Timothy

I stared at a small porcelain angel and in my mind counted, slowly, from twenty to zero. In Mandarin Chinese. Last week I had been to my aunt's to reconnect a cable that she had misplugged after a proper dusting. And this week my sister had decided to share an image, or a collection of images, via a drive link. Which, naturally, my dear, old Aunt Chime hadn't found (because her email had labeled the link as spam) or dared to click after I had instructed her where to find it.

Plus, she had decided to call me at six thirty. She found that a perfectly respectable time to rise from bed. I found it closer to my definition of in the middle of night. Yet, here I was, the clock hardly eight.

I suppressed an urge to crash the nearest ornate vase filled with hand made paper flowers and instead smiled up at my aunt benignly as she exclaimed:

"Oh, so, how did you do that? I didn't see, you were too fast!"

So I repeated the process, slowly. First, going over the fact that even as the message was labeled spam, it was absolutely safe to click a link it contained (Yes, even against the computer's warning) since we knew the sender, and consequently knew to expect the message and the link.

"Oh, my God, but that is so confusing these days. I just don't know what to trust!" She told me afterwards.

As a thanks, I got some of her delicious cinnamon cookies.

I walked toward the train station with my box of sugary delights and admitted to myself that I hadn't gone through the trouble for nothing. I wouldn't tell that to Mimosa. My sister deserved to think I was furious with her. Why couldn't she have compressed the images to some reasonable size and sent those as an attachment? Why go through the trouble of giving our old near sighted Aunt Chime the full resolution? I wouldn't have been surprised if her computer had crashed over the immense information overload it had just received.

Then again. My sister saw Aunt Chime rarely. Once or twice a year didn't leave a strong impression of anyone's persona. Or technical skills. Not if you weren't a vampire at least...

And I did have a box full of academic motivation to share with Lavender and Clover. It had become a habit for the three of us to have lunch together. Sometimes Valentina showed as well, but she was rather busy between her self defense club and Master's Thesis on her plate. She also assisted a class to my understanding. Which one, I wasn't sure, but I thought it had something to do with semantics, maybe... Or was it lexicography? Something to do with the meaning of words. I wasn't really into grammar and preferred the study of texts. Credits for reading and analyzing novels felt almost cheating. Even in French.

Especially now that I had friends to study with. Even Clover's weird amulet permeated presence didn't feel half as bad. She was nice company. Even for a witch.

Witches... I had seen a few in my years of absence. They had their own way of living that set them often a bit apart of the rest of the society. Even vampires melted in better, despite our diurnal slumber...

Their diurnal slumber.

I made my way to the university in my thoughts and with a slight frown. I was a human. There was no doubt of it. Was there? Sometimes... Sometimes I felt... I was more aware of people's auras. The feeling wasn't acute. I couldn't instantly tell what people felt. But I definitely felt presences. And could still distinguish between them. Somewhat at least. I could most certainly tell Valentina and Lavender apart without looking in their direction. I knew if one of them was behind my back.

I stopped in my tracks.

I slipped the cookie box to rest in the crook of my arm. Took off the glove in my left hand. And pressed two naked fingers against a warm spot in my own neck. I felt the veins bulging and releasing the pressure, in a steady rhythm. A pulse beat in me.

I put the glove back.

And was just about to push open the library door, when a familiar voice made me pause once more:

"Timothy!"

I turned. Valentina waved at me. She was running to my direction. Which wasn't so unusual. She liked running. And sometimes ran to places apparently just because she could.

"Timothy!" She said as she stopped in front of me, not least bit short of breath. "Would you mind come help me at the gym? Just for a moment? I just want to go over a few throws with someone. Before I am supposed to show them for a full class."

She must have seen the hesitation written all over my face, for she added quickly:

"I'll be very, extremely gentle. You won't have a split hair. I even have a suit you can borrow."

I sighed. I didn't really have anything better to do at nine in Friday morning.

"There is no one at the dojo now?" I asked, as a form of mild objection. Surely there were better practise pairs than me, a nobody with little martial arts experience, as far as Valentina knew at least.

Valentina shook her head. "There are usually some jiu-jitsu freaks coming to wrestle a bit on Fridays, but they won't be there until maybe eleven. The guys require their beauty sleep."

"Mm," was what I said, not voicing out the fact that I often liked my beauty sleep too. And let Valentina lead me down the street. Away from the safe, tranquil and clean library.

