I sleep better with Hollyhock in my arms than I have this past month. The comfort of having her breath mix with mine makes up for the fact that my arm has fallen asleep under her weight. I wake up before her, but her seemingly infallible assassin awareness has her alert in two seconds.

I smile at her. She blinks and frowns.

“Who are you?” she asks. A diabolical dread grips my body in an instant.

‘It didn’t work, the neuroplasticity of her brain has rejected the new information.’

As I spiral into worry, a big, stupid smile grows on the assassin’s face.

All-consuming anxiety turns into awesome annoyance in a split second. I audibly gasp, turn away from her, and pout.

She starts laughing as if it’s SO funny.

“I’m sorry, Hazel!” She says between fits of laughter. “It was a dumb joke, I’m sorry, really!”

I keep my back to her, but my anger has already evaporated. Actually being mad at her isn’t feasible, as I know that’s just her sense of humor.

Still, I keep my back turned and fold my arms.

“C’mon, I said I was sorry.” She paws at my shoulder to get my attention. “I won’t joke like that again, I swear.”

A brief moment of silence and I turn to face her.

“I’m not actually mad, I just…” I don’t even have any words to describe what I’m feeling.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Hollyhock apologizes all the same. She takes my chin in her hand and kisses me softly.

It’s just a peck, at first. Then she presses our lips together again. And again.

And again.

My arms go around her neck and I pull her close. Her hands go to my waist, and she lifts my hips closer to hers.

We’re both on her bed, she’s undressed, and this dress can easily be taken off. Not how I imagined our first time going, but any elixir for an ailment, as they say.

Suddenly, Hollyhock stops and smells her armpit.

“I need a shower,” she declares.

“Without me?” I prod. She laughs and picks at the cut on her face. But only for a second.

“I have a feeling that if you join me in the shower, I’ll end up forgetting why I went in there.”

“You’re not wrong,” I say as I go in for another kiss. Hollyhock puts her hand over my face and gently pushes me down.

“Relax, girl. You look like you still need sleep.”

“No, I don’t!” I protest.

I don’t know when, but I fell asleep on Holly’s cozy bed. As I wipe drool from my mouth, hoping Hollyhock doesn’t notice it as she steps out of her bathroom, I look her over. The assassin is already fully dressed, covering up that body I was close to exploring, and her hair is mostly dry.

I want to ask, ‘Better now?’ and ‘What about me?’ What comes out my mouth instead is,

“Bwuh?”

She laughs.

“Yep, exactly,” joking like she understood me perfectly. “Nothing like a hot shower to make you feel sane again.”

She does look more like her old self, the light in her eyes is more radiant, and a light playful energy emanates from the assassin. A knock comes from the door and I half expect her to shift into a defensive mood.

Instead, she, almost gleefully, goes to answer it. From her bed, I watch her answer the door, receive two brown paper bags from someone, and close it.

“Haven’t gone grocery shopping,” she explains. “Larkspur and Kapudal were babysitting me and ate everything but the crumbs.”

She starts unpacking her food stuffs and I realize how calm I am right now. This all feels…correct. I’m where I should be, and with the person I should be with.

Hollyhock, with everything away, starts to cook breakfast. She cracks a couple of eggs into a pan. Sensing me watching her, she beckons me over with her index finger.

I comply and head over, when I get close she turns around and has a sensuous look on her face. Before I can ask what that’s about, she takes hold of my chin and pulls me in for another kiss. This one is softer and slower than any we’ve shared so far.

“What was that for?” I ask.

“We got interrupted a lot, just making up for those times,” the assassin answers. Her hand glides to my neck, and a finger traces along its length.

I involuntarily shiver at the sensation.

Hollyhock chuckles a tiny bit, and I just know she just noted that. Later on, she’ll use that to her advantage.

I can’t wait for that moment.

But I’m not one to be outdone. My hands start at her shoulders, grazing for any sensitive spots. She has no noticeable reaction to anywhere my hands go until they get to her hips. I tug at her belt loops and her breath hitches.

Gotcha.

This quickly turns into more than just kissing. The assassin presses her lips against my neck, and I pull her hips closer. We both try to find the more receptive areas of one another.

Hollyhock stops with a laugh.

“Hold on, these eggs are about to burn.” She turns her attention back to the stove. I wrap my arms around her as she scrapes eggs from the pan to a plate.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a good kisser?” I ask in her left ear. She holds her chin as if in deep thought.

“Not today, at the very least,” she supplies.

