Page 113 of Veil of Death and Shadow

I stopped looking them up years ago, desperate to leave that entire life behind.

“We fought back,” I said, my mouth dry. I took another sip of the wine. “We made it out of the situation alive. But after that night, after that place, we didn’t want to get stuck in another shitty situation and we didn’t want to be split up. So, Sora and I ran.” It took everything to keep my voice even—the tendrils of barely-constrained anger tugging at the seams I’d sewn so tightly over the years. “We ended up in Seattle and we laid low until we aged out of the system and could take our lives back into our own hands. The night we met you, we were looking for our first real apartment. Starting fresh, finally.”

“What happened to the son?” Levi asked, his voice thick and stiffer than usual.

I gave him a small, sad smile, took another long swig of the wine, and then gave him the only truth that I would ever be able to offer where Blake was concerned. “He never hurt us again.”

19

MAREENA

Present Day

The air was dry, laced with the tangy scent of driftwood and brine. And there, just on the edges, I could make out the soothing smell of attar and just a hint of mint. I took a deep breath, savoring the taste across my tongue, the way it filled me up, the way it made me whole.

Hazy shards of sunlight pierced through the window, framing the room in a kaleidoscope of colors.

I knew this room. And I knew it deeply. Knew the pale blue stripes of the comforter that had faded from years of washing, the poorly traced cedar trees painted along the far wall. Knew not to step on the plank of wood just before the doorway if I didn’t want to announce my presence; that if I looked under the bed, I’d find a stash of books I kept hidden but still in reach, so that I could read late into the night when I was supposed to be asleep. Knew that if I opened the window, I’d hear the familiar song of the waves down the road as they crashed their greeting into the shoreline.

And in my palm, I knew that the tarnished loop of metal that rested there, tied me to this place, to this life, to this time—even though I couldn’t understand why or how.

Pocketing the ring, I leapt over the door frame and out into the hall, my heart racing at the possibility that I was back, that she was here.

“Amto,” I yelled, and my voice echoed out higher and more youthful than I was used to—and the laughter that spilled out at the shock of it only sharpened the strangeness. “Amto Am?—”

Her name died on my tongue when she came into view.

Just as I remembered, but somehow still different.

Her gray hair, wiry yet soft, was pulled back against her neck, a few stray curls loose around her face. She had her linen sleeves bunched up to her elbows, the tawny-brown shade of her skin luminous against the sharp white fabric.

There was a large mat on the counter in front of her, where she was busy separating, stuffing, and rolling the grape leaves, her fingers moving seamlessly through the process, like she’d spent a lifetime perfecting it.

The faintest hum of a long-forgotten song trailed through the room, cutting off only when she looked up and spotted me watching her.

Her crooked smile made my breath catch.

“There you are, habibti, I thought you might sleep the entire day away.” Her voice still had the soft, melodic cadence it always did, with the unexpected sharp edge that caught strangers by surprise and added a layer of depth to it.

“I’m awake,” was all that I managed. I couldn’t pull my eyes from hers. They were large and brown, and just as warm as I remembered them being. Just as welcoming. Just as wise. “I’m here now.”

“Good,” she nodded, “that’s good. We’ll take a walk in a few minutes. It’s a beautiful day.” She pointed her finger atme. It was smudged with tomato paste. A knowing smile carved across her lips, revealing the small chip in the corner of her front tooth. “Lucky girl—a beautiful day to celebrate a birthday.”

And just like that, my stomach sank, though I couldn’t fully understand why.

I thumbed the ring out of my pocket, my gaze caught between trying to soak up as much of Amto Amani as I could and staring at this ring, trying to remember why it was important. Why it kept stealing my focus.

When I looked back up at her, she wasn’t alone.

“You.” My voice came out a deep bellow, filled with all the threat and dread I could muster at ten years old. “Leave this place.”

A man, with hair as black as the abyss and eyes the shade of crystallized amber stood behind her, his head hovering over hers as his unnatural stare met mine. There was no emotion on his face, no regret and no sorrow.

Something about him was so familiar, the recognition like a bolt through my chest, though I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him before.

He slid his hand through her chest as if she was made of nothing more solid than air, and then she crumbled at his feet, the tray of grape leaves tumbling to the floor and scattering all around her.

“No,” I screamed and fought to run to her, but my feet refused to carry me. Instead, they stood there, useless blocks of cement, leaving me with no other option but to scream and cry from afar.

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