Rebirth (Lost Souls #1)

Chapter 3

S itting in silence is the only moment that I dare admit to myself how frustrated I am. It’s been days? Weeks? Months? I’m unable to tell. The only thing that I really know at this point is that I’m being held against my will and terrified out of my mind by things that I can’t see. To top it off, I was almost murdered by someone that is clearly unstable.

At the same time, I also have to admit that I’m surprisingly able to hang on to my own sanity despite not knowing what is going to happen to me. It’s not as if my life was perfect before this. I was nothing but a disappointment, trying to make amends for something that wasn’t my fault to begin with.

My eyes wander to the finger that once held my wedding ring. I conclude that what I’ve truly come to feel is anger. Anger toward Henry, for all that has happened between us. For all the blame that he put on me. How I wanted to make it up to him even though I knew deep down that it would never be enough. He must have known too, for his amber-brown eyes were so cold every time he looked at me. It’s why he kept me inside as much as possible, tucked away. The wife he was so embarrassed of but had to keep around for appearances.

If I ever do get out of here, if I ever see him again... I don’t know what I will do. Part of me misses him, but perhaps what I miss most is what we used to have, once upon a time.

No, I need to find a way to get my memories back, to learn what happened after I left home that night.

With a sigh, I pull myself up from my spot under one of the many trees in the garden. The silence around me juxtaposes the loudness of my thoughts, so I take a walk in an attempt to quiet my mind. My wandering feet take me to the tall wooden library doors. My hand touches the wood and I hesitate, unsure whether it’s okay for me to enter. Then again, I wasn’t told that the library is off limits.

It looks like I’ll finally be able to enter for the first time since I woke up here. It makes me giddy inside, like a little girl getting a present. With a deep breath, I push the door open and take a moment to look around from the safety of the doorway. Nobody comes to stop me, so I slip inside and close the door behind me.

The library is like a maze of tall wooden bookcases, intersected by stone pillars. The shelves are stacked with more books than I could ever hope to read. The sight of them is enough to make my heart feel full. I’ve always been grateful to my parents for allowing me to learn how to read and write. It gave me the opportunity to get lost in all kinds of novels when reality failed to meet my most basic expectations.

Tracing my fingers over the spines of the books, though, I notice that my teachings mean very little here. Most of the books carry words and symbols that I can’t read, let alone understand.

My eyes linger on the many candles propped up on the shelves between the books. They are the only source of light between the many rows of wood and paper. The flicker of the burning wick is soothing in a way that only a burning candle can soothe. At the same time, it’s a fire hazard unlike any I’ve ever seen. It’s almost difficult to believe that someone would be this careless. My finger goes to one of the flames and even though it’s hot, it doesn’t burn me. I frown at this, but then again, it’s not the most peculiar thing I’ve come across here.

Together with the flickering flames, the books entrance me as I walk by them. Thick, thin, bound in paper, in leather, printed, handwritten, simple, intricately decorated, old, new. They seem to whisper to me when I pass, trying to seduce me to pick them up and read them. I find myself stopping from time to time, gently caressing a spine, almost taking the book from the shelf and opening it. Until something inside of me warns me and my hand drops back to my side.

After a while, I find my way to the heart of the library. It’s a large and open two-story space, finished off by a high gothic pointed arch that seems to be the defining style of this place. The walls are covered with more bookcases and books, from floor to ceiling, all the way up and so very far out of reach. On the left is an enormous stone fireplace, the mantle and sides decorated with beautiful, richly decorated swirling patterns. A fire soundlessly roars inside the hearth. Sofas, armchairs, and a few small tables in dark brown and red fill the space. On the right side are a couple of writing desks, fully equipped with stacks of paper and writing utensils. Again, candles are used to provide light in the darkness.

Among the whispering, there is one voice that transcends the others. Unsure of myself, I follow the whispers to a bookcase furthest away from the fireplace, shrouded in just a tad more darkness than the others. My fingers touch one of the spines and something… changes.

For a moment, my heart seems to miss a beat. My breath leaves me, a jolt of energy going through my body, and then there is a click. Soft, ice-blue sparks shoot up from where the tips of my fingers touch the book.

Whatever causes it, the blue sparks—the energy—engulfs the tips of my fingers and vanishes under my skin. I turn my hand over and see a stream of the same blue course through me. I feel it and, strangely, it doesn’t scare me. It almost feels right—like a part of me that I didn’t know was missing has finally returned to me.

I feel complete.

“What does this mean?” My voice is nothing more than a whisper.

There is a rustling behind me, and I turn to see Sophia step from behind a bookcase on the other side of the open space. “It means that we truly are so much more than women,” she says with a knowing smile on her lips.

“This is what you meant by that?” She nods, still smiling. “What is it?”