“Well then,” I kiss her cut, “let me be the first.” She tilts her head into the kiss.

“Aight, lemme cook breakfast in peace, you perv.”

“You’re the one that called me over,” I point out.

“You don't have any proof of that. It’ll never hold up in court. Sit,” she vaguely gestures toward the couch.

Minutes later, I have a plate of a hearty breakfast in my hands. As skilled a cook as she is a kisser, the food tastes great. That said, I can’t help but notice the growing tension in our silence as we eat. Questions that want to be asked, but neither of us wants to start. I wait for Hollyhock because I’m sure she has much more to ask, but she doesn’t speak up. So I go first,

“So, what now?”

Hollyhock stops eating and taps her plate with her fork. With a small chuckle, she replies with,

“Ain’t that the million-dollar question?” She looks me up and down and gives a smile. “Way I see it, we both got things to settle in our…”

“Respective worlds,” I supply. She nods, agreeing with my word choice.

“Right.” Hollyhock chews on her bottom lip for a second. “I got shit to set straight with Tamara, with everyone, really.” I remember her saying that Tamara didn’t tell her about me. It brings to mind when I asked her if she was responsible for Hollyhock’s fugue states. Perhaps a tad impetuous at the time, but I still feel she’s keeping secrets. But it’s not my place to say anything, as I love and know Hollyhock; she’ll want to get to the bottom of it herself. I only hope it will yield better results than our business with the Necromancer.

“And you have your magic stuff to do. Didn’t you say something about a council?”

“Yes, the High Council. Several magicians who oversee society.”

“Are they, like, a magical parliament?”

I make a so-so gesture with my hand.

“They can make rules, but really all our laws were made centuries ago, so really they deal with the minutiae of various things. Trade, security, I honestly think it’s something for those without talent to have something to do.”

“You just described the vast majority of governments.” I shrug.

“Be that as it may, they also handle infractions of laws.”

“How do they deal with magicians exposing magic to regular people?”

“I don’t know. It’s never happened before.”

Hollyhock gives me a somewhat surprised look.

“Look at you, making history.”

“It’s also possible it’s happened before, and I just never bothered to learn about it.”

“Okay, less impressive.”

“It never pertained to my life before all this. The only magicians that can leave Arcaniums are sorcerers, and so I never bothered to learn if there are any consequences to it.”

“Weren’t you planning to leave for years?”

“...fair point. But still, I don’t know.”

“Well, I’d like to help you, but I don’t know anything about getting caught by the law.” Hollyhock shrugs. Her small joke raises a corner of my mouth. Silence falls between us, and what we really want to say hangs in the air.

We don’t know if we’ll see each other again.

Not because we don’t want to, that much is clear to me. With the Necromancer finally dead, Hollyhock might think my business here is done. But she must know I don’t want to go. She’d gladly go and help me, but she can’t. And as much as I want to stay here, I can’t.

I want to promise that I’ll be back, but that’s not up to me; the High Council will decide. The choice to be with Hollyhock is out of my hands again.

Unless I do something drastic.

“I’ll make this work, Hollyhock. I promise this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other.”

She licks the top row of her teeth, a gesture I’ve come to conclude signals deep thought. The assassin is looking off in the distance. I take hold of her face to have her look at me. “I mean it.” I need her to hear my asseveration.

Her smoky quartz eyes bore into mine. I could read her mind if I wanted to, and I do. But the shadows of her nature have receded as we spend more time together. I want to learn all about her naturally.

She takes my hand in hers and turns her head to kiss my palm. Heat flushes into my face at the sheer intimacy. Hollyhock closes her eyes and nuzzles her face against my hand. My fingers brush against her stitches. I fight the urge to count them.

“Okay,” she replies with her scratchy voice as she cradles her head more. “Okay,” she says a bit softer this time.

The assassin drops her hand, but mine lingers for a while after.

We finish our food and look at each other for a moment. The gravitational pull between our hearts has us quickly in an embrace.

I hold her not nearly as tight as I want to, and not long enough to satisfy my heart. I commit every detail of Hollyhock to memory; how her skin feels against mine, the warmth that emanates from her. Her heart thumps in her chest, and mine echoes the pulses. The smell of her soap, shampoo, and her natural scent. How the void black coils of her hair define themselves with gravity defiance. The stitches of her cut tickle against my cheek.

She gives a final squeeze as she senses the hug is over.

And though I want to stay in her arms longer, where I feel all is right, I do have to go.

That’s when I remember something crucial.

