Harlowe’s Curse – Chapter 11

DAMARA

I know one thing: I need to get back to the coven. We need to finish what we started, and this is all some particularly annoying delay.

The man—Peverell—invites me to sit on the cushioned bench on the porch and goes inside to get tea even though I said I didn’t want any. Clare doesn’t lower her voice when she orders her family to never invite me inside, under no circumstances ever. She wants me to hear it.

Peverell comes back with tea and a smile. I don’t take the cup.

“We’re the Wickens, by the way,” he says, unfazed by my refusal and setting the cup on the arm of the bench. “You can call me Peverell.”

“I have no idea where your daughter is,” I say, in this weird high voice that isn’t mine. “I died, and then I woke up in a burning tent with her.” I point at the terrified girl watching from the window next to the dimming Watcher. She hurries to look away, a pitiful attempt at pretending she’s not listening to every word we’re saying.

Peverell laughs softly. “It’s quite all right, Norma. You can come out. It’s safe.”

We wait as the girl, Norma, joins us outside. She sits on the highest step of the porch next to the boy who looks like he could be Peverell’s younger and taller doppelganger. The old wooden plank creaks as Norma settles down.

“You don’t look like you’ve been in a fire,” she says, somewhat accusingly. “Why?”

“You’re a Blood witch,” Clare tells me, definitely accusingly.

I stay quiet.

“Did you know Saleali, then?” she asks, crossing her arms.

In my life, I was never a great liar. But I’m hoping this girl’s face is better at staying stoic. “I don’t remember anything about my life.”

“Have some tea,” Peverell says. “It may help.”

“It’s true,” Norma says. “It made me remember stuff I hadn’t even noticed at first. It’s called Mandrake root.”

“Actually, the root only enhances the tea’s properties.” Peverell pushes his glasses up his short nose and smiles at me. “But we keep most of the Medina Brothers’ blends, including the Bacopa Boost one, which is excellent for memory and focus.” He turns to Norma. “You know, if you’re interested, I could lend you our copy of Nature’s Magic in a Mug, which explains every herb and tea you could possibly dream of.”

Norma just blinks.

“I don’t want to remember my life,” I reiterate.

“Listen, Damara,” Clare says, and it’s obvious she’s losing her patience. It’s only a matter of time before she starts yelling at me again. “If you have information that could help me find my daughter, I need to know it.”

“But of course, we want you to feel comfortable sharing it,” Peverell adds.

“No, we actually don’t care about that part.”

“Clare…”

Clare whips around to glare at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Guys!” the younger guy shouts from the steps. He sighs, runs a hand through his dark hair, and walks down just one step, his whole weight shifting as though the movement exhausts him. “Can you not fight for just one night?”

His parents—there’s no doubt about it with Clare’s same dark curls, and the blue eyes and short nose he shares with Peverell—look down at their feet. Clare clears her throat.

“Just tell us what you can,” she says, looking at me with vulnerable brown eyes. “Please. You were running like your Craft depended on it. Maybe you don’t remember your life, but you must’ve been running somewhere.”

I can’t tell them. With this body, I have a chance to finish what my coven and I started before I died. Even now, after everything, the instinct to work for our cause is drilled into me, so I force those small shoulders that are nothing like mine to shrug.

“I was scared and confused,” I say.

“Perfectly understandable,” Peverell says. “If there’s anything we can do for you until we find our daughter, please let us know. You must be hungry, let me fix you something.”

“Sure,” Clare says, exasperated. “Why don’t you make her a room in the garage while you’re at it.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea, Clare.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“But why not? She’s certainly exhausted. We made her run half a marathon all the way here and I do feel a little guilty about that.” He looks down at Harlowe’s black flip flops. “If I’d known you weren’t well-shod.”

“Mom, it’s fine,” their son says. “She won’t get in the house, but she’ll be near. It’s a good compromise.” He stands up. “I’ll get some blankets and some of Harlowe’s clothes since… Well, they’ll fit.”

“Thank you, Jaden.” Peverell smiles at him, then at me. “Would that be okay with you? You can eat, rest, and then we’ll talk a little more in the morning. If you don’t remember anything else, then you may go. How does that sound?”

Clare makes a tsk sound, her face getting redder with every breath she takes.

I want to get out of here ASAP. But the truth is, I am exhausted. I can’t even find the strength to stand up from this uncomfortable bench. I just came back from the dead. A meal and a bed sound amazing.

“That’s very kind of you,” I say, looking only at Peverell. “Thank you.”

Their son—Jaden—nods and goes inside while Peverell beams. “Wonderful. Do you like zoodles? I make a great salad with zoodles.”

“That sounds great.”

“Good, good. Any allergies?”

