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  Decebel kept moving toward the rooms that now had smoke billowing from them.

  "Crina make sure Sally and Cynthia get out." Decebel told still running. Then turned to the males running alongside him. "Go through the rooms make sure everyone is out," he yelled over the roar of the flames. The fire was engulfing everything in its path quickly, too quickly, as if something gave it power.

  More screams filled the mansion and, once the upper rooms had been checked, they tore through the rest of the house.

  "Get everyone out now! Fane, you come with me. We'll get Vasile and Alina."

  Decebel was running while shouting his commands. He snarled as flames crawled like demons from hell up the walls.

  "Something about this is wrong, Beta," Fane spoke Decebel's thoughts aloud.

  "Magic," Decebel muttered. "Dark magic."

  Jen struggled to breathe, fading in and out of consciousness. She tried moving at one point, but the pain was so great that she had passed out. Something had just awoken her – a noise, maybe. It was dark, and so cold.

  She heard scuffling far above her. An animal? A person?

  "Hello?" Her voice was hoarse. "Please help me."

  "What is your name?"

  Jen heard the female voice some from somewhere up above and nearly sobbed at the sound.

  "I'm Jen."

  "Hello, Jen." The voice was so soothing and comforting – it made her want to curl up in a ball and sleep. "My name is Rachel…"

  Please enjoy this excerpt from

  “Forgotten Self”

  by Rachel Carr

  1

  Then

  Today had been graduation day for a good portion of my friends. They had long since finished their photo slide shows and singing of “Time of Our Lives” and all the other standard high school grad nostalgia. I had fallen into it too, despite having just ended my junior year, writing page-long letters in yearbooks and posting Brand New's “Soco Amaretto Lime” lyrics on my Facebook page.

  As many of my former classmates got ready for the all-night party hosted by our very own Snowline High School, my friends were headed elsewhere. A bunch of us, new seniors and recently graduated alike, had planned a small party on the other side of town at the edge of the forest. The trees were thick there – tall pines crowded the mountains. Which meant a perfect hiding place lest we got busted for underage drinking. It wouldn't be the first time.

  NPR news played through my speakers, more and more static breaking in the higher I drove up the trail. It definitely creeped me out being in the woods at night. I mean, we've all seen Blair Witch. NPR had this real-world feeling to it, so I played it whenever drama or paranoia came my way. It said to me, “Hey, the world's still here. Important, actual things are going on.” Sometimes you need that.

  The smell of cinnamon gum and hand sanitizer floated strongly around the vehicle. It had been my cousin's, and after what had happened to her I was more than grateful to change every facet of what familiarity may have been left. Including its scent.

  I applied some lip balm and checked my hair in the mirror while I steered my way through the country roads. As I swept my bangs back, there was a flash in the corner of my eye. I whipped my head around to look out the window, but whatever I'd seen wasn't there anymore.

  Blair Witch, yeah.

  Accelerating even faster, I turned up the radio's volume. NPR. Normal. Not creepy.

  I reached the spot quickly enough but everyone was already there. A fire had been lit and a couple coolers sat nearby. Forgetting the strange flash in the woods, I got out of the car and was instantly inundated with the sounds of MGMT.

  “You guys are such sell-outs!” I called at my friends. A chorus of “shut ups” and one “look who's talking” came right back at me. I smiled and made an obscene gesture in return.

  A tall, slender girl with long red hair came running over. This was my best friend, Danielle.

  “What's up, A-dawg?”

  I slapped my forehead audibly. “Ugh, I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

  She grinned and offered me an icy can of beer. “Drink with us tonight. Please,” she added when I grimaced. I wasn't much of a drinker.

  But it was graduation night...

  I stuck my hand out.

  “Awesome,” Danielle chirped and bounded away.

  I sighed, popped the tab, and joined everyone at the fire.

  “Ah, miss music critic has graced us with her presence at last.”

