Gone But Not Forgotten

It was a bright and sunny morning. From his pillow in the master cabin of his yacht, Drew could see calm waters merging with the yawning blue sky. The horizon was nothing but a suggestion, a place where the infinite ocean became a shade lighter as the infinite sky.

  He had his wife in his arms — the perfect honeymoon — and his weather spell indicated calm seas for the first part of the day.

  He stretched languidly against his wife, Lisanne, taking in her curves and imperfections…a dotted mole here, a crooked tooth there, a bird tattoo splayed across her pale flesh…while she lay beside him. He grinned at her, still breathing heavily from their exertion. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she said. She leaned and kissed him like she might devour him if he let her. He contemplated what it would be like, to be devoured by a woman like her, and decided he wanted to try it.

  “My fish!” she yelped. She stood, gloriously naked, and grabbed a sheet to wrap around her figure. “I have to feed my fish.”

  He wasted a second contemplating whether it was a sex joke before he decided it wasn’t. “Can it wait?” He wanted to spend the morning with her in his arms, not feeding her fish. But then again, he’d get to see her apartment, understand a little of how she lived. The fact that she had even consented, in the end, felt like a miracle; that she had done so enthusiastically both baffled and intrigued him.

  The trouble with arranged marriages was that you didn’t know anything about your partner on your wedding night. The fun was in discovering them over and over again, for the rest of your lives, as you each learned new things about the other.

  “A few hours?” Lisanne mused. “I have to feed them before the next concert, which is in…hours.” She looked at her watch, which was dead. She reached for her phone on the bedside table. The phone was also dead.

  “But…” Drew reminded her, “your concert was canceled last night. Are you sure you even have a concert tonight?”

  She blinked at him, her eyes lacking their usual perceptive depth. “Canceled?”

  “Yes. Niels was too sick to sing. Do you remember?.”

  She darted around the room, retrieving discarded articles of clothing in frantic, jerky movements while struggling to hold the bed sheet around herself. He reached over his head to the shelf behind the bed and passed her the lacy black bra she’d worn last night.

  “I have to find the band!” she told him as she dressed. “What if they’re sick?”

  “Everyone in the band is fine. I didn’t even need to heal Niels with Wicca. It was just a bad cold.”

  Li frowned. Some part of her wrestled to hold onto this information, but her eyes went slowly vague again as she aggressively shoved her foot into a pair off jeans. “This is my fault.”

  Now fully dressed — and gorgeous, her dyed-black hair chaotic in the morning light — she gazed at him. “Wait. Wicca?”

  “Yes,” Drew said carefully. Did she not remember? She was there. Or was this an act, because she regretted consenting??

  “Right.” She tossed the sheet onto the bed. “Yeah. I have to go, check on the…but this was fun.” She looked him over, eyes paused on his bare chest before they flickered away. “Do you want me to autograph anything?”

  Did he want her to sign anything? He stared at her, confused. “I’m not a fan of the band,” he admitted. They had phenomenal musical structure, but they made it loud and grating for the sake of it. Besides, he didn’t need her to autograph anything. She was his wife. He hesitated, his eyes locked on her stressed mascara. “Do you…remember that we’re married?”

  She laughed. “No. I’m sure you’re a great guy, but I don’t even know your name. I…would enjoy another date, and we can talk about that.”

  Translation: You’re good enough in bed for me to do this again, but you’re also nothing to me.

  Nothing to her. To his wife.

  He closed his eyes. “After the fish?” he suggested, about the date. “I can meet you at your park.”

  New York had an enormous park, bigger than any of the urban parks in Sylem, designed to convince urban dwellers that the smell of city faded in a sham forest at the city’s heart. No one in Sylem, connected as they were to plants, would have moved to a city full of so much iron and steel. The cities in Sylem were carefully decorated with wood and stone, endless stretches of low-level buildings designed for the comfort of its citizens. Even the slums were wood-frame. Murder the poor? Sure! Force them to live in metal houses? Never!

  It was one of the reasons a particular criminal — the one Drew hunted above all others — was so anathema. He used shipping crates and metal cages on his prisoners. Even Drew wouldn’t use metal in his line of work.

  “Yeah,” Li agreed, her expression vague. “After the fish. Sounds great. It was really nice to meet you.”

  She turned and froze. Drew couldn’t see her expression, only the way her shoulders tensed and her arms stopped moving. She must have noticed the fact of the ocean.

  “How do I get home?” she asked. Her voice wobbled on the word home, and Drew wanted to both hug and reassure her. Instinct kept him at bay: The hug would be unwelcome.

  “Wicca,” he said, and he was willing to bet her eyes went vague again. He crossed the room — taking care to pull on his jeans first — and stood in front of her. Sure enough, her expression was lost, disinterested, confused.

  He pressed a travel pack into her hand. “Drop this, click your heels three times, and say, ‘There’s no place like home,’ and you should be there.”

  She neglected to laugh at the joke. “Please take me home. This isn’t fun for me.”