The gym facilities of the university were located in a separate building. I did have a membership and used the pool every now and then, but otherwise I hadn't set foot inside. Not for some time at least.

Valentina took me with her to the basement. We passed one of the club rooms where I spied a morning yoga session through an open door.

"Seems nice," I commented.

Valentina gave me one long look.

I didn't say another word, just watched as she set a key to a locked glass door. She pushed her weight against the door, took hold of the handle, lifted a bit and at the same time turned the key. Apparently no one had fixed the door since my latest visit three years ago. I was smiling a bit when she bowed me in through the open door.

We left our bags and shoes in a small space separated by a curtain from a hilariously yellow room. The floor was covered entirely with a mattress, equally yellow in coloring. It was often called tatami, though I wasn't sure that was technically the correct term for it.

"It's even prettier than I remembered," I commented, smirking.

"Yes, well. They have to paint it at some point." Valentina sighed. "And I intend to be here when they do." Her voice was determined.

"You promised something to train in?" I reminded her.

"Yes," she said. "Here. I have a spare suit stored here, and we are close enough in size. I am sure it fits."

She was close to the mark. I wasn't especially tall for a man, and Valentina wasn't especially short for a woman. I was maybe just a few centimeters taller. Maybe.

I followed her to a shelf at one wall. There were stored cushions, some boxing gloves, balls of all sizes and a dozen different things. Including a spacious cardboard box she lifted from an upper shelf. There was a white suit inside: trousers and an open jacket that would be held closed only by the pink belt that was also in the box.

"What?" She challenged me as I smirked at the belt. "I can wear that if your macho ego won't suffer it. You can have my manly black one."

I burst into laughter. "I think it's perfect." And it truly was. I wouldn't have known which one of the true color belts would have matched my level as a martial artist, so pink felt just fitting.

Valentina had brought her own suit in her bag. There were proper changing rooms down the corridor where we had come, but in silence we decided we could quite as easily change where we stood in the yellow room. It wasn't unheard of for people to change before or after practice at the edges of the room. So, my back to the girl, I tore off the shirt I was wearing in exchange for the open, white jacket. Jeans for the formless white trousers. I carried my clothes to where my bag and cookie box rested with my shoes and put my socks into the trainers.

Valentina was similarly attired when I came in. Except of course that her belt was very manly black in color.

I smiled. "Is this a tactic to lure me back?" I asked good-naturedly.

She shrugged. "Just a part of a bigger scheme."

For a while we simply grinned at each other. Then her countenance grew serious:

"Have you last been on a dojo like, three years ago here?"

"Not really," I confessed. "I did many things when I was discovering myself. Though the style was... a bit different."

In my mind's eyes flashed a hard wooden dojo in a basement some kilometers to the east from here. And red eyes.

"I... Blizzard went to the same... ermm... school isn't quite the word... A group, maybe?" I was at a loss as to what to say. How did I explain in human terms that I had been practicing under the instructions of a vampire queen? With superhuman strength.

"Anyway," I said. "When I came back from there to studies, I stopped going there. I didn't fit with the group, really."

Valentina looked thoughtful. "You came here first time with Blizzard too...?"

"Mm," was all I said."We were old acquaintances."

"Were?"

I shook my head. "Let's just warm up. I have a bone to pick with Blizzard. It's complicated. And we should talk. Most is my fault."

My more than human sense picked a change in her being. But Valentina didn't press the subject further. We went through some ways to fall as a warming. When I had come off the soft floor maybe the thousandth time and had sweated through the thick fabric of the suit, Valentina decided I wouldn't break anything.

Then she threw me. We were a close match in size. She didn't have the slightest difficulty lifting me. And as she had promised, she only went through some soft, easy throws. Yet, I still didn't enjoy the feeling of a human being taking my fragile human feet off the ground. Or the falling, however gentle, to the mattress. I had last been a vampire when someone had swiped me off my feet and I most definitely felt the difference. I was all too aware of the fact that I had bones that could fracture, and a head that was prone to concussions.

Yet, a vampire felt much of the same pain a human did. And I had a mattress, however unyielding. It wasn't hard wood.

I was still more than willing to switch places, when Valentina asked if I felt like trying.

And soon I realized the last time I had tried to lift someone off their feet, I had also been a vampire. She was a heavy load to shift. And she also thudded much harder onto the ground than I had. Even as she sprang back to her feet with more grace.