“Magic.” Sophia closes her eyes, takes a breath, and orange-red energy starts to crawl up and down her hands and arms. With a flick of her fingers, it forms red symbols and patterns.

“How is this possible?” I’m not normally one to believe in something like magic, but seeing it changes everything.

“It is a gift from him. A part of his magic that he gives to us upon our arrival here. To shape, mold, and use as our own. Because even though he planted the seed, it is very much ours.”

I gawk at her, at the energy—the magic—that clearly flows through her. It looks like it’s as much a part of her as her own limbs are, making her skin shimmer. It’s beautiful.

“Why me?” It feels like a stupid question, and it slips from me before I’m able stop myself. But I’ve been wondering about it since I first opened my eyes here.

Sophia shrugs as her magic vanishes back inside of her. There is a reflection of it in the jewel of her necklace. It’s the same color as her magic, almost glowing under the light of the many candles and the fireplace. “I have accepted that I will never know why or how he chooses any of us.”

“If magic is real, truly real, then why here? Why now?” Uncertainty fills my voice, and I try to keep a neutral expression.

“I think that we have an aptitude for it. Otherwise, our bodies would not be able to adapt to it or, in turn, change it to be a part of ourselves. This place”—she gestures around her—“enhances it, makes it easier for us to do so. Or, at least, that is what I have learned from being here, for I have no magical experience outside of this place.”

I have so many questions, infinitely more than I already had. Under different circumstances, I would be a lot more skeptical about all of this. But this whole situation is so surreal and messed up... and I did feel something surge through me—my magic.

I blurt out the words before I fully realize what it is that I’m asking. “Will you teach me?”

Sophia looks at me with big eyes, baffled. Then, the corners of her lips tip up in a smile. “I will.”

Her smile vanishes again as soon as it appears when we hear the library doors open. Sophia’s demeanor changes upon hearing the soft rustling of wings. Footsteps approach us through the maze of bookcases, and then he emerges in front of us.

Sophia casts her eyes to the ground, curtsies, and shuffles a few steps back. He steps out of the shadows and, when the light of the fire hits his face, I’m filled with an undiluted feeling of dread. He’s tall and lean, the muscles visible under his clothes. His skin is the color of warm honey, and his mid-length hair is black with long fringes on the right side that partially covers his eye. Both of them are trained on me, the yellow irises bright despite the shadows that still surround him. His clothes match perfectly with his skin tone—an expensive-looking, tailored black three-piece suit and black leather shoes. He looks so out of place, yet oddly like he belongs here.

He’s gorgeous and deadly, and every part of me tells me to run as fast and as far as possible. Just like when I first woke up here. But there is also that hum, like a nudge or a pull, now undeniably connecting me to him. It tells me he holds all the answers, if only I dare ask the questions. It urges me toward him, to take that first step into a different kind of unknown.

He looks me up and down as if he’s assessing. There is a specific kind of hunger in his eyes, a hunger that makes my stomach drop. I bite my lip and take a careful step away from him. The look he gives me is unsettling; it makes me feel like prey, as if I’m nothing more than a little mouse in front of a deadly snake, trembling and trapped in his gaze, entranced by those yellow eyes. At the same time, there is something about him—something that I can’t place. It’s as if I’ve met him before, a long, long time ago. There is more to this memory that scratches at the surface but refuses to manifest itself.

So many half memories, fragments that linger in my head.

I snap myself out of it just in time to notice him throw a quick glance past me at Sophia. Then he procures a sealed letter from a pocket inside his jacket and hands it to me, a wicked smile on his lips. My hands tremble when I accept it. The paper is thick and rough to the touch, the wax seal catching the light from the fire.

There is a frown on my face when I look back up and see him disappear between the bookcases. A moment later, the doors open and close in the distance.

Tension leaves me, and my eyes wander back to the letter in my hand. A hand that still shakes when I break the seal and fold the paper open. On it is a single word.

Aeliana.

My new name. I whisper it to myself and, even though it’s not a bad name, it feels weird. It’s weird to be kidnapped, imprisoned, and given a new name by your captor. As if my real name isn’t good enough, even though I don’t actually remember it.

Then again, I suppose this is my real name now.

I look back at the paper, my feet walking me to the fireplace. My hands are surprisingly steady when I shred it to pieces. I throw them in the fire and watch them burn, the flames greedily accepting my offering. Being given a name like this definitely makes me feel like a pet, and I don’t like it.

“You have been given a name,” Sophia says as I turn back to her. Her hands are clasped in front of her chest, and she seems happy, albeit slightly insincere.

“He names us,” I say, stating the obvious, “but does he share his name with us?”

She shakes her head, and I find myself unsurprised by this. “A name holds power, a power that we are not to have over him.”

