“Surprised that I’m here, surprised that I can taste and touch—what kind of girls are you normally bringing home that can’t do those things?” I petted the same cat as an excuse to get closer to her.
She huffed a small laugh. “You can hardly say I picked you up. More like you followed me home.”
“Youinvitedme home.”
“I attract stray things.”
Fuck me—she was hot. I didn’t want to leave. “Well, being that I have not regained my memory… Would you be willing to house me for a while as I recover? I’m very handy. I can fix anything, feed animals, clean, cook, meow at you, whatever you need.”
With a smirk, she replied, “I’m sure I can find use for you, Shiloh.” The fluffy silver cat mewed as she swooped it into her arms, four kittens bouncing between her ankles.
Oh, god. Yes, use me, use me, use me.
Lunette disappeared, and I resisted the urge to follow after her like a stray puppy. She liked cats, right? Right. She had a million of them. So, instead of being the golden retriever I was, I’d make like a feline and fuck off and find something to do. Only, there wasn’t a lot to do, so I explored the old but immaculately kept manor. The beige furnishings were dusted, the candlesticks filled in lanterns, though there was working electricity, it seemed Miss Selene preferred fire as a means of light. So did I. The fireplaces were well maintained and the gutters empty. The only explanation was that she already had maids and a groundskeeper, though my entire day perusing came up short on any staff. Also, she’d promised me a tour and didn’t give me one. Rude.
There was no way she was doing everything, all the upkeep, all on her own—especially not when I was tripping over a different cat every five minutes. Cats lounged on tables and windowpanes, cats scurried after each other down carpet runways, cats spread out in groups of six in sunlit patches of grass in the extensive gardens outside.
My most nosy observation was a portrait of a man that lined several halls. He was a distinguished-looking guy, with a thick handlebar mustache that curled at the ends and slicked back brown hair. That must behim, I thought to myself. The dead fiancé. Mr. Mustache didn’t look like anyone special. He looked like any other rich dude. He looked like he didn’t tip waiters. He looked like someone who thought a single lemon was thirty dollars. But, I guess, Lunette had liked him enough to marryhim, though he hardly looked like he deserved her. Then again, men never appealed to me. Women were much better, more beautiful, smarter and better at conversation and relationships. Had Lunette ever been with a woman before? Was this man the first to have her in bed? The thought alone had me agitated. I felt an ownership over a woman I’d just met. I’d like to say I was never like that, so possessive and covetous, but really, I had no idea. When my memory returned, I may very well have found out I was a raging dick bag.
Hollows Grove was a creepy, muddy sort of place. Orange and black. Odd and strange. Then here, up on the hill, was a mansion of white with a woman in white and her hoard of felines. At least she fit the odd and strange description. I’d found her chanting at a grave… I wondered what had happened to him. She must have truly loved him to visit his resting place so often. As the sun set, I figured I’d go tend to the only thing I remembered about my life—the graveyard.
In my walk through town, passed by the thumping club, the giant pumpkin in the square, and normies and magic folk alike. How had I never met Lunette before? Where the hell did my memory go? It was possible I fell and hit my head while digging a plot or tending to the ghosts. It was on my way, and the door to the clinic was open, so I stopped by Doctor Jekal’s pharmacy. Hey, I remembered something. It seemed Hollows Grove helped jog my memory, if even in a basic sense, and the good ol’ doc was the first person I could recall. Maybe I was getting better on my own.
Dr. Jekal was a peculiar fellow with grey hair that stuck out in untamed patterns. Oh, and he always smelled like butterscotch candies and menthol. Dr. Jekal also embalmed a lot of dead people. I worked with dead people and their ghosts, so I reckonthat’s why I remembered the guy. His wrinkled hands were tinkering with a bottle of pills when I walked in. His eyes widened when he saw me, and he took off his round glasses, hastily cleaning them and positioning them back on his nose before addressing me. “Shiloh? Shiloh Solair?”