  He sighed and reached for her hand, closing her fingers around the silky travel pack. “Humor me? Just drop this, and think of home.” He might not ever see her again, but it would be what she wanted. What she needed.

  Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes fluttered and her hand flexed around the travel pack. Then she dropped it, and was gone.

  He stood alone in his cabin for a moment, gazing out at the serenity of water that could turn rough on a dime. With luxurious heated floors beneath his feet, the taste of Li still fresh on his tongue, and the scent of morning tea wafting up from the kitchen, Drew could almost forget that his own wife didn’t know him. 

  He had come a long way since his childhood, and the marriage to Li was a debt paid to the Rhoganoi — hopefully the last debt he would have to pay. One arranged marriage, especially to someone as amazing and talented as Lisanne, was a small price to pay for his freedom.

  But this troubled him. Rhoda’s motivation in marrying him to a woman who would never know him…was it a punishment or a cry for help?

  It felt like a curse.

  He needed time to think. He showered, scrubbing the night from his body and clearing his head. He dressed in clean, professional clothes — nothing stained from work. He laced his shoes and stood in front of the mirror. Maybe the problem was him: maybe he wasn’t memorable enough to break through whatever spell had been done to Li.

  He shook his head. There was no use dwelling on it.

  He left his cabin and descended into the galley, where his business partner Dax stood making pancakes for his kids.

  “What’s going on?” Dax asked under his breath.

  They continued a subdued conversation. Drew motioned toward the doorway, as if Li were standing there. “She doesn’t remember getting married.”

  Dax flipped a pancake. “That’s a strong spell. Want to cook up an answer?”

  The word play was probably to show off for Dax’s wife, so Drew ignored it. Dax was taller than he was, older than he was, but what Drew lacked in age and experience he made up for in training. He was ready to tackle anything.

  “Yes,” Drew said. “And a way to undo it.” Because there were kids in the room and he didn’t want to attract their attention, he asked, “How is the passenger?”

  “Hungry,” Dax said. He served a plate of pancakes and kissed his wife as he passed them to her. Drew poured new batter on the griddle. “Good,” he told Dax. “We can give her some lactated ringers to keep her alert and keep her stomach miserable. I want a line in anyway — she spat truth serum in my eye last night.”

  He should start wearing safety goggles for work, but usually Drew’s passengers were focused on appeasing him, not on aggravating him. It was a relatively new experience.

  “You’ll be out today?” Dax asked, flipping the pancakes.

  Drew nodded. “Do you have any idea how to break this?”

  Dax considered, tapping the spatula against the counter. “I think we should start with who she is, why Rhoda wants her, and who did it to her. There’s got to be a signature, right?”

  Who she was: Lisanne Sørensen, bass player for the famous inter-realm band Chainskull Death.

  Why Rhoda wanted her: Unknown.

  Who did it to her:

  Drew sighed. “There is a signature. Rhoda did it.” The question was: Did Li know she had a memory spell, and she was using it now to send a clear no to Drew, or was the memory spell truly at play?

  “So, it’s either a test, or Rhoda messed up and needs your help.”

  That was the conclusion Drew had reached. If they’d both reached it independently, it was likely the correct line of logic.

  “I can handle the guest,” Dax promised. “You figure your wife out. Track her for children…people she may have forgotten exist.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. What if Li had a trail of memory casualties behind her? It would be an extensive effort. He wouldn’t have time to address the passenger. He met Dax’s eyes. “Do me a favor?”

  Dax waited, palm on the counter.

  “Don’t be efficient with Ms. Cartier.”

  Dax nodded, his expression as deadly as the edge of a knife. “She hurt my family. I’ll be very slow.”

  Good. That addressed, Drew nodded once, grabbed a pancake off the griddle, and transported to New York’s Central Park.

  While he ate the hot pancake, he contemplated that his memory of New York was as accurate as he’d thought: The plants here suffered from the tang of metal. Even through the pancake, he could taste it in the air, mingled with the exhaust of a million buses and taxis.

  He sat on a bench opposite a small pond and removed his cellular phone from his pocket. Quietly, he swapped sim cards from SylemTek to the local carrier in New York. He found Lisanne’s number under his saved contacts and selected a photo of himself.

  He sent it to her number, along with, Remember me?

  She didn’t respond. 

  He was certain he had the number right — he’d checked it three times when he entered it into his phone. He sent a second text: Li with the bird tattoo.

  The phone vibrated in his hand. Please stop harassing me. Also, this isn’t Li.

  He had one more option, before he would have to turn his efforts toward Rhoda and whatever magic she had used.

  He texted Li a different photo — this one of her, in his arms, smiling.

  A moment later, his phone vibrated again. Still not Li.

  He sighed. That was that. He texted back a quick, “Understood. My apologies,” and stood in the park, dusting pollution from his pants. He breathed in the tangy air and considered his next move.

  He had to get her memories back. She deserved to know all of her life, not just the parts Rhoda allowed her to know.

  He had a deadline before nature would ensure everything came to a head: Nine months. 

  And the worst part was, he didn’t even know if she would want him to fix it.

 

an excerpt from Bass Magic

Coming in 2023