Grabbing the coffee creamer from the fridge, I come to the table and sit across from Ethan. “Where was this camp?”
“Upstate New York.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Who goes camping at the end of January in New York? Crazy people, that’s who.” Shaking my head, I pour a good amount of creamer into my coffee.
“And to do it willingly,” Ethan adds with a chuckle. Picking up his empty coffee mug, he gets up, kisses me and then goes to the stove, getting out a cast-iron skillet. “Want an omelet?”
“That sounds good.” I turn in my seat, watching Ethan move about the kitchen. Out of the two of us, Ethan is the better cook and he enjoys doing it. We go about the morning like usual, eating breakfast, straightening up the house, and getting in a workout. Ethan goes to the gym; I go to the barn and clean stalls.
I pull on a hat and zip up my coat, stepping onto the back porch and taking a second to look out at the horses and donkeys shifting through the snow to find some grass, ignoring the freshly filled hay bags.
“Do you feel that?” I ask Hunter, holding out a hand. “The air feels…different.”
My familiar tips his head, letting me know he can sense something as well. It’s not dark or dangerous, just…different. It’s almost as if there’s extra energy in the air today. I inhale, feeling like I’m soaking up the extra energy, and head into the barn to start my chores.
I get everything done in record time and the bright sun melted some of the ice that built up around one of the exterior barn doors. Like the house, this barn is over a hundred years old. I wish I could remember coming here as a child. I’m sure I played out in the barn, and the hayloft would have made the perfect summer reading spot.
There’s so much history in this property and it kills me that I don’t know it. I spent part of my childhood here and all I can recall are random glimpses that frustrate me more than anything else. Knowing my memory was altered, and that for most of my life I was none the wiser, makes me feel so violated.
I was able to search through the county’s records and find out that my great-great-grandmother was the first in the Fowler family line to own this house. She purchased the house under the name JoAnne Fowler, changing it from her actual last name of Lancaster. According to the records, she moved here as a widow with her two children and remarried a local man from Thorne Hill the next year. From there, the records get hard to follow, but I know for certain the house has only been owned by women in the Fowler family since then.
I grab a shovel from inside the barn and go to the door that’s been frozen shut for weeks. The snow melted under the heat of the sun, but this ice—I swear—has only gotten worse. It only takes a few blows from the shovel for me to realize this isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. Biting my lip, I step back and look at my hands. I can summon fire and melt the ice, but also run the risk of burning down the barn.
Sighing, I pick up the shovel and chip away at the ice again. A chunk flies up and hits me in the face. I bring my hand to my cheek and get hit with a memory.
I’m in the hayloft, sitting on a blanket playing with Barbies.
“The children,” Aunt Estelle says in a hushed voice. “They’re here and I can’t risk it. Not again. Anora already got hurt.”
“It’s just a scratch,” a man answers. “She doesn’t even remember.”
I set my Barbie down and move to the wall, looking through a hole in the wooden slats.
“Because of a memory spell. This isn’t right.” Aunt Estelle sweeps her hand out at the barn and I duck down.
The flashback is over as quickly as it started, and I close my eyes, trying to remember what I saw when I looked down at Aunt Estelle. Who was she talking to? Dropping the shovel, I hurry into the barn and climb up on the hayloft. It’s full of hay now, but I’m still able to make my way to the wall with the little hole. I pull off a glove and run my finger around the rough wood.
“I remember,” I say to myself, thinking back to a warm day when I was playing in the yard. Harrison was up in the hayloft and brought a water gun, sticking the end through the hole. I had the same Barbies set up in the yard. He sprayed me with water and I went screaming into the house. Harrison, of course, followed, only stopping when I ran inside to tell on him.