“Hey doc. Have a moment to check me out? I think I might have a concussion or something.” I inspected an amber bottle of bubbling liquid on a shelf of multicolored medicines and containers of herbs. When he didn’t speak, only stared at me with a bewildered expression, I asked, “Bad time?”
Dr. Jekal cleared his throat. “No, not at all. Please, join me in the exam room.”
The old man ushered me into a dark room and instructed me to sit on a metal table. The one singular lightbulb hanging from the ceiling accentuated the line of creepy ass medical instruments on the stand across from me. Without warning, Dr. Jekal thumbed my eyelid and clicked a flashlight to life. My flinch was involuntary as he repeated the process with the other eye. He muttered to himself, slurring so I couldn’t understand. All I could make out was, “Dilation of the pupil, materialized skin and bone.”
Awesome. Not creepy at all.
“Whatcha’ think, Doc?” I asked, just to get him to break the eerie silence. He grabbed a pointed metal tool and whacked my knee. “Ouch!” I yelped.
The doctor took a step back and raised his palms, still clutching the instrument with his thumb. “My-my apologies. I’ve just—I’ve never seen such a marvel.” He took a step closer, aiming the pointed object toward my eye. “Perhaps you wouldallow me a few more experiments?” The doctor pulled a small vial of bubbling blue liquid from his white lab coat. “Here, take this, and you won’t feel a thing.”
Oh, hell no.
Before I could protest, the old man shoved me back on the table. I evaded the vial of liquid, but the doc was fast. Quicker and with more strength than his feeble frame portrayed, Dr. Jekal strapped my arms down with worn leather belts. How many people had been tied to this table before me and what sort of fuckery had befallen them? I didn’t want to know. As strong as I was, I wasn’t about to punch an elderly person, and there was no fighting my leather restraints. Dr. Jekal was clearly taking his job way too far with this one, but I didn’t want to hurt the guy. He was my friend—at least I thought so. Well, I didn’t exactly remember. He was vaguely familiar, at least.
Reasoning with him was my best bet, and I’d better talk reason quickly because he was muttering to himself over his scary instruments: a rusty pair of scissors, more pokers, and a couple knifes. “Hey, man. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m really not keen to be butchered up like some science experiment. How about you let me go and?—“
He stood over my head with a pointy metal probe and opened my eye wide. He’d switched glasses to what looked like magnifying glasses, widening his stare to an unnatural level. “You shouldn’t be here, Shiloh. I must find out how and why. The mechanics of your existence are fascinating. Now, hold still, you’ll feel some pressure?—“
The metal tool moved closer to my eye, and I braced for something horrible. That’s what I get for wandering into some wacko’s den of horrors. The cool of the instrument just touchedmy eye when a loud banging vibrated from the front of the shop. The doctor paused, glancing up at the door. “Maybe an experiment gone bad?” he mused as to the source of the noise. After a beat, he almost resumed, when the banging continued, now louder.
“Jekal!” a woman’s voice yelled. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
The doctor’s hand trembled, and he dropped his tools. They clanked to the ground just as the door swung open. The singular lightbulb swayed above me and pulsed as if reacting to the power that caused the old man to shake like a twig. My neck ached as I strained to behold my savior. The woman’s nimble fingers slipped in between the bindings around my ankles and unhooked me before moving to my wrists. “You should know better,” she scolded. “Memory loss or not.”
Standing above me, brows furrowed and lips tense, was my Lunette, her white hair brushing against me. The doctor mumbled his words, “White Witch, oh, White Witch, forgive me. I did not know she belonged to you. A marvel, a masterpiece, truly, you attract only the most exquisite. You see, I am a man of science, and Shiloh came and found me of their own volition.”
My reply died on my tongue as Lunette freed me and gripped my bicep, helping me sit up before pointing an accusatory finger at the doctor. “White.”
Rubbing my wrists, I cocked my head at her in confusion, but the doctor seemed to understand as he dropped to his knees, pleading, “Please, please, have mercy. I hardly believe this tiny misunderstanding warrants a curse.”
“You’re cursing him? Damn, you really are a witch, huh?” I asked in proud surprise. It made sense. I should have realized it sooner.
