Torn Ivy (Thornfield Supernatural Academy #2)

35. Ivy

35

IVY

Time.

Is that even a word anymore?

Do I even still exist?

Where am I?

Who am I?

I am nobody and everybody. Maybe I am even time itself.

Are these even my thoughts?

I am...

I am...

Sensations flood back, overwhelming and chaotic. Pain lances through every cell, every atom of my being, as reality reasserts itself. I gasp, choking on air that is too thick, too real, after an eternity of formless existence.

My eyes fly open, taking in a swirling vortex of colours and shapes above me that slowly intermingle into recognisable forms. The night sky, stars, the full moon.

“Ivy?”

It’s a soft feminine voice that I think I should recognise. I try to turn my head, but my neck screams with protest. I slam my eyes closed as nausea overwhelms me. Turning on my side, I throw up, not even bothering to lift my head. I can’t. It feels like it is filled with lead.

A cool hand passes over my forehead and gathers up my hair, the other lifts me slightly so that I don’t choke on my vomit. Tears sting my eyes, and the bile burns my nose and throat.

I blink my eyes open, trying to focus.

Where am I?

Who am I?

Who is this person next to me?

“Easy,” the woman says softly. “You’re okay. You’re back.”

Back? Back from where?

My mind feels foggy, memories just out of reach. I try to speak but only manage a raspy croak.

“Water,” I finally gasp out.

The woman helps me sit up slowly, my body protesting every movement. She holds a bottle to my lips, and I drink greedily, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat.

As my vision clears, I make out more details. Words, things, slot back into place as my mind clears a bit, but it’s still like walking through a dense fog over uneven terrain, which also happens to be a minefield.

We’re in a garden, but it looks like a bomb went off. The grass is scorched in places; trees are bent at unnatural angles. The roof of the house looming over us has a chunk missing out of it.

Dropping my gaze as my head pounds erratically, I see three men lying unconscious around the edge of the circle. Something tugs at my memory, a sense of familiarity, but I can’t quite grasp it.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice still weak. “Who are you? Who am I?”

The woman’s face falls, worry creasing her brow. “You don’t remember?”

I shake my head, wincing at the movement. “Everything’s jumbled. It’s like my brain has been torn apart and put back together wrong.”

She sighs heavily. “That’s not far from the truth. I’m Cathy Hammond, your aunt. You are Ivy Hammond.”

Ivy. The name feels right, but also somehow wrong. Like it doesn’t quite fit anymore.

“Do you remember anything?” Cathy asks.

I shake my head and close my eyes as the movement sends another wave of nausea over me. “Floating. Witnessing births, death, rebirths, stars being born and dying…”

“Okay, shh,” Cathy murmurs as I choke back a sob. “Let’s get you inside, and you can rest for a while.”

I let Cathy help me to my feet, my legs shaky and uncooperative. Every step is an effort, and my body feels simultaneously too heavy and too light. I lean heavily on her, but she doesn’t mind. She’s got me.

“What about them?” I ask.

Cathy glances back. “They’ll be okay for now. You’re the priority.”

As we slowly make our way to the house, fragments of memory flash through my mind: purple energy crackling around my hands, creatures imploding, flowers bursting. But none of it feels like it happened to me.

Inside, Cathy helps me onto the couch. The softness of the cushions is almost overwhelming after... after what? I can’t remember, but my body reacts like it’s been an eternity since I felt anything so mundane and comforting.

“Here,” Cathy says, handing me the water again. “Small sips.”

I obey, relishing the cool liquid. As I drink, I study Cathy’s face. There’s something familiar about her features, but it’s like looking at a stranger who reminds me of someone I used to know.

“You said you’re my aunt?” I ask hesitantly.

She nods. “Yes.”

“And those men outside?”

Cathy’s expression grows pained. “They are important to you. Very important. But I think it’s best if you remember that on your own.”

I nod slowly, wincing as my head throbs. “What happened to me? Why can’t I remember?”

Cathy sighs heavily. “It’s a lot. We can talk about it another time, after you’ve rested.”

“No. I want to know now.”

She rolls her eyes, and a part of me, deep down somewhere, wants to giggle at the action. “Always so stubborn. The short version of events is there was an incident with your magick. You were torn apart and scattered across dimensions. A ritual was performed to bring you back.”

Magick? Dimensions? Ritual? The words spark something in my mind, but they slip away before I can grasp them. “I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Cathy says gently. “It’ll take time for everything to settle. Your mind and body have been through a tremendous ordeal.”

I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “I feel so strange. Like I don’t quite fit in my own skin.”

“That’s to be expected,” Cathy replies. “Rest now. We can talk more when you’re feeling stronger.”

I nod and turn my back to her as I close my eyes. She places a blanket over me, and I shiver. As I drift off, I catch glimpses of faces and places in my mind. They slip away like smoke, leaving me feeling hollow and lost.

“Ivy,” I murmur. “I am Ivy Hammond.”

The words feel familiar, but they don’t mean anything.