I snort at this, shaking my head. “Fine,” I say, ready to move on. “When would you be able to start teaching me?”

“Right now, if you would like.”

I nod, and Sophia gestures for me to take a seat on the sofa, where she joins me. I feel watched for a moment and throw a look over my shoulder. My eyes glide through the room, searching for something… or someone.

Sophia starts to speak and, with a shake of my head, I turn my attention to her. “Magic is not all that difficult. You just need to practice.”

She stretches her arms and energy flows through them, emerging from the tips of her fingers as she moves her hands. She shapes the energy into a ball that she lets float above the palm of her hand. It crackles with power and seems to hum slightly, the sound and sight equally mesmerizing.

“The most important part is to learn to control it, to bend it to your will. Once you can do that, it is possible to further manipulate the magical energy with spells.”

Sophia says something that I don’t understand, the words soft and almost lyrical. The ball of magic stretches out into a flat, open circle. The inside of it holds a series of intricate figures and symbols that twist and turn into each other .

“The circle shapes the magic, directing it to the intended purpose as indicated by the words of the spell,” she explains.

The orange-red color of her magic reminds me of the crackling fire next to us, with small sparks springing away from it. Flames alive with light, heat, and magic.

“The color of your magic is personal. It reflects back to the last moments of your previous life.”

Her eyes are distant as she watches the circle of energy between us. I want to ask her what her color represents, but it feels too much like an intrusion.

Sophia closes her hand, and the circle vanishes. She then nods at me, and I hold out my hand, following her example. “Concentrate on the energy within you. Feel its flow, its movement, the way that it fills you up.”

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and try to ban every thought from my mind. It’s not an easy thing to do when I’m skeptical, despite seeing it with my own eyes.

There is so much clutter in my mind that it takes me forever to clear it all away. Just when I think that I’ve got it all sorted out, he pops into my mind with that wicked smile of his. Remembering the way that he looked at me fills me with unease and has me heating up at the same time, my cheeks turning bright red.

I grumble something under my breath, and Sophia chuckles next to me. With another deep inhale, I finally manage to push all thoughts away and really concentrate. Time slowly starts to tick away, and nothing happens. With every passing minute, I start to feel more and more like an idiot, sitting there with my hands sitting palms up in my lap.

Every second that nothing happens, the frustration grows and swiftly eliminates my concentration. It was foolish of me to assume that having an affinity means that this whole magic thing was going to come naturally. It’s not, and it only catapults my mind to the many disappointments that have made up my life.

Frustration guides my thoughts to Henry. How everything between us changed because things hadn’t gone how he had planned them. That day—I almost died that day. That day changed everything between us.

My mind spirals, and I can’t stop it. One bad memory brings forth another and another. Negative feelings coated in darkness rapidly take me over. I struggle to breathe; my chest constricts painfully as it envelops me. It swallows me whole. My body starts to tingle all over, almost starts to burn. It’s as if my emotions are seeping right out of me.

Sophia whispers my name, that strange and unfamiliar name. Her voice only barely reaches me in the dark. It’s a struggle to open my eyes. When I finally manage to, I see a small ball of ice-blue energy floating in the previously empty palm of my hand. It’s tiny and barely holds its form, but it’s there.

Sophia smiles at me, and her hand touches my leg. The touch startles me, and the ball evaporates into thin air.

“It takes a while, but eventually it will come naturally,” she says.

I look at her, unsure about the way that I was able to conjure my magic. Surely, I’m not supposed to go through all that emotional trauma every time?

“Can I ask,” I start, then hesitate for a brief moment before continuing, “what’s the point?”

“For starters”—Sophia smiles—“it will give you something to do. But most of all, it might help you get the closure you need.”

“Is that what it does for you? Give you closure?”

“It did, though I imagine my kind of closure to be far different from the kind that you are after.”

“Will it help me get my memories back?” My breath hitches and I’m unable to keep a sliver of hope out of my voice. “Can I use magic to get out of here?” I look at Sophia, almost desperately searching for an answer in her eyes, the need to know the truth.

She giggles, my hopefulness bringing her some kind of joy, despite the underlying tone of desperation. “Your memories will come back, with or without magic. It might, however, help you with that second one. In some form or another. If he allows it.”

Her answer is vague, and I don’t know what to think of it. I frown at Sophia, already starting to wonder if everything is going to depend on him.

“Give it plenty of practice and you will get better in no time.” Sophia smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

I wonder what she isn’t telling me, and remember Isra warning me away from her. Sophia looks like she has made peace with being here, but perhaps that’s because she has her own agenda. Or perhaps she’s only following his . Perhaps doing this, learning magic, is exactly what he wants me to do. It leaves me to wonder if it will truly give me what I want it to.