  I looked across the fire. “It was only so I could look upon your sweet face once more, handsome prince,” I mocked Jonathan – Jonathan Conrad, a.k.a. the hottest thing to grace Snowline's hallways.

  He had that look of a Greek god, you know, blonde ringlets, light blue eyes that sparkled. Damn. Though he didn't quite have that effect on me anymore. We'd had a thing in junior high, but after our disastrous “fling,” stuff like that had been off-limits. It wasn't that he wasn't hot, because he was really, really hot. It's just that sometimes the people you like the most aren't the best for you, and after our final argument had ended up in a serious Skittle-throwing fight – like, welt serious – I'd decided that dating in school was probably a waste of my time. I'd give myself and my peers a little more time to mature.

  And not bring Skittles to an argument.

  Jonathan beckoned me over to the log bench he sat on. I joined him and drained my beer. My friends were dancing and laughing and reminiscing and I watched them quietly. I would miss this. But before I could get nostalgic about my friends – one day out of their high school careers – I reminded myself that college awaited me, too. I'd worked my ass off so far to get there and I would be happy. Or something like that.

  A log popped in the flames, causing me to jump a little bit. The fire created strange silhouettes all around me, making living shadows on people and trees. The party noises grew a little distant as the eeriness drew me in.

  “So what'd you think of the ceremony?” Jonathan asked me mischievously, snapping me out of my trance.

  I shook off my weird thoughts and grinned. “Well, the introductory speech was really motivating.”

  He laughed indulgently and slapped a knee. Jonathan had been the host this year, and instead of reading the administration-approved speech he'd turned in, he had read something a little less polite. The phrase “booze, women, and rock & roll” had been used at least once. Though, our soon-to-be student body president was well known for being less than reverent.

  “So what's the deal with you and Kayla these days?” Kayla had been Jonathan's most recent “fling-ee,” as I called them. Like so many of his peers, he was a serial non-commiter.

  “Well, she's moved on, I've moved on. You know how it is.” He glanced away and took a long drink.

  Hmmm. Feeling awkward about this one, Jonny? But I didn't say that. Instead I goaded, “I sure do. I've known the last four years how it is.”

  Jonathan crumpled his empty can and raised his eyebrows at me. “You had your chance, sweet lady.” Before I could sass back, he stood up. “I'll get more beer.”

  As soon as he had left, Danielle took his place on the log. “Things heating up over here?” She did an eyebrow-waggle thing. What was with these people and eyebrows?

  I waved her away. “What are you always yapping about? Boys this, boys that. You know none of them are good enough for me.” She pursed her lips; I winked back.

  “Mm-hmm. Abigail, we are gonna get you a man one of these days. You'll see.”

  “Don't you put that curse on me, child.” We both immediately laughed.

  Jonathan reappeared with two beers, a playful smile upon his face. “Now, what are you two sexy ladies giggling about over here? It wouldn't be over my superbly fine looks, I'm sure.”

  Danielle mock-gasped. “You're right!” Then she jumped up. “I'll leave you two alone,” she melodramatically announced, laughing as she walked toward the coolers.

  I rolled my eyes and Jonathan handed me a can. “Bottoms
up, punk. If you can handle it.”

  I grabbed it from him and accused, “Did you just challenge me, Jonathan Conrad?”

  The fire light warmed his features, allowing the gracefulness I'd always associated with them to stand out. Sometimes, in quiet moments like these he would give me this... intense look, like he regretted something. It gave me shivers, but it never lasted long.

  The strange expression in his eyes was quickly replaced by one of amusement. “I was merely commenting on the fact that you can't hold your alcohol,” he stated innocently.

  Boy, oh boy. He knew just which buttons to push. Ha, so did I. “You're on, Justin Bieber.”

  And just like that, any weirdness was gone and we were just two buddies indulging in the vices of our youth.

  The next morning I woke up groggy. I didn't feel sick because, thankfully, I'd stopped after a few drinks. Takes a couple times to learn that.

  Suddenly I realized my phone was buzzing. I pawed for it on the bedside stand and quickly answered before it went to voicemail.