Yet and despite all, I found myself smiling at the end. Endorphin, adrenaline and maybe a dozen other chemical mixes in my blood sang. The body was alive, and happy to be used.

"Do you still want to do a bit of wrestling?" She asked. And handed me a water bottle. "So I could go through the whole program for today?"

"Against you?" I asked, taking the offer. I might not have agreed at the beginning. But now I felt playful and ready for new challenges. Adrenaline still pleasantly singing inside and clouding my judgment. I had kind of liked wrestling, the Brazilian jiu-jitsu kind of style on the ground. Not everyone liked it, especially between those that did traditional martial arts with boxing and kicks.

She looked around her. "I don't see anyone else. So yes, I guess it would be you and me."

"I suppose I am in for a bit of a lesson."

And I was. I soon realized that I needed less brutal force with my back against the ground. I got more easily the force of my middle body behind the techniques. Plus only maybe half of the moves I remembered from my lost years were out of the question in human to human combat.

We picked pace as Valentina stopped giving tips and instructions. Each of us became less careful as we rolled.

The first real match ended with me on my stomach, in a tight strangle hold against her arm, pinned to the ground. 

In similar terms ended the following four.

But the final she forfeited just when her timer rang. I had managed to take her hand in a rather unfortunate angle, my legs hooked around her neck and side.

I was breathing rather heavily by the time I felt Valentina tap on my leg in a petition to release her.

Gratefully, I let go and stayed on the ground spread wide on my back. I didn't know what had become of the jacket. I had lost both it and the pink belt during the last match.

"I think I'll stay here," I said. I had closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of my chest rising and falling unobstructed. I knew Valentina hadn't kept her promise. Never mind the split hairs. I would be spotted black like a Dalmatian by the next morning.

But it felt good. I felt good. Alive. The immense amounts of adrenaline coursing through my body dulled the pain for now. I knew it. But I felt ecstatic. If Valentina's ruse had been to lure me back to practices and club activities, she had made a strong start.

"You really did practice, after the last."

I opened my eyes. Valentina stood over me. She had extended a hand in my direction.

I took the hand. "But it has still been time."

She hauled me to my two feet.

But she didn't let go. The smile on her face had frozen.

"Valentina?" I asked.

She looked past me.

I turned my head. But there was just a row of mirrors on a wall. And a wrinkled white pile I took for my missing jacket.

She still didn't release me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"That tattoo you have on your back," she started, "What is it?"

"Oh. That."

I looked into the mirrors again. On my presently bared back, between my scratched shoulder plates I bore one tattoo. It was the only one I had. And I had thought very carefully before taking it, again.

"It's just a tattoo, a reminder of something that's a bit hard to explain."

Valentina had finally let go of my hand. But she looked at me funnily.

I suddenly felt a bit underdressed.

She didn't try to prevent me from going to my bag and covering the tattoo and my back with a shirt.

"It doesn't say anything that funny either," I reassured her. "It's just the Chinese character for ink, mò."

"Do you speak Chinese?" Valentina asked.

"Ermm..." The conversation was flowing to weird directions. "I hold some curiosity toward Mandarin Chinese, though to speak is to claim a lot." I frowned. "What's this about? Really? I am sure you have seen enough uglier and bigger tattoos to judge me for taking it. So what's the matter?"

She looked confused, unsure. And suddenly a cold crept into the pit of my stomach.

I had never felt so miserable guessing right as when she lifted the sleeve of her left ankle.

"I must have been extremely drunk," she said as I approached to see better. "I don't remember anything, not even drinking anything." She sounded fragile. "And I don't know anyone who speaks Chinese. I tried to ask one friend that studies Korean, but she said it was Chinese, and she didn't have a clue as to how to decipher its meaning."

I crouched down by her left foot. On the ankle in a very neat manner, as if it had been painted rather than drilled in with a needle, had been etched the very same character that I had decided to rebrand onto my back after it had been already once wiped away.

"It's the same, isn't it?" She asked. 

I would have wanted to lie. Instead I asked: "So, you don't remember anything?"

I lifted my face to hers. She was biting her lip.

"I am not sure."

"But?" I pressed.

"The last thing I do remember is closing up with Blizzard."

I tapped at the ankle. And rose.

"Valentina..." I started.

"What does it mean?" She asked, looking me straight in the eyes.

