SOPHIA

"What is it, monsoon season here?" complained Tilda as she looked at the bedroom window. The rain slashed against the glass, blurring the dark clouds and the darker sky. "It’s like the weather gods hate us."

"Or maybe the rain gods love us and that’s why the sky cries all the time." I added another log to the fire. "Tears of happiness."

Tilda pointed at the violent rain with lightning cracking the clouds and thunder roaring like wounded lions "This is angry rain, Sophia. Where the hell do you get your optimism? I’d like to buy some."

I chuckled as I sat in one of the wingback chairs positioned by the fireplace. I stretched out my legs and let my bare feet get warmed by the crackling fire. "You should stay the night. There’s no way I’m letting you go out in this nightmare storm."

"Well, we know that’s a bad idea, thanks to you and your carriage ride of death. You’re lucky you didn’t bite the big one."

"Bite the big one? What big one? Why would I bite it?"

"Sorry. That’s a phrase from where I used to live. It means death. Die. Dying. Biting the big one."

"Oh. Where did you live? It seems you have a lot of words and customs I’m not familiar with. Are you from the outer realms?"

"You could say that. It doesn’t matter anyway. Have you ever heard the saying you can never go home again?"

"No, not really."

"Well, that’s true for me. So, I’m stuck here."

"I’ll drink to that." I poured whiskey from the crystal decanter into a matching crystal tumbler. I sipped on it, and immediately choked on the alcoholic burn in my throat. "How does Jace drink this?" 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"It gets better the more you drink." Tilda plopped into the chair and poured herself two fingers of whiskey. "I think it’s because your throat goes numb. You should have a few more."

We clinked glasses and drank. I coughed again. I could feel the bright sting of the booze in my nose. "Ugh."

"Keep drinking, sister. Soon, you’ll get a warm, fuzzy feeling in your tummy."

"Did you say that the forest was haunted?"

"All forests are haunted. Which one are you talking about?"

"The one I literally rolled into after leaving the carriage."

"Oh, yes. That’s Jacknapes Woods. There’s a masked man who carries an ax and chop his victims into pieces. At least that’s what the lady at the tea shop said. Her cousin’s uncle’s grandfather---twice removed, I think---almost got his head chopped off."

"Cousin’s uncle’s grandfather." I lifted an eyebrow. "Really?"

She held up two fingers. "Twice removed. So you know it’s valid."

Since I’d lost my memory, I had no idea if the forest closest to Velvetleaf was rumored to be haunted. I would think stories about Jacknapes Woods would be something I grew up knowing. But right now, I had nothing but blank spots.

"I met a masked man," I said. "I think. My memory’s a little fuzzy, but he took me to a cabin. He saved me. He took care of me."

"Are you serious?"

"Oh, yes. Very. I woke up on a bed in the cabin. He was very nice, Tilda."

"You really don’t know how to tell a story." She leaned forward. "It was a dark and stormy night. The road was muddy. Wet. And the darkness clawed at you like an animal. Rawr. You fell. Tumbled. Nearly died. And when you woke up---" BAM! She hit the table and I yelped. She grinned. "Here’s the part where he either tried to kill you with the ax, or he kissed you stupid and won your heart."

"No axes. No kissing."

"Boring. Don’t tell that story to other people unless you plan to liven it up." She sipped her whiskey. "But you really did meet a masked man?"

"I think so. It all seems blurry. Like a dream. Maybe it was."

"Maybe he’s your true love, and you don’t know it. He whisked you away to his lonely forest cabin, enraptured by your beauty. He’s been watching and protecting you, and all he wants is for his fair maiden to be happy."

"You have a wild imagination, Tilda. You should write books."

"Oh, the irony." She shook her head. "Never mind all that, let’s drink until we’re drunk!"

***|***|***

SOPHIA

Too many drinks later, Tilda stood in front of the fireplace holding one of my hair pins. She was singing into it, some weird song, wailing at the top of her lungs, "Don’t you forget about me. Blah, blah, blah. Something, something. Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling down, down, doooooooown."

She lifted the hair pin in one hand, and said, "Yeah!"

I had learned that this was the moment I was supposed to clap for her. So, I did. She seemed pleased, and took a bow.

"What did you say this drinking and singing was called again?" I asked.

"Karoake. You know, I should open a KTV. I mean, it would be the same without light and bubbles and TVs and male models." Tilda paused. Blinked. "Wait. Wait. Waaaaaait. We could totally have male models. This book is filled with hot guys."

Tilda had mentioned this mysterious book several times, but whenever I wanted her to explain what she meant, she waved me off and changed the subject.

Tilda bent down and threw another log onto the fire. Then she handed me the hair pin. "Your turn. And don’t sing that depressing song about the kid buying shoes for his dead mom. Don’t you know anything upbeat?"

"Not really. I learned to dance, but singing has never been my strong suit. As you know."

"It’s karoake. Horrible singers is how we make money. Nobody expects you to be Adele. Now, go sing something happy!"

I plucked the hair pin out of her hands and stood by the side of the fireplace. I held it up the way Tilda had and opened my mouth.

CRAAAAACK!

BOOM!

The sound that came out of my mouth was a scream.

"What the hell was that?" yelled Tilda. "I’m too drunk to die!"