When I ring Marceline’s bell, Harlin stands next to me with his arms crossed over his chest. Of course we’d get to the house at the same time. Hopefully he doesn’t plan on staying long. I have a lot to talk to Marceline about.
The door swings open. Marceline is wearing a flowered housecoat, her white hair wild without the knit cap to tame it. She looks between Harlin and me, grinning.
“I figured you’d show up together,” she says in her broken voice.
Harlin and I exchange a look, not mentioning the fact that we’re not really on speaking terms at the moment. It also doesn’t help that Marceline just rubbed some salt in my rejection wound.
“We’re, um . . .” This is so humiliating. “We didn’t come here together,” I tell her. “We just happened to show up at the same time. A coincidence.”
Marceline laughs, holding open the door as she waves us in, her bracelets jangling. “Child,” she says, “there’s no such thing.”
Marceline’s house is comforting in its clutter, in its oddness. I make my way to the couch, wondering if she’s going to talk to me in front of Harlin. I’m scared. I don’t want him to know the things she’s said to me. Will he believe them? Or will he think I’m an idiot for sitting through her ramblings?
As Marceline shuffles in, Harlin stands in the doorway watching us.
“Harlin,” the old woman calls as she takes her spot in the rocking chair. “Don’t sulk around like some wounded puppy. Have a seat.”
My eyes widen. Oh no. She’s going to tell him that I’m a Forgotten. I start to panic, even think about leaving. Marceline pushes her bowl of mints toward me.
“I think I’d rather be lucid for this,” I murmur.
“We’ll see,” she says, taking a piece and popping it into her mouth. I wonder how many of those she’s had already today.
Harlin comes to sit next to me, my heart rate spiking the minute he does. His smell is so familiar, the heat from his body radiating toward mine as our shoulders brush against each other. I close my eyes, nearly overwhelmed by the sense of loss I feel.
“I’m going to be candid,” Marceline says. I look to find her staring in my direction. “He should know what you are.”
What I am. The phrase slaps me, breaks me apart. I think of the memory and the feeling that I was dying. That I’d given up trying to save myself. But I’ll never give up.
“I know what she is,” Harlin says. I turn to him suddenly, stunned by his admission. How does he fit into this?
“Do you know who she is?” Marceline asks gently.
Harlin’s eyes narrow as he tries to find meaning in the old woman’s words. The two of them stay like that, but my stomach is twisting in knots.
“What are you talking about?” I demand. “Who . . . what am I? And how does Harlin know any of this?”
Marceline focuses her attention on me. “He’s a Seer, child. He helps the Forgotten—leads them to their destiny.” She gives him a sharp look. “Or at least he’s supposed to.”
“Seer,” I repeat. I think back on the stories of the Forgotten. Harlin knows all about this. He’s part of this.
“More importantly,” Marceline says, crunching down on her mint, “he’s in love with you. Again.”
I’m about to ask Marceline what she’s talking about, but I shoot a look at Harlin. He stares past her then, not seeming to react to her words. His mouth parts as he takes in a shuddered breath. His eyes well up, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. All without a word.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Marceline says to him. “I didn’t know at first.”
“What’s going on?” I ask. Seeing Harlin this destroyed is killing me. He already told me he loved someone else. Marceline is talking in riddles again.
She gives me a weary glance, but it’s clear she’s worried about Harlin, who still hasn’t moved or said a word. “Fine,” I say, sick of constantly being left out of the loop. I stand up, ready to take off. “I’m leaving—”
“Wait,” Harlin whispers, reaching to take my hand. Startled, I turn to him. He studies me with what can only be described as absolute pain. I nearly reach for him, but he lets my hand drop.
Harlin leans to put his elbows on his knees, his face in his palms. Marceline slides the bowl of mints toward him, but he doesn’t lift his head.
The wrinkles in Marceline’s skin seem to deepen. When her eyes meet mine, she shrugs apologetically. “You’re the reincarnation of his girlfriend. A Forgotten.”
I stumble back a step. “I’m what?”
“Your name was Charlotte Cassidy. Beautiful soul—very loving. In the end, you—”
Harlin jumps up then, rushing past us. He doesn’t say a word, and when the front door closes, I know he’s gone. Tears begin to gather in my eyes.
“He’s never learned to handle his grief,” Marceline explains. “He’ll find you when he’s ready. He always does.”
I’m not sure how to process what’s happened. Instead, I reach to take a peppermint. As I suck on it, my body begins to shake with the realization. “I had another life?” I ask. “It’s all real?”
Marceline nods. “Take heart in the fact that you sacrificed yourself for the good of the world. That’s admirable. And now they’ve sent you back to do it again.”
I’m light-headed, and I’m not sure if I’m prepared to hear any more. “This isn’t possible,” I murmur. “None of this is possible.”
“I assure you, there are many things in this world that you can’t understand, child. But it doesn’t mean they’re impossible. In fact, like coincidences, there is a reason for everything. Even the things we can’t explain.”
I meet the old woman’s eyes. “How do you know all this?”
“I’m a Seer, like Harlin. Only, my vision is keener—mostly because it’s mixed with my psychic abilities. I thought I was retired, but it seems you’ve brought back my sight.” She leans forward in her chair, the wood creaking. “You’re special. And not because you’re Forgotten. But because you’ve come back. And that’s never been done before. There is a purpose in this, even if we can’t see it just yet.”
“So all that stuff—the skin turning gold, the people forgetting, that’s going to happen to me?”