I held her chocolate gaze when I said: "Mo is a name. And I am already in trouble with Blizzard. It should, kind of, be his call to explain."

"But he hasn't. Why do you have the tattoo?"

I shook my head. "Let me think this through, will you? Maybe talk to Blizzard first..."

"When?" She asked. "I have had it for weeks. No explanations. You can't just leave me with your vague hints. Should I ask Blizzard?"

I shrugged.

"Why don't you?" But I knew the answer, even before she said it.

"Because something of this whole picture is off. I like Blizzard well enough. But of late... I don't know. I just don't... I just can't ask." All anger had left her voice. She sounded simply weary. And confused. "You know, Timothy, I am not easily scared."

"I know. I know. Let's figure this out."

I found I wanted to help her. I liked Valentina. She was good company by herself. But she had also brought me new friends and thus tied me back to humanity more surely than an anchor. And I knew now that Blizzard wouldn't tell her what had hit her. And I feared what the old vampire had planned for my friend.

I also discovered I feared a lot less talking to the vampire compared to the insecurity I felt at not knowing why he had fed on Valentina and decided to brand her. Why to link this seemingly random individual who couldn't remember? It wasn't like him. Blizzard had links. But of one family only. He didn't even kill anyone outside that bloodline. Unless he felt seriously threatened.

"How about," I started thinking, "I come after one of those late evening practices, so we can talk to him? So I can talk to him, and ask about all this so that you are present?"

She nodded.

"Today?"

"Gods, no!" I moaned. "You've beaten me to pulp. And I need to orient myself."

"Next Tuesday then. You'll have the weekend to get yourself together."

"Tuesday is good."

Lavender

"It was good of Timothy to leave the cookies for us," I commented for Clover. My friend was balancing on the hind legs of her chair apparently in deep thought. We were sitting in one of the university's group study rooms you could reserve online.

"What?" She asked, coming back on all fours.

"Just nice, the cookies," I repeated.

"Yes. Cookies, very lovely." She said, taking one from the box.

I looked at her, as she sank back into her thoughts, not really touching the laptop in front of her that had probably shut down an hour ago.

"Are you quite okay?" I asked at last.

Her green eyes focused onto my face.

"What do you think of Timothy?" She asked. Gesturing at the cookie box on the table between us.

"Timothy? I don't know? I like him. He is Valentina's friend. What else is there?" I shrugged. "Why?"

She didn't answer immediately but kept looking at the ceiling. "I... Mmm..."

As Clover struggled for words, a realization started forming.

"You don't like him, do you?" I asked. And grinned widely. Clover liked no-one, never. She went her own way, and needed no-one with her as she went. Which she had made abundantly clear on many occasions.

She blushed.

I was now grinning almost wolfishly. And enjoying every second of her misery.

"I don't know, to be honest," she said with a sigh.

Clover took her glasses off and started to clean them. She paid special attention to the lenses and continued to talk to them:

"He intrigues me for some reason. First I thought he might be... part of a certain gang I have sometimes crossed paths with. Especially as I know that he knows one of its members. He has some of the mannerisms. But... I am almost certain he has nothing to do with them now.

"And he is so full of light, even as he doesn't express it as Valentina does jumping around. Yet he seems to feel some deeper contentment at being simply alive. He smiles, at everyone and all the time, even if not widely. There is this little twinkle in his eyes. And it seems genuine. Very polite...

"And he..."

Clover paused. She lifted her glasses to the light. And looked at them. They were very ornate and delicate pieces of optic's work. I had once asked where she had gotten them, and she had told her father was an optic, and as a hobby he hand made some custom frames.

"And he asked... Well, he asked where I had gotten my glasses... But he said it in a way that made it sound like he knew..."

She fell silent. And just looked at the glasses.

Then she put them back. And cleared her head with a shake.

"I tried to ask my father actually if he knew the boy or some relative of his. But no. Timothy is a mystery."

I grinned.

She gave me a look that promised trouble.

"You should just ask him," I said. "If he knows your father. Or if some friend of his has a pair of those custom made goggles. Or something."

"I probably could," she said, leaning back in her chair in thoughts.

She looked at the ceiling. "But it's complicated."

A knock on the door stopped me from telling her it was just as complicated as she made it.

A grown man maybe in his forties put his head into the room. He had light hair and a beard. A lecturer, I supposed.

"Ah! Perfect! Can I borrow some of your time, Clover?"