  “Hello?” I said thickly.

  “Abigail, what's up?” a voice greeted me excitedly.

  My clock glowed brightly. 7.34. I groaned. “Danielle, it's way too early.”

  “Not for this it isn't. Guess what tonight is? No wait, don't guess. You should just know.”

  “Uhhhh...” I couldn't think. It was Saturday. May. Oh damn. “You don't mean -”

  “It's the third Saturday. It's Marshmallow May!”

  “Danielle...” I hated Marshmallow May. It was a tradition dating back to 5th grade, when we'd met. Basically we just got together in the woods and roasted marshmallows. Exciting, I know. Over the years it had grown from me and her to about fifteen of us. Really just an excuse for another party. “I think I'm going to have to bail,” I told her.

  Enter Danielle's prissy voice. “What? You can't.”

  “I have to. I've got, uh, family stuff.”

  “I thought your parents were in Guatemala.”

  “Exactly, they're coming back today.” Which they were.

  There was silence as Danielle tried to decide whether or not I was purposely ditching her. But she relented. “Alright. But we have to meet up for coffee tomorrow then. No excuses.”

  “Fine, fine. I'll see you then.”

  After we hung up I quickly got ready. Obviously I'd lied to Danielle. And it wasn't just that I disliked “Marshmallow May,” but that today was something far more important to me. Three years ago today, my cousin Kelly had been killed. Murdered, actually. Danielle knew about it, but she didn't know that every year – starting the very day Kelly had passed away – I drove up into the mountains to our favorite spot to remember her, sometimes to even “talk” to her.

  It was a special moment for me. You could see the entire city from there, and gorgeous sunsets. It was also where she and I had spent many evenings together. Maybe if you love a place enough, you leave a part of you there. I certainly felt nearer to her when I went.

  My mom and Kelly's mom were sisters. We'd grown up together, living in the same city. Kelly had been two years older than I. She was a sweet, caring, beautiful person. And, though I'd never told a soul, since I was tiny it seemed that Kelly had been surrounded by a glow. She would walk around looking like someone stood behind her with a dim lamp. It was so crazy I'd never even brought it up to her.

  Of course, it was probably some mild hallucination or schizophrenia or something, but it was always her and no one else. An aura maybe? I'd never been sure. Whenever I was around her, though, that light seemed to create this atmosphere of peace and love. That light was her.

  But ever since her body had been found in the river, I'd been filled with a quiet rage. Something deep inside. Her killer was never identified or found and up until last year I think that's where I'd poured my anger – in finding him. For a long time I'd frequented the jogging path she'd last been seen on, in the early mornings when it was still misty and dark. It was a reckless agenda I'd followed, waiting for him. Willing him to come my way. Why I thought he'd show up back there I don't know. I'm no psychiatrist, but I suppose grief isn't always rational.

  Those days were long past, thankfully. One morning last spring I'd woken up feeling...peaceful. There was no explanation, I just hadn't felt a need to stand in the dark and wait for answers or justice.

  Waking up like that, so fundamentally different, had been one of the strangest moments of my life.

  I shuddered, willing myself to shake it off. Today was about remembering Kelly. She was gone, but the least I could do for her was keep our old traditions alive.

  2

  I drove up the winding roads into the mountain pass. It was mid-afternoon already – I'd gotten held up when my car wouldn't start. It wasn't old or anything, but once in a while battery problems would pop up, and then disappear just as quickly. I knew I should probably take it in, should've months ago, but it didn't matter right now. My thoughts were filled with Kelly.

  One of my clearest memories of her was around age seven. She had just turned nine and we were near the river behind her house, playing with her new dolls. That innocent act would become a scary story told around the table at Thanksgiving. Absently I wondered how memories changed each time we replayed or retold them.

  Was it less real now than it had been?

  As Kelly washes her doll's hair in the river, I watch a small worm inch across the ground. I pick it up and give it a good look. I feel like it is in the wrong place on this dry patch of grass, so I gently place it in the moist soil near the water.