I’m about to say almonds, but I remember I’m pretending not to remember about my life and catch myself just in time. And then I realize it doesn’t even matter. “Does your daughter have any?”

His eyes glitter with something like intrigue. “Right,” he says. “Fascinating.” Then he disappears inside, and Clare gives me one last glare before she follows him.

Then it’s just me and the dark-skinned girl, Norma. She doesn’t meet my gaze. She hurries after the others, visibly uncomfortable, but I stop her.

“Wait. Norma, right?”

She freezes. When she finally locks eyes with me, I see the yellow moon perfectly in her brown irises. “Yep. That’s me. Good night.”

“You’re human,” I say.

She crosses her arms, frowning. It’s subtle, but I can see her angle one foot inside the house, and immediately after that her features relax a little, but not much.

“As opposed to alien?” she says with a little scoff.

“As opposed to witch.” I tilt my head at her. “My girlfriend was human.”

Blond hair tickling my collarbone.

Salty kisses as we swim in the ocean.

Pottery gifts all around our first apartment.

The memories are shards that prick my heart, I manage to keep my voice casual.

Norma gapes for a second, then glances inside the house as if to check if someone heard this.

“You said you didn’t remember,” she says, and I know I was right to tell her because she doesn’t just say it—she whispers it.

“I know what I said.” I lean back on the bench. “I don’t trust other witches. But I trust you. You got me out of that fire.”

Of course, I don’t know yet if I can trust her, but I need to get an idea of who she is. Starting with: Is Norma the kind of person who bonds with people after sharing traumatic events with them, who feels a stronger sense of loyalty when feeling guilty, who can be persuaded to help a complete stranger with something a little crazy?

I don’t need to trust her. I just need to figure out how to make her trust me.

I can see the debate going on behind her eyes, the many things she wants to say that she has no idea how to verbalize. But she chews the inside of her cheek, her face still covered in soot from the fire. She’s about to say something, but then Bohemian Rhapsody starts playing out of nowhere, Freddy Mercury calling for Mamaaaa. Norma startles, a hand on her throat, then she grabs the phone in her pocket. She looks at the screen and mutters a curse.

Jaden appears in the doorway with a pile of blankets in his arms. “Everything okay?” he asks her.

“No,” Norma says, showing him the caller ID on her phone while the band starts singing their hurried Hallelujahs.

“Nice ringtone,” I can’t help saying, a smile playing at the corner of my mouth.

“Thank you,” she says automatically before looking at Jaden with pleading eyes. “He’ll freak out. I was supposed to call an hour ago. I can’t lie to him.”

“Just tell him you’re sleeping over. That’s not a lie. Right?” Jaden bites his lip. “Unless you don’t want to. I mean, I can drive you. No problem.”

“I can’t go home. He’ll know I’m hiding something and I’m not even sure what I’m hiding because nothing makes sense and oh my god I can’t breathe.”

“To be fair, that verse is a little panic-inducing,” Jaden says, pointing at the phone, where Freddy is now singing even higher and faster. This is honestly the sort of ringtone that would give me telephobia.

Norma finally answers with the less casual hiiiii in the history of the world. She looks so panicked and adorable that I can’t help it: I stand up and take the phone from her.

“What’s your last name?” I whisper.

She blinks. “Roth.”

I bring the phone to my ear. “Hi, Mr. Roth. It’s Harlowe.”

“This can’t end well,” I hear Jaden tell Norma. “He hates her.”

Norma just blinks at me.

“Oh, hello,” Mr. Roth tells me, voice grumbly.

“I’m so sorry. It’s totally my fault if Norma didn’t call when she should’ve. But we’re at my place now, and we’re all a little too tired to drive her home, it just wouldn’t be safe. So we’re getting ready to binge-watch…” I blank.

“Breaking Bad,” Norma whispers to me.

“Breaking Bad,” I say. “I hope that’s okay with you if she stays the night?”

There’s a beat. Then Mr. Roth says, “Are you on drugs?”

“What?” I want to laugh, but I have this feeling it wouldn’t help Norma’s case. I sober up. “No.”

“Just, tell Norm to be home before noon tomorrow, will you?”

“I will.”

I hang up and give the phone back to Norma. “Be home before noon tomorrow.”

She blinks once again. “But he hates you.”

“Technically, he never met me.”

“I mean Harlowe. He hates Harlowe.”

“Absolutely despises her,” Jaden chimes in.

I shrug. “But I’m not Harlowe.” I take the blankets from Jaden’s arms and climb down the steps to the front lawn. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

I don’t look back. I walk side to side with Jaden toward the garage, but after a moment, she calls out: “Thanks.”

I hope that was enough for her to trust me, because if anybody is going to help me get out of here, it won’t be another Blood witch. It has to be a human.

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