Page 28 of Cursed Wolfsbane

When I hit solid ground, I hesitantly open my eyes. I look around and see I’m in a kitchen I don’t recognize. Light wood floors, dark stained cabinets, and black-veined marble make the space feel classic and timeless. I wonder if I’m kneeling on the ground because my gaze barely reaches the countertop.

“Briar! There you are, dear. If you keep sneaking off, we won’t ever get to the potion,” a slightly younger version of Ophelia scolds me with a smile.

A high-pitched giggle slips out of my mouth, and I raise tiny arms above my head for Ophelia to pick me up. She swoops in to lift me, causing me to laugh again. “Sorry, Nan,” I attempt to say, but it comes out more like “sowy.” I wind my arms around her neck and give her a hug and a sloppy smooch on the cheek before she carries me to another room in the house.

It hits me then that I’m in a memory, not the present. Based on how little I am, I was probably around four. As we walk, the house starts to become familiar again. Memories of long summer days and cozy winter evenings spent with Nan come pouring in.

Nan sets me down on the floor in front of a bowl, glue, baking soda, and saline solution. She kneels down with me, arranging her light blue sundress around her. “For this potion, you need to mix the glue and baking soda together.” She waits for me to combine the premeasured ingredients. “Now add the saline solution.”

My little hands mix the sticky, goopy concoction together. Once I finish that, I turn to look up at her. “Now what, Nan?”

“Now, we add magic.” Nan whispers something under her breath that I can’t quite catch. When the slime turns bright blue, I giggle and clap my hands at the transformation. “Look at you, Briar. You’ll be an expert potion maker in no time.”

The memory fades as I’m flooded with other memories of Nan letting me watch her make potions, knitting me warm winter sweaters, taking me to the park to play for hours, cooking her famous chicken soup whenever I was sick, and more.

She was the grandma I never really had. Both of my mom’s parents died before I was born. My dad’s parents rarely visited. Nan made sure I never wanted for grandmotherly love, treating me just the same as her own grandchild. She’d watch me when my parents were busy, listen to my problems without judgement, and always be on my side, even when I was wrong.

I open my eyes and see Nan staring at me. “I missed you, Nan,” I breathe. At least I did before I lost my memories. Leaving for a new city was more than just moving out of our house. We had to leave behind everyone who made it a home, which made Wolves Hollow especially lonely when I could still remember everyone.

“And I missed you, dear,” she tells me through a watery smile.

I don’t know if she says anything else because I’m plunged into another memory.

“And Dido and her mates lived happily ever after.” A man sitting next to me closes the book he was reading. I look up at him and take in his jet-black hair, hazel eyes, and close-cropped beard in confusion.

Glancing around the room, I realize I’m in my room in the house I grew up in. The pale blue walls, white carpet, and light wood furniture are all the same as I remember. The fluffy sky-blue comforter with white unicorns and horses frolicking across it used to be in my room, but I switched it out a few years before we moved to Wolves Hollow. Since it’s still on my bed, I can’t be more than five years old in this memory.

“Are you ready for bed, little love? Or do you need another story?” the man asks, his deep voice familiar and foreign at the same time. Looking into his hazel eyes that I feel like I’ve seen before, I realize who he is. He’s my dad. He and Ava have the same shade of hazel eyes.

Since it’s just a memory, I don’t give my dad a hug like I want to. Instead, my little chest puffs up in pride at being called “little love.” He always calls Mama his love and me his little love. I glance out the window to the right of my bed and see the tree house he built for me last summer. Then I notice the shadows of the trees dancing in the moonlight. I turn back to my dad and shake my head. “I’m scared, Papa.”

“Of what, honey?” My dad gently rubs my back as he waits for me to answer.

“That the bad people will find us.” My breath hitches. Flashes of large men dressed in tactical gear overlay the memory. I can’t be sure because they fade so fast, but the men look a lot like the Knights of Aeneas.

He wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his side. I inhale his cedar scent and try to absorb his strength. “They may find us, but as long as I’m still breathing, I’ll protect you and Mama from them. Nothing will get past me to hurt the twoof you, okay?” When I give him a small nod, he smiles broadly at me. “Let’s read another book. How doesWhere the Sidewalk Endssound?”

I grin at my dad, my earlier fear replaced by excitement.Where the Sidewalk Endswas always one of my favorite books as a kid. When I enthusiastically bob my head up and down, he gets up to grab the book. The memory starts slipping away. I want to scream at him not to go, to stay with me, but I can’t do anything other than watch him walk away.

When I come back to myself in the present, my legs give out from under me. Only my grip on the workstation prevents me from falling on my face.

Oh god.Remembering my dad hurts. It feels like someone took a sledgehammer to my heart as I realize my dad wasn’t the deadbeat I thought he was. I struggle to suck in a lungful of air as I’m swept up in a wave of grief so strong I worry I’ll drown.

Papa loved my mom and me more than anything. I have so many memories of him chasing me around our yard as I giggle uncontrollably, walking me to school with Mama, having endless tea parties with me, holding me as I cry over something other kids did, and so much more.

Just as I remember my dad and how much he loved me, I remember that I lost him. I get flashes of my mom curled up on the kitchen floor sobbing until she couldn’t breathe the night we found out. I see her silently crying over a closed casket that’s being lowered into the ground. I watch her screaming at the sky one evening when she thought I was asleep. Her broken voice is asking a god who probably isn’t listening why he didn’t take her instead.

The thing that makes the tears finally run down my cheeks is that Ava never got to meet him. I’m pretty sure Ava was an unplanned baby, but Papa was so excited when he found out that Mama was pregnant with her. That’s one of the only timesI ever saw Papa cry. When Mama told him she was pregnant, he dropped to his knees and stared at Mama’s still-flat belly in wonder, tears filling his eyes. Papa had already started building new baby furniture for Ava’s nursery when he died.

Ava never got to meet the man that loved her before he even knew her. Instead, she’s only ever known Patrick as her dad. My little sister deserved to know unconditional love from our dad like I did.

My dad kept his promise, though. We were always safe while he was still alive.

He supposedly died when his best friend’s house accidentally exploded. It happened two months before we moved to Wolves Hollow. Mama never believed it was an accident. Patrick blackmailing her so soon after makes me doubt it was an accident too.

Papa’s best friend was Saint’s dad, who also died that night, along with Saint’s mom.

Before I’m able to even process losing my dad, I’m thrown headfirst into another memory.

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