this time, my love. The entire town, aside from me, is chanting for your blood. Please take my words into your bosom and flee. There is a place in the woods to the north. If you leave now, you can make it before dark. The whole town is coming."
"Chanting? The town is chanting?"
"Monk has a book. They are chanting a prayer to weaken you because they say you are a witch."
Pulling back, I peered at him shrewdly. "You're sure?"
He nodded, his eyes pleading with me. "Listen. You can hear them coming."
He spoke the truth. The sounds of a crowd in the distance were already audible and the first pangs of fear rocked through me. "Enrique, we are betrothed, yes?"
"Yes."
"And you intend to give yourself to me, body and soul?"