  As I perform this task Kelly is getting closer to the river's current, attempting to dunk the doll. The worm is digging its way into the ground when I hear a small plunk. I look over at Kelly, who is no longer there. Then her hand pops out of the water. Fear shoots through my small body. “Mom!” I scream, running over to where I can see the hand. “Mom!”

  No answer.

  The hand dips under and without a thought I jump in. The water is cold, and fast. Already I am being pulled along, zipping past the tall grass. Kelly must have held onto something or she would have been far down the river before I did a thing. But whatever she'd done to fight the current is no longer working. I can see her hand again and her head pops up a moment, just long enough to take a breath.

  By now I am panicking. But even then, at seven years old, I know it will not help me save my cousin. Channeling the one swimming lesson I'd had so far, I paddle my arms and kick my feet in an uncoordinated way. “Kelly!” I call over the water. Nothing. No part of her was visible. I realize she is beyond my reach. I feel no fear, only grief. I stop paddling, no longer compelled to fight the current.

  Suddenly a bright light appears on my left. The water pulls me under before I have a chance to look. It is cold; there is no solid ground here. I float, race along, become part of the water.

  A hand grabs mine and pulls me up. My head breaks the surface and I gasp for air. The bright light has returned. An indescribable feeling flows through my rescuer's hand into me. It is okay.

  Don't worry, Abigail. She will be saved.

  The message resonates through my mind as this person, this being of light, cradles me in the water.

  By chance, two fisherman see Kelly race by and pull her out. I am found soon after, holding onto a branch near the river's edge.

  The sun made its slow, steady way down to the bottom of the sky. It would soon set. This had been when Kelly and I would make our way up here, parking the car on the gravel and laying on the hood, watching the show. I pulled my camera out of the glove box and stepped out of the car. I didn't know why I'd never thought of doing this, but I would document this place, this scene. I even had Kelly's car – my car. It would seem like it had been before.

  I snapped a hundred pictures during my time there, taking a moment to quietly watch the gorgeous colors mark out the day's end. There was something glorious about the way the sun came and left. Almost like silent, heavenly music – up
lifting and peaceful. I was never religious, but I'd always been spiritual. I knew there was something more to this life than what we saw in front of us. It meant more. I found comfort in that, especially after her death. That tragedy wasn't a part of my everyday life anymore – grief fades – but when I did ponder on it, the knowledge of something else brought some alleviation at the thought of her loss.

  Kelly and I had often talked about just that – the “something else.” It was a special knowing we'd shared. A memory of us right here, talking about just that flashes in my mind, taking me from the sunset.

  The sun is gone but its light still splashes color onto the lowest clouds. Kelly lets out a long sigh. I turn my head and look at her. “What is it?”

  She closes her eyes. “I don't know, Abby. I feel like I don't have the language to describe it.”

  “I think I know what you're talking about.”

  Her face turns to mine, eyebrows raised. “You do?”

  I smile slowly. “You feel it when the sun sets, right? Like you're floating, happy, peaceful, joyous, awed, and grateful all at the same time?”

  Kelly laughs. “Exactly.”

  “It's like I get this one clouded glimpse into eternity and then it's gone,” I tell her a little sadly.

  “Hmmm.” She looks back up to the stars, her glow bright in the darkness. “I feel it everywhere.”

  She had been taken from me not long after that.

  I tilted my head back and wondered why I hadn't thought about that in so long. It was a treasured memory, after all. I'd often felt that there was something more to our conversations. Some hidden meaning...or maybe subtext that neither of us understood. But there was no use in thinking about it now. I shrugged to myself and capped the lens on my camera. The sun was long gone and a chill flowed through me – something didn't feel quite right. Probably because I had a million things to do at home. I made the decision to leave – homework awaited. Even though the seniors had graduated, the rest of us still had a week left. I hurried back to my car, thinking about my calc test on Monday. I was definitely going to flunk. Stupid, useless math.