"Sure..." She looked startled. And turned to me: "This is my uncle, Aconite Shatter Hat. He teaches some subjects of Folklore Studies."

I nodded. We had met a few times around the university. I had never paid much attention to the man, but I had seen him around.

"Lavender," I introduced myself. "A friend of Clover's."

Mister Shatter Hat extended a hand. "Yes. I have heard a lot about you. Some tough nightmares?"

"Oh?" I was taken aback. And cast a betrayed glance at my supposed friend who lifted her shoulders apologetically.

"Yes. Well, they are persistent," I admitted to this stranger.

"So sorry to hear," he said, and the feeling seemed genuine. "I hope you'll get better soon."

"Must be the stress," I said. "I am sure that by winter holidays this will pass." I tried to put some conviction into my voice.

I watched Clover leave with her uncle.

And the moment the door closed, the world tilted. I concentrated my gaze onto a dot on the wall where some of the white paint had come off, leaving an almost circular mark.

And fought fiercely to stay. Here and now. Staring at the mark.

I had seen a doctor. But even he had put it just onto stress. Apparently it was common for young university students to have nightmares and to be victims of vertigo. Even to pass out every now and then.

I couldn't feel anything. The only reassurance that I was still upright came from my vision. I could still see the dot.

But the vision was blurring.

A face. A woman's face. Or a girls? She seemed young. Her eyes were shaped like almonds, and black. Her hair shone black too, and fell around her onto the floor. She looked up at me. A phantasm in a corner where the dot had been.

Except it wasn't that wall anymore. The dot was gone.

I was standing in a cellar. Candles were burning. And the wall was of stone and not white mortar.

"... so I bought her." A man's voice.

"I see." The words were formed by my lips and dropped into the space. "Looks curious."

"Says the European," the man muttered. "She is apparently Chinese."

"Chinese? Oh my! How did she ever sail all the way to Atlantis?"

" Well... I was looking for a something special, really... So I went... Ermm... It doesn't matter." His voice trailed away.

"But the thing is," he continued. "I had thought... I mean... I did some experiments..."

"On her?" I asked.

"Yes. On her! Cursed be Alfonso. This is hard as it is..."

The voice was muffled by the white lightness of a returning vision. I found the dot in the library wall again. And waited until I could feel my hand again against the laptop's plastic cover.

I swallowed. And drew in fresh air.

I straightened and spaced a bit. I was okay. And it didn't matter that I had seen the woman before, in nightmares, and flashes. It didn't matter that I recognized the male voice. It was just my unconsciousness playing tricks.

I rubbed my tired eyes.

In a flash I saw the woman again. This time proud. Standing in a hospital ward. And everyone dead in the beds around her.

I opened my eyes quickly.

Every time I thought about seeing a doctor, a psychologist, I saw her. I saw her standing in the room full of bodies. Hospitals terrified me. And the woman. The pale proud Chinese. I saw her often in my dreams. Always surrounded by signs of death.

I saw her almost as often as I did Hellebore, the owner of a tea room Clover and Valentina loved. But like today, I sometimes saw the Chinese with Hellebore. And in my dream Hellebore didn't wear anything over his blind gaze...

I stared into the wall.

I didn't really know why Hellebore was in my nightmares. I had seen there so many people. And Hellebore was the very only one that I had ever seen awake. He and his dog, Marquise, were the only recognizable beings I could name once I woke up.

Most of the people I saw I wasn't even sure were human.

"...Tell me if something changes?"

I startled to the low voice. The door opened. Aconite Shatter Hat was holding it for Clover.

"Of course." She rolled her eyes.

"I'll take the word onward." Mister Shatter Hat promised. "I guarantee it is all under control. Don't worry too much."

"Good evening to the two of you. Rest well Lavender," he said to me. And left.

Clover was holding a small colorful pouch. I looked at it curiously, but she only tucked it into a pocket out of sight. She looked at me with serious eyes.

"We should go. I can't think anymore. Want to come to the Marquise for a cup?"

I shook my head. "No."

And quickly added: "I mean. Tea would be nice. Just... Hellebore is sometimes in my dreams." I smiled apologetically. "How about the library's café downstairs?"

"But..." She started.

"I know they only have bitter overpriced bag tea. But it's tea. And the company is what matters. Isn't it?" In her moment of indecision, I grabbed my laptop and shoved it into my bag. I took her arm and started decidedly dragging, using my free hand to snatch her laptop as we left the study room.