“I have your boots, they kept me…grounded. Helped me more than you realize. Brought them back like you asked.”

Hollyhock laughs a little bit.

“Keep ‘em. Besides, what kinda girl would I be if I sent you out of here, shoeless?”

I chuckle at that.

What kind of girl would she be indeed?

💀🌿💀

Witch-Hazel steps back from our hug.

“I’ll see you later,” she says.

“See ya.” She nods and in an instant, she’s gone.

I take a deep breath and catch the lingering smell of her shampoo; the smell of rain after a heatwave. Then I look at my table.

“She couldn’t have put her dish in the sink?” I ask the air.

‘Well, she fixed my brain, so I guess she can get a pass.’

I start to get embarrassed when I remember how I’ve been acting these last few weeks. Though, in my defense, I didn’t know magic was the reason I couldn’t remember anything.

Worst part is that I can’t provide a logical explanation for my turnaround. Even if I felt like acting how I was, which I don’t, everyone will eventually see through that. And that’ll add even more suspicion to me.

I sigh as I plan on how to approach this.

“Fuck it.”

I get ready and head out to HQ. There’s a lull in the heatwave, the air is tolerable. People take advantage of the relative coolness, being out and about on the streets. My eyes glance over families and couples and force my mind to focus on the task at hand.

The Bay Leaf headquarters is as busy as it usually is. My fellow assassins all have their eyes on me, likely they’ve heard about my seizure. I try to brush aside the forming doubts of what they might think of me.

Koki’O and I bump into each other because I wasn’t paying attention.

“Holly,” the tree of a woman says to me. With a glance, she assesses me. “You seem better, more yourself.”

“Is Tamara in her office?” I ask, not wanting to comment on her accurate guess.

“No time for small talk?”

“… I am feeling better, thank you,” I answer after a moment. “Is she in?”

“I’ve never known her to take a vacation.”

A good answer as any.

I walk to Tamara’s office to find her inside. She’s glancing between three monitors, an additional laptop has been summoned for her work. A neutral expression on her face juxtaposes the frenetic energy of her hands. As I get closer, I see she’s looking at CCTV footage of a street somewhere in the city. The other two screens aren’t facing me. I turn my attention back to her before she notices me looking at whatever she’s doing.

“One moment, please,” she says to me. Her low volume leads me to believe the task at hand isn’t going her way. As she switches to the middle screen, I notice her typing words in sentences; she’s talking to someone on that screen.

I better stop sleuthing.

Tamara scoffs, closes the laptop, exits out of the CCTV footage, and ends whatever she has on her third screen. The head of our assassin organization looks me up and down.

“You seem to be better,” she says, almost word for word what Koki’O said. It makes me wonder just how aligned their minds are. But that’s not the question I need answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Hazel?” There’s no point in skirting about with Tamara.

It feels weird dropping the ‘witch’ from her name.

If she’s at all surprised by my knowing about Hazel, she hides it well.

“I was attempting to do damage control,” she answers, bluntly at that. It’s nice we don’t have to dance around this conversation, in a way.

“Meaning?”

Tamara sighs.

“You’ve never hurt or killed anyone that didn’t have it coming during your blackouts before. But this two-week-long lapse was another matter entirely. So when I didn’t see your…friend, Hazel.”

Tamara isn’t sure what the nature of my relationship with Witch-Hazel is.

Neither am I, to be honest.

“I, as I’ve been conditioned to, presumed the worst outcome.” With that answer, I get a microscopic look into her past. A subject I am interested in, but not at this time.

“So you thought I killed her?”

“Or scared her off,” she supplies. “You were acting strangely, but lucidly, before you forgot the prior weeks. Then you said you blacked out, and I didn’t see any sign of Hazel. Like I said, you’ve never harmed an innocent before, but in this case, I didn’t if that still held. Or if Hazel is as innocent as she seems. Either way, I chose to not let you know about her. There was no need to make you feel worse when you were already spiraling.”

I see the logic in her decision. Tamara, not knowing about magic, couldn’t form another reason for my memory lapses. While I can’t say I love the choice she made, I do understand why she made it. Even if her willingness to obscure the truth nags at me more than I’d like to admit.

“I guess I get that,” is all I say on the matter. Tamara doesn’t need to know the extent of my thoughts.

“How did you find out about her?” She asks. I wasn’t expecting her to care further. Then again, I hadn’t thought past the initial question.

