Harlin smiles softly and steps up, wrapping his arms around me as he brings his lips to my ear. I close my eyes. “I hate every second I’m away from you,” he says. “Don’t ever doubt that.” And then he kisses me.
* * *
After Harlin’s gone, I wait through the afternoon, alternating between snacking and calling my sister to see when she’s coming home. Lucy never answers. When I talk to my father, he tells me he’ll be stuck at work until late tonight. I don’t mention that I called in to Santo’s. Right now, the less he knows the better.
It’s close to six thirty when I hear the engine of a motorcycle in front of my house. I check my reflection once more, still tingling from our kiss.
Harlin waits at the curb on his Harley, leaning back with his hands in his lap as he stares down the road, wearing his dark sunglasses even though the sky is overcast.
As if he knows I’m watching him, Harlin smiles and then slowly turns. “Hey, you,” he says.
“Hi.” I’m exhilarated, shy, and nervous all at once.
Harlin takes off his glasses and tucks them into the collar of his T-shirt. He’s not wearing his leather jacket, which makes him appear more casual, less dangerous. I certainly don’t mind noticing his arms.
“I can’t believe I’m going to get on that right now.” I motion toward the bike. “You got in an accident yesterday.”
“That wasn’t my fault.” He frowns at this, looking down. I can see from here the large scrapes in the chrome, but otherwise the Harley appears to be in working order.
I walk over and he helps me climb on the back. When my body is against his, I rest my chin on his shoulder. “If you get me killed,” I whisper, “I’m going to be so mad.”
Harlin chuckles and then kicks the bike to life.
* * *
Harlin drives us across town to Diner 51. It’s a small building with aluminum siding and a bright pink door. It’s kitschy in a fifties, alien sort of way. As we walk inside, there’s an Elvis song playing, a few customers at the counter. I check the time on my phone and see that we’re early.
Harlin takes my hand and pulls me toward a table in the back. Since we’re here, I order a milkshake. Then nervousness begins to twist my stomach. What will Monroe tell me about Onika when he gets here? What will he tell me about myself?
I’m only three sips into my chocolate shake when the diner door opens. I recognize Monroe Swift immediately. He’s handsome—in his early forties, with blond hair slightly graying at his temples and bright blue eyes. He’s definitely thinner than I’ve seen him, his features exaggerated by the sharp angles.
He nods to Harlin as he approaches, his expression unreadable. When he pauses at the end of the table, Monroe holds out his hand to me. “Now who do we have here?” he asks in a British accent.
“Elise Landon,” I answer, sliding my palm into his cool one.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He squints as if studying me, and then moves to take a seat.
“This is the one I told you about,” Harlin says to him. “She needs your help.”
“Help that you can’t provide as her Seer?” Monroe asks. Harlin shifts next to me, and Monroe straightens, looking between us. “Wait, is she even your Forgotten?”
“Not exactly,” Harlin says.
“What are you doing?” Monroe whispers harshly. “Why did you drag me out here? Who is this girl, and what does she have to do with Onika?”
I make a sound when he mentions Onika. Monroe turns, his hands balled into fists on the table. And just then, another memory appears, blocking out the world around me.
I’m in the passenger seat as Monroe drives down a busy Portland street. “Yes,” he says. “You are my last Forgotten, but it doesn’t mean this is easy for me. You have no idea what I’m going through.”
“What you’re going through?” I snap. “What about what I’m going through?” I’ve lost everything. Lost Harlin. Lost my face. And soon, I’ll lose my life.
I start, the diner scene filtering in once again. I wait a beat as the fear fades, the feeling of hopelessness. I don’t want that to happen to me. I refuse to disappear. A new streak of bravery rushes in at the thought of losing everything.
“I’m a Forgotten,” I tell Monroe, almost confused at the sudden affection I have for him. “But I’m not like the others—not exactly. You used to be my Seer,” I say. “You used to be my friend.”
Monroe swallows hard, his expression softening as a slow realization comes over him. He glances at Harlin, who’s still smiling. “Is she—” He stops. “How is that possible?”
“As Marceline told me,” I say, “there is no such thing as impossible.”
“Marceline?” Monroe’s mouth quirks up. “Is that old psychic a part of this?”
“She’s my Seer. She’s also actually psychic. Marceline told me who I used to be. She told me about Charlotte.” At that, Harlin lowers his head, as if there’s still pain at the sound of the name. Across from me, Monroe’s blue eyes fill with tears, but he blinks them away.
“I see,” he says. “Well, sweetheart. You have been missed. You’ve been missed dearly.”
I smile at the thought of this, the thought that I hadn’t been completely forgotten. “I don’t remember everything,” I say. “But little bits and pieces have come back. And then, of course, there are the visions.” I pause. “Of Onika.”
Any joy on Monroe’s face quickly fades. “The beast has come for you.”
I’m taken aback by his choice of words. Even though I remember Monroe calling Onika a monster, I also know that he once loved her. Could his feelings truly have changed so drastically?
“She hasn’t come for me,” I say. “At least not yet.”
“I’m sure she will,” Monroe responds. His knuckles are white as he keeps his clenched fists on the table. “She won’t rest until she finds you. She knows how I cared for you. That alone is enough reason for her to destroy you.” Monroe exhales and runs his fingers through his thinning hair. It’s then that I notice the dark circles beneath his eyes. The veins visible under his skin. I’ve seen that look before.
“You’re sick,” I murmur.
Monroe lifts his gaze to mine. Harlin clears his throat as he turns away, and I think that he already knew.