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We’re both looking at the mess on his torso that spreads from his stomach up to his pecs. Cuts, bruises, burns.
“I can’t… remember,” he breathes, and his face looks very pale, making the bruises under his eyes darker.
I feel cold all over. Most of my scars have faded with the years—though the burn scars on my back remain along with the scars from the whip—but... “This is recent. Did someone here at the Academy do this to you?”
“I said I don’t fucking know.” He pulls down his shirt savagely and pushes himself to his feet, his gaze down. “My head hurts when I try to remember. My magic goes haywire. It’s not possible not to remember… what I did today, this morning, yesterday… What day it is. Did we have the family visit?”
I shake my head. “No idea.” I can still feel his lips on mine, his taste. It’s fucking with my head.
“Moon phase, then? When is the next full moon?”
“I don’t know. But I know that tomorrow it’s the Scale-ball match. Don’t ask why I know it.”
“We remember a few things,” he says, turning back toward me, his eyes haunted. “A few safe things. Like the lunch. And I remember I had an art assignment with a classmate. A girl, I think.”
“Maybe the girl in the drawing?”
“Maybe. If I take it with me to class, I’ll find her.”
“What for?” I ask.
“To ask if we met for the assignment. I’m swimming in the open sea. Can’t see the shore. It’s messing me up. How can we find out what’s going on if we don’t know where to start or where we’re heading?”
He looks beautiful in his frustration and pain, and an image flashes through my head of him and a dark-haired girl, laughing together. My headache spikes and I rub at my temples. “Then do that. I don’t know where to start.”
The door opens again and I turn, though the two guys standing there are familiar, too. Emrys and Ashton, looking pale and worried.
“Guys,” Ashton says, leaning against the doorjamb. “We can’t remember stuff. We tried to figure it out but we’re coming up empty.”
“Except for the memory of a girl,” Emrys says. “Dark hair, dark eyes. Ring any bells?”
“Who is she? I think she was with us today,” Ashton says.
“I remember something like that,” I mutter.
“Maybe it’s the girl I drew,” Sindri says. “I thought her name was—”
“Ophelia.” A girl walks through my door—which I really should close and double-lock to stop more people from coming in—and poses with a hand on her hip. In a long red dress and high heels, her dark hair loose, she does remind me of something. “That would be me. Ophelia is the name you’re looking for. Miss me, boys?”
We all stare at her.
“What’s the occasion?” she goes on. “Having a reunion without me?”
“Ophelia,” I say. “We’re… in class together?”
“Guess the memory loss went a step too far. Oh well.” She sighs. “I’ll fix it.”
I glare at her. “You know about the memory loss? You—”
“Be quiet.” She snaps her fingers and my mouth flaps without words, my head emptying. “Sit.”
I sit down on the bed. “Ophelia,” I whisper.
“Yes, pet. I said I’ll fix this. Who knew that prying Mia out of your brains would muddle you up so much? That girl keeps messing up my plans.” She sighs, flicks a hand. “Zoey, get in here.”
Zoey?
More people troop into my room—but this time I have no judgment about it. I watch without interest as a group of girls walk inside, a blond girl leading them.
