“How? How did you do that?” Goldie whispered.
Cosimo held out his hand again. “I will tell you, I promise. Just dance with me first.”
“Fine.” Goldie released the handles of the bag and stepped closer to the tall, handsome man in her garden. As she took his hand, she tipped up her chin, studying the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the proud set of his jaw. His eyes were enormous and his lashes thick. His lips pressed together when she threaded her fingers through his. At her waist, his other hand felt so natural. She didn’t have to think when they moved together. Her feet seemed to know how to follow him.
“I have déjà vu,” she admitted. “Or perhaps it’s muscle memory. We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”
Cosimo nodded curtly. “We have. A long, long time ago.”
“I remember.” Goldie sighed.
“You do?” Abruptly, Cosimo stopped moving, searching her eyes.
“I remember that time, but I do not remember you,” she admitted. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“I don’t want to talk about that just yet. They’re playing our song, Ondalune. Can’t we just dance?” He dipped his head and pressed his cheek to hers as the Cole Porter song “You Do Something to Me” wafted out the window. One of her all-time favorites.
“Mmm.” She made an agreeable sound. She didn’t feel like talking, either. She felt like remembering. Because even though her mind was drawing a blank where Cosimo was concerned, her body still knew him. Knew every lean line, every step, sway, and spin. When he twirled her around, and lowered her in a dip, they moved together so seamlessly, so effortlessly, it could only be because they knew the routine. It was a practiced ease.
Finally, the music ended. Cosimo was still holding her tight. Goldie shivered, and he pulled away.
“I’m sorry, I’m making you cold, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s not you.” Goldie shivered again and pulled his hands back to her waist. “Your touch is cold. Yet it warms me. Just another thing I cannot explain.”
“I’m cold because of my nature,” Cosimo said. “My heart no longer beats and my lifeblood doesn’t flow. I am a creature of darkness.”
“Nonsense,” Goldie argued. But she recalled his words from the beach the night before.If he told her what he was, she would only hate him.
She didn’t believe that was possible.
“You can tell me. I’m not going to hate you.” Goldie placed a hand on his cheek. He let it linger there for a moment before pulling away.
“Don’t be so sure,” he rumbled, baring his teeth. Moonlight glinted from his sharp canines. “I am not human, Goldie. I look like an ordinary man, but I am, in fact, something else entirely. Something cold-blooded and chilling.” Cosimo’s face reflected his disgust for himself. He broke away and paced the perimeter of her garden.
“As am I, no?” Goldie gestured to the film reels. “I saw it for myself. I felt it last night on the beach. I’m not allergic to the ocean, am I?” She held her breath as she waited for confirmation from him.
Cosimo stopped by the statue of the sea turtle and shook his head once more. “No, you are not allergic. That was just a fiction your mother constructed to keep you safe.”
“And your solar sensitivity?”
“Part of my curse. For the last four centuries, the sun has been my enemy. I cannot expose myself to it without sustaining painful damage. But it cannot destroy me. If only it could. My curse is that I must go on like this.”
His anguish was palpable. He stared at his own reflection in the fountain with horror and revulsion, finally groaning as he slammed the water with his fist to dispel the vision that so displeased him.
“Stop it.” Goldie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me why I cannot remember you with my mind, Cosimo.”
He spun around. “What do you mean,your mind?”
“Your touch is familiar. You don’t frighten me. I wanted to touch your hair from the first moment I met you. My body knows you, even if my memory cannot corroborate the evidence.” Goldie felt tears of frustration gathering. “Tell me why this is?”
Cosimo sighed heavily. “Your memories of me were erased. By me, Ondalune. I used my magic to steal them from you.” His gaze held a lifetime of longing and regret. It was the sort of raw emotion that one could never quite capture on film. His suffering collected around him, expanding and contracting like a ghostly being of breath and smoke. She recognized it for what it was. His humanity. He saw her watching him and sucked his emotions in. A second later, his face was an impassive mask. “We thought it was for the best.”
“And who is we?”
“Myself, your uncle…”
“My uncle Burnie?” Goldie thought of her uncle. Long gone, but not forgotten, like Cosimo. “I haven’t heard his name mentioned for almost a hundred years. He vanished after I madeThe Mermaid’s Whisper.”