“I remember those weeks now.” An incredulous answer, but still true nonetheless. Tamara stands and walks around her desk to get closer to me. I hide how unnerved I am by this. Of the myriad of questions I wager she’ll ask, Tamara conjures one that’s completely unexpected,

“Is she alive?”

“Y-yes,” I answer. Through all of this, I never imagined Tamara caring enough or at all about Hazel. But she nods, pleased by my response.

“That’s good.” I’ve never heard her so genuinely appreciative of something that has nothing to do with our work.

What is going on here?

“So, you’ve remembered those weeks,” Tamara brings us back to the main point. “Have you remembered all your other blackouts?” She probes with a keenly interested tone.

“No, just those weeks,” I answer. I’m not sure what response she wanted to hear, and I don’t think she knows either. Tamara looks me in the eyes to see if I’m hiding anything. While I am, it’s not about this, so I’m safe.

She relaxes, and her shoulders ease up.

“This is…” Tamara tilts her head in search of the right word. “Unprecedented. Usually, memory issues are a one-for-all situation.”

“It’s one of the many ways I’m unusual.”

Tamara scoffs at that. Or maybe it was a laugh. I can’t tell.

She holds out a finger to manipulate my chin and examine the cut across my cheek.

“You been picking at it?”

“No.” I feel like a kid being nagged by a parent.

Or how I imagine such a situation would feel.

“I remember your first real cut, you picked at it ‘til it got infected,” Tamara recalls while tracing the path of the blade that did it. The man who did it had a cheap knife, poor grip, and would’ve bled out in seconds from his gut wound even if I didn’t shoot him through his neck. He got lucky, or maybe I was careless and managed to get his blade to scrape against my left second false rib.

The cut wasn’t that bad, in retrospect, but I did pick at the stitches until an infection showed up. That was bad, and the lecture I got from Digit was even worse.

“I’m surprised you still remember that,” I say to Tamara. She shrugs.

“It was your third kill, one or two usually break people. Making it to the third sets you apart from most, in my opinion.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” I surmise.

“Where’s Hazel now?” Tamara asks, shifting the conversation once again.

“She went back home,” I answer, unclear on why she cares. “She has some stuff to handle.”

Tamara goes back behind her desk.

“Anything we can help with?” I have to assume her inclination to help Witch-Hazel is from some notion she owes her. But it still unsettles me for some reason.

“No, it’s not like that.” Tamara shrugs and opens her laptop again.

“Oh, well. Anything else you need from me?”

Part of me wants to pry into why she cares about Hazel. But I get the feeling if I talk more about the witch, the more suspicious Tamara will become of her.

Looking at the head of our group, I see a woman who makes it her business to know everything that goes on in this city; yet she is unaware of this magical world I’m now conscious of. If I talk about Hazel more, Tamara might dissect the threads between our world and Hazels.

She has her secrets, so I should have my own.

“No, that was it.”

“Go see Digit and inform him of your miraculous recovery, it’ll be sure to lift his spirits.”

Now I remember how I left Digit, the pain in his face as I refused his help. I’m retroactively embarrassed all over again. At the time, not knowing any better, thought I was doomed and didn’t see the point. Now I’m going to stroll into his workspace all peachy?

Magic is bullshit.

I do feel I owe it to him, so I oblige. Nodding my head, I leave Tamara’s office and go to Digit’s forge/clinic. Entering his domain, I can see why Tamara said I should visit.

Digit, like most anyone in his position, usually looks exhausted at any given time. He not only outfits us with gear he manages, stitches us back together, handles our technology, but also tattoos whatever insane shit we want on our bodies. He even does the occasional assassination contract. Him looking tired isn’t a unique thing.

But the man I see before me is beyond tired. He seems depleted, his vacant eyes stare at a computer screen, and his beard is more scraggly than ever.

When he finally notices me, he switches tabs before I can read what he was looking at. Now the screen shows “Top Ten Panda facts”. I’m not sure what to make of that.

“Looking at porn on the job?” I joke to brighten the pervasive dark mood in here.

“HA HA HA,” he offers in reply. Then he takes a real good look at me to quickly reach the same conclusion that Tamara and Koki’O reached before,

“You-”

“Seem better?” I interrupt. “I feel better than the last time I was in here, thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t ask yet.”

“I wanted to spare ya the effort.”

“And what can be attributed to this?”

I have to be careful here. Tamara was one thing, but Digit is a more aesculapian minded individual. He’ll definitely have questions as to how and why I’ve regained my memories. By all logical accounts, it makes no sense.

