Page 23 of Queen of Ruin

I just can’t remember what.

After the microwave pings and I retrieve my meal, I make it back to bed, but the urge to go back to sleep has faded. Diego’s already done so much for me. I need to do something. I need to be proactive in working on who I am, what happened to me, and how to fix it.

I bite into the burger and wander Diego’s room, studying the various old school sports awards, his framed first dollar made, and a poster of an old werewolf movie. His laptop rests near the window, so I take it and return to the bed with it in my lap. Opening it, I locate the browser and after another bite of my burger, my fingers hover over the keys.

What do I search for?

I stare at the screen, hoping that the very act of searching will be enough to unlock something in my mind, but I’m wrong. Nothing comes. I stare at the search bar until my stomach gurgles for the rest of my food.

There must be something—wait!

Those rings.

Leaning over the side of the bed, I open the bottom drawer of Diego’s bedside cabinet where he stores my things and retrieve the two wedding rings from the stash. These are the only names I have, so they have to mean something.

“Ruslan,” I read out softly as I type. “And Ivy. Wedding in New York.”

Ivy is a popular name and countless weddings, past and future, pop up in a list. I click on every single one and only click off when I find the man's name.

David. Adam. Chris. Bert. Walter. Ignacio. Freddie. Barry. Welt.

No Ruslan.

“Who are you?” I murmur, spinning the rings around in my palm. There are no other identifying markers on the rings. They’re simple gold bands with swirling designs on the outside and engravings on the inside. My search for a wedding band with swirls yields so many rings that I get cross-eyed.

“Damn.” A deep sigh sends a twinge across my ribs, and I groan, straightening my back and rubbing at my breastbone. “Who are you, Ivy?”

Wait a second⁠—

That card. Diego found something else in my pockets, didn’t he? A credit card of some kind. Returning to the drawer, the sleek black card rests at the bottom where Diego placed it after deeming it useless.

It’s lightweight and thin, slightly bendable between my fingers, but Diego was right. There’s nothing on it. Just a strange, credit-card-sized piece of plastic. My lips press together as I turn it over, then I grasp the bottom and as I’m lifting it to the light to see if I can see through it, the face of it flickers.

“What the…?”

One side of the card blooms to life just above my thumb and gold words sweep across the screen.

The Suit.

Queen.

Valentina.

“Valentina?” I repeat.

Suddenly, pain shoots through my mind and an echo of countless, unrecognizable voices all burst to life, saying that name over and over. It’s yelled at me, screamed at me, delivered with laughter, and just as soon as it starts, it’s over.

“Valentina,” I say again, studying the strange card. “Is that my name?”

The screen goes blank as soon as I set the card aside and return to the laptop. “Valentina. The Suit.”

No results.

“Hmm…” My attention drifts from the card to the rings. “Valentina Wedding.”

No results.

“Valentina Ruslan wedding.”