The fire pops behind us, snapping us out of our thoughts, and we both become aware of Sophia’s hand still resting on my leg. We simultaneously blush and she quickly pulls her hand away.

Sophia lets out a little cough and gets up, embarrassment clear on her face.

“Practice,” she repeats.

I nod in reply, and she leaves, almost in a hurry.

My eyes dart from the spot on my leg where she touched me to my hands where just moments ago, I had managed to conjure some kind of magic.

T aking Sophia’s advice to heart, I spend all of my time practicing. It’s not as if I have anything else to do, anywhere else to be…

Unable to just sit in the library, I switch between there and my favorite spot in the garden. Sitting in the grass under that one specific tree, my hand out in front of me and my eyes closed, I concentrate on bringing forth my magic. I don’t enjoy going to that place in my head, but for now I’ve found it to be the only way to accomplish anything. It’s frustrating and, even though it works, it’s also demotivating. It makes me spend too much time thinking about things that I don’t want to think about.

He’s probably glad to be rid of me.

Tears sting my eyes and I shake my head, desperate to not go through this again. I wonder if it’s worth it to maybe be able to do some magic? In the end, what good is it if I can’t get out of here?

No, Sophia told me that it might be possible, even if it depends on him. Which means this might not be permanent. I might be able to go home. But it also means that I have to keep going. That I have to keep returning to a past that I want to forget.

Tears start to fall, and I bury my head in my hands, trying to hold them back. Despite my efforts, the sobs break through, however faintly, and my body convulses. Perhaps it would have been better if I had died that day. Together with our little one, a life that ended before it ever had the chance to begin. Life afterward certainly hadn’t been worth living. Right now, I don’t even know what to think about what my life is supposed to be.

A twig snaps behind me and my head rears up, startled. Sophia emerges from behind the trees, and she makes an exasperated sound upon seeing me. She’s as startled as I am, her eyes at least equally as big. She holds an open book in her hands, clearly as distracted as I was.

Her eyes roam over me, and I remember that I was crying. Again. My cheeks heat in embarrassment, and I quickly wipe them dry on the sleeve of my dress, hoping that she doesn’t see how red and puffy my eyes are.

“Are you okay?” Sophia crouches down next to me.

Is she genuinely worried about me? When I shrug in reply, she sits down properly, the book closed in her lap. Sophia takes me in from the corner of her eye but says nothing. We sit like that for a while, which is more of a comfort than I’d like to admit.

I take a deep breath and decide to indulge her. “Ever since I first woke up here,” I start, my knees pulled up against my chest and my chin resting on top of them, “I’ve been wondering if my husband, Henry, is looking for me.” A cold laugh escapes me at the admission because I already know the answer.

“You were married?” She states her question in the past tense, and I guess there is no reason to deny the truth in it. Staring out in front of me, I don’t reply. “Were the two of you happy?”

“We used to be. Until that day.”

Silence falls between us, stretching on for a few minutes.

“I should have died that day. He resents me because I didn’t, because I wasn’t the one that died.” Sophia looks at me, her eyes full of understanding. “He’s been treating me like shit ever since. And yet”—my voice catches—“I worry about him. I want to return to him.”

“You loved him,” Sophia notes, stroking a strand of hair out of my face. “It is only natural that you want to return to the one you loved.”

Loved . “But I shouldn’t want to. For years, I’ve been living with the fear that he might kill me as punishment for still being alive.”

“What…” Sophia hesitates for a moment, uncertainty filling her features. “What if I told you that there is a way for you to see him again?”

Her voice turns to a whisper, and I quickly catch on to the fact that she is not supposed to tell me this. Her admission makes me feel uneasy, but at the same time I need to know if it’s possible .

“How?”

“You can accomplish almost anything with the correct spell. I can help you, but you have to be the one to do the actual casting. That I cannot do for you. Is that acceptable?”

I nod, and she seems relieved. So am I, finally having at least somewhat of a grasp on what I could hope to accomplish by honing my magical abilities.

“You will need to be in control of your magic first and”—she glances around us as if to make sure that we are alone—“he cannot find out about this. There will be consequences, for the both of us, if he does.”

I nod again, firmer this time. It’s stupid, but I also know that I need to do this. I need some kind of closure. Having no memories of what happened between leaving home and waking up here makes me desperate. I need to know. Things had been escalating for a while. Part of me dreads finding out that perhaps he did make true on his unspoken threats.

“Help me to see him again, please.”

It’s Sophia’s turn to nod. “But first, you must practice. I will come and find you when I think you are ready.”

She gives my hand a soft squeeze, then gets up. Adjusting the skirt of her dress, she looks around once more, the paranoia clear on her face. With a final smile down at me, she leaves me to practice.