Page 25 of Premonition of Peace

My thoughts were interrupted by the distinct sounds of Nathalie’s nightly routine wrapping up. I shifted on the couch, glancing toward the hallway as I waited for her to emerge. When the bathroom door opened, Nathalie stood with wet strands of brown hair clinging to her face and shoulders. She was dressed in silk shorts and a tank top.

“What are you doing?” She walked into the living room, stalling in surprise.

I gestured towards the TV that was playing some random show.

“Just hanging out here, catching up on some of your shows,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light.

Nathalie raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. “Oh really? You always refused to watch any of the shows I had.” Shedropped her voice a few octaves, mimicking me. “‘TV is mind-numbingly dull.’ Remember?”

I flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “True, but I’m finding that it’s strange being so alone after spending months attached to one person,” I admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into my voice, despite myself.

There was a pause, a moment where the air seemed charged with unspoken words. Then Nathalie surprised me. She hesitated just for a moment before she spoke again.

“Do you want to sleep in my room?” she suggested softly.

I met her gaze, searching for any hint of hesitation, but all I found was warmth and a flicker of something else, something that made my body buzz with awareness.

“Obviously,” I answered. “But are you sure?” I asked, wanting to be absolutely certain.

She nodded, her eyes steady. “Yeah,” she said with a small smile. “Second chances, right?”

I got up slowly, crossing the room to where she stood. Without another word, she turned and led the way. The soft glow of lamplight spilled into the hallway as we entered her bedroom. It was true. I’d grown used to this room, used to her presence most of all. The quiet and stillness without her was something I didn’t care for.

Nathalie climbed into bed, and I followed, slipping under the covers beside her. She twisted to face me, and I reached out, looping an arm around her slender waist to pull her close. Her head came to rest where my bicep met my shoulder. I lowered my face to her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Today with Sasha was disconcerting,” I commented after a long moment of silence, my hand sliding up and down her side.

“Yeah, well, it’s not Sasha,” Nathalie retorted with a snort. “Disconcerting is an understatement. You weren’t helping, though.”

“Who is Not-Sasha?” I asked point blank. She tilted her head back to look at me, taken aback by the directness of my question.

“I told you; I don’t know for sure,” she said with a sigh.

I gave her a look, not backing down. “You do,” I replied evenly. “I can tell.”

Nathalie groaned and sat up, pulling away from me. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, the wet silky strands sliding seamlessly. “Why are we doing this again?”

“I can help,” I offered. “I’m on your side, Nathalie. You have to know this.”

“Oddly, I do.” She shook her head, eyes softening. “But you have a hard time containing your tongue. Today was bad enough. I don’t want it to get worse.”

“He’s just trying to help. He wants to fix it for us, isn’t that romantic?”

The voice I heard in my head was Nathalie, but her lips weren’t moving, and her eyes had a slight haze to them. She was in her memory loci.

“He’s not exactly good at fixing things, Peace.”Another Nathalie, this one sounded less breathy and more like the Nat I knew.

“His choices are what led to the Magic Wars, followed by his own death, which need I remind you triggered the death of millions.”This Nathalie sounded stern and calculated. The pull of the voices was unreal. They were like a siren’s call.

One moment I was laying in Nathalie’s bed, the next I was staring at an ebony round table of variously dressed Nathalie’s. Every pair of brown eyes turned to me.

“That wasn’t very kind,” I said to the one I’m guessing spoke. She wore glasses and a designer suit. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that swished when her head turned. “That was a low blow, blaming a guy for his own death, especially when a certain someone held the knife.”

She narrowed her sharp eyes, adjusting her glasses. “Was it low, or was it truthful? I didn’t have a choice in the hand I played. Your choices—pursuing Piper, punishing the witches for starting the Magic Wars—those led you there. I thought I was rescuing someone dear to me at the time.”

“Dear to you?” I asked, an edge entering my tone. By the way she described them, it wasn’t Baggage or the Incubus. No, this was someone else. “Dear to youhowexactly?”

“Unimportant.” She waved her hand dismissively.

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