The library's café was small, clean and modern, with glass and sharp metallic surfaces dominating the space. The clientele was made up mostly of tourists, visiting lecturers, nostalgic alumnae and some very busy professors that didn't have the moment to sit down.

Most students preferred one of the dozen other cheaper cafés around the area. They often had open WiFi, which was, unrivaled, the most used product, accompanied with a token teacup (or bucket) and maybe a sandwich, a combination very much loved by any modern student. The Library's own café was far too classy for everyday use.

But it offered tea, even if a bit overpriced. So we sat down in a corner to enjoy each other's company.

"Listen," Clover said as we sat down "I... I really think you should know..."

"Can I sit here?"

We raised our heads. A broadly shouldered man was leaning onto the table. He held a tray in one hand. He had brown hair and big pearl earrings. Black sunglasses covered his gaze despite the cloudy weather and he had a golden retriever by his side with a neon yellow vest.

"Hellebore?!" Clover said, clearly startled. She glanced my way, but cleared the table so the blind man could sit.

"Thank you."

I felt my mood sink as he slid his tray onto the table.

"I was actually hoping I could reach the two of you." The man smiled. He was still standing and leaning onto the table. "You, really, Lavender. I was hoping to reach you."

I wasn't exactly surprised he could name me seemingly with no way of knowing I was here as I hadn't spoken a word and he was supposedly blind. Before, it had added a nice tingling way of mystery. Now however, I found myself more than a bit creeped out and wished I knew the trick.

Though, then again, few people were completely without sight. Maybe Hellebore saw a very blurry world and was just excellent at educated guesses.

I took a calming breath. It wasn't really the man's fault he was in my dreams, now was it?

"Me?" I asked. "Why?"

He tapped the tray. Only now did I realize the content wasn't from here. There was a carrot pie on Clover's side of the table and some mushroom pie on my side plus a thermos of something and a small square packet. Plates and cups were all clearly from different sets as was the style in the Fair Marquise.

"I suggest you take the loot and run," he whispered dramatically. I was sure he winked behind the black lenses.

"I know you don't welcome my company just now. But I had business in the library anyway. And a friend of mine asked to pass something of yours along. Know that you are welcome to The Marquise whenever you are ready, or even if you aren't."

Before I had time to ask how he knew I didn't want him there, he had turned his back and was headed to the door, the golden retriever dancing gracefully between tables.

How Hellebore had managed to carry the tray in the windy weather with two pieces of pie on porcelain plates remained a mystery. We hardly made it to the benches of the Library lobby ten meters from the cafeteria. And we had two free pairs of hands and clear visions.

There was hot chocolate in the thermos, as we discovered once we had seated ourselves on a bench. Hellebore had included two mismatched silver spoons as well, wrapped in serviettes. Even the serviettes differed in coloring.

"You don't mind if I take the mushroom pie, do you?" I clarified, as I drew the treat toward myself. I had really missed the taste since I hadn't been to Hellebore's.

Clover shook her head. She eyed the packet.

"What's in there?"

I gestured for her to go ahead and open it. I was quite as mystified by the parcel as she was.

Clover lifted the cover of the cardboard box.

I lost my appetite immediately as my gaze landed on the silk fabric neatly folded inside the packet.

I put down the plate with the pie.

"What's this?" Clover asked. She drew the scarf out.

"Oh, no, but this is yours!" She handed it over. "I didn't even notice you didn't have it. How long has it been missing?"

A few weeks would have been the correct answer. I thought.

I still remembered losing it. And the male voice on the phone. The one speaking Spanish. I didn't remember the exact day. But I did remember I didn't remember anything of the day.

"I'm not sure when I left it behind" I lied. Or was it even a lie? My mind was a funny place these days. Maybe I had forgotten it at Hellebore's tea room some windier summer's day and dreamed the phone call. Dreamed the memory loss.

But if I hadn't dreamed it, then Hellebore knew what I had been up to on a day I didn't remember. Or at least a piece of it. Dreams aside, I needed to talk to him.

I needed to do something. Preferably before my mind finally caved into itself.

If I wouldn't see a doctor, then I needed to face the topic.

I shoved a spoon into the pie and took a sip of hot chocolate. At least I would get proper treats if I went to talk to the man. Whatever else he might be, at least Hellebore knew how to bake.