“First, I want to apologize for not taking your help before. I…felt like a lost cause. And I didn’t want you, or anyone, to see me like that. But pride is a stupid reason to not accept help.”

Digit nods, his mood already lifting.

“Wise words, did Koki’O say that?”

“No, it was…” I suddenly realize that the Necromancer said something like that. “No one you know,” I finish.

“Hmm.” Digit doesn’t like the insinuation but lets it pass. “What’s second?”

“I…” there’s no other way to say this, “regained my memories. And the headaches are gone.”

That piques his interest. Digit sits up straighter and that familiar analytical look in his eyes returns.

“Really? How did that happen?”

I do an exaggerated shrug and put my hands in the air.

“It doesn’t make any sense that I can think of.” That’s the closest thing to the truth. Witch-Hazel said she copied my memories but I don’t understand how that works at all. “Must be magic.” Just a little joke for me.

Digit runs his hand through his hair with an amazed expression.

“This is…”

“Unprecedented?” I supply.

“Exactly!” I nod, somewhat amused that he chose the same word as Tamara. Koki’O might’ve said the same if I got the chance to tell her. “I still want to run some tests and get you under an MRI and CT.”

I refused before because I didn’t want to know whatever dismal truth awaited the other side of those tests. But with my memory magically restored, and the pain gone, I don’t see the harm in it.

Especially if it’ll calm Digit’s nerves.

“Fine, run some tests, get me in a big magnetic tube.” He sighs in relief.

“Thank you! God, it’s like no one listens to my medical advice around here. Sure, they tune in when I have their fancy weapons and gadgets. But when I suggest they take their antibiotics or multivitamins, suddenly it’s in one ear and out the other!”

I get the feeling that Digit has had this rant locked and loaded for a while now; I don’t really want to hear it, but I let him have it.

A minute into his lecture, Digit remembers what he was going to do and relents. Clearing his throat, he turns to his computer.

“Better get this done sooner rather than later. I expect we’ll be busy soon enough.”

“Why?”

“We wiped out the DeadNettles, things will settle, but soon there’s going to be chaos in the streets. The power vacuum and such.”

I had briefly forgotten the ecosystem of our city, focusing on the magical world hidden from view.

“Oh, yeah. You ever experienced anything like this?”

“Never so fast.” Like Tamara, I only get mini glimpses into his past. He isn’t as secretive as Tamara but, that doesn’t necessarily make him forthcoming. “I’ll let you know when I get everything set up. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Aight.”

I leave the HQ, not without more comments on my improved well-being from virtually everyone.

My confrontation with Tamara was far less climatic than I thought it would be. Though I am glad she didn’t have a sinister ulterior motive. At least, not that she revealed as much. I’m still startled by her giving a shit about Witch-Hazel. Beyond common courtesy, I don’t see why she would inquire about her.

Going to my car, I ruminate on how bizarre that is.

As I drive home, my thoughts shift to Witch-Hazel. I wonder what she’s up to, how her stuff is going.

“Magic,” I say aloud. Looking around the city, I think about what she taught me about magic. It is everywhere and in everything. All around me, but I’m unable to perceive it. Magic.

I took it all in stride when Witch-Hazel was with me, and we were on the hunt for the Necromancer. But thinking about all this shit on my own? It’s mind-boggling.

I can see why they have a rule against exposing magic to regular people.

If magic is real, then it isn’t too farfetched to think what else might be real. I suspect Witch-Hazel has only shown me a fraction of the magical world.

Who’s to say that any religion isn’t true now? Maybe every single one of them is right.

I stop at a red light.

Hell, even hell might be real. If it is, I’m definitely going there.

This light refuses to change.

I remember Hazel saying that magicians live longer than regular people. I’ll die someday and most assuredly head straight to hell; but she’ll still be here for decades, maybe centuries to come. Knowing I’ve died and gone to a horrible place, carrying that pain and grief with her.

I don’t want that for her.

When she came back, I was relieved more than anything. Now that I’ve had some time to think, to assess the lengths she’ll go for me; I’m setting her up for unimaginable heartbreak.

With my life the way it is, it’s only a matter of time before I get killed, and she’s left with that weight in her heart forever.

The light is still red.

My hand develops a vice grip on the steering wheel as I get deeper into my thoughts.

If Witch-Hazel loves me, I’ll end up hurting her more than anything else has.

She hasn’t said it, but I can tell she’s lost someone close to her before. It changed her.

I don’t want to be another stepping stone on her path to misery.

Please, please don’t be in love with me, Hazel.

Ch. 28 End