Aurelia's POV
I find the first entry at 3 AM, and my hands start shaking so badly I almost drop the journal.
Met him again today. His name is Caspian Vale. We talked for hours at the coffee shop on Fifth Street. He has storm-grey eyes and a smile that makes my heart stop. I think I'm falling in love with him. No I know I am. Tomorrow, we're meeting at the Midnight Market. I can't wait.
The entry is dated six months ago. I have absolutely no memory of writing it.
I flip back a page. Then another. And another.
Caspian took me to see the fireworks tonight. He held my hand. I've never felt this way about anyone.
We kissed today. It was perfect. It was everything. And then
The entry stops mid-sentence. The next page is blank. Then, three months later, a new entry begins.
I saw him today at the market. Caspian Vale. I don't know why, but I feel like I've known him forever. We're meeting for coffee tomorrow.
My stomach twists. I flip through faster now, my heart pounding.
Seventeen entries. All about the same man. All following the same terrible pattern: meet, fall in love, kiss, and then nothing. Blank pages. Missing time. And then it starts all over again.
I live alone in my Memory Archived huge room filled with thousands of glowing vials on floor-to ceiling shelves. Each vial contains a memory. Rich people pay me to store their precious moments safely because I have a rare gift. I can pull memories right out of people's heads and keep them in these bottles.
But apparently, I can't keep my own memories safe.
The last entry is different from all the others. The handwriting is messy, like I wrote it in a panic.
This was the sixth time. Six times meeting him. Six times falling in love. Six times kissing him and losing everything. There's a pattern here. Something is stealing my memories of Caspian Vale. I don't know who or why, but I know this: DON'T KISS HIM AGAIN. Don't let there be a seventh time. Please, future me, if you're reading this DON'T KISS HIM. I think the seventh kiss might kill us both.
The journal falls from my hands and hits the floor with a loud smack.
Six times? I've fallen in love with this man six times and can't remember any of it?
I bend down to pick up the journal, and something slides out from between the pages. A photograph.
The man in the picture is beautiful in a rough, dangerous kind of way. Dark hair that looks like he ran his hands through it too many times. Strong jaw. And eyes those storm-grey eyes from my entries staring at the camera like he's looking right through it. Right at me.
He's smiling, and it makes my chest ache.
I flip the photo over. On the back, in my handwriting: Caspian and me. The Midnight Market. I think this is what happiness looks like.
I don't know this man. I've never seen him before in my life.
So why does looking at his picture make me want to cry?
I grab my laptop and search for Caspian Vale.
He's real. Very real. There's a website for his business Vale Curse-Breaking Agency. According to his profile, he's one of the best curse-breakers in the city. He helps people trapped by bad magic.
The irony isn't lost on me.
I look at his photo on the website. Same grey eyes. Same serious expression. There's a phone number listed.
My finger hovers over my phone. I could call right now. Ask him if he knows me. Ask him what happened between us.
But what if he doesn't remember either? What if whatever is stealing my memories took his too?
Or worse what if he does remember, and he chose to leave?
I close the laptop and force myself to think logically. I'm a memory keeper. I solve problems involving memories for a living. I should be able to figure out my own situation.
First, I need professional help. Someone who understands memory magic better than I do.
I pull up my contacts and find Dr. Isla Novak. She's a memory expert who's written books about magical memory loss. I've never met her, but everyone in the magical community knows her name.
I send her an email right then, even though it's 3:30 in the morning.
Dr. Novak, I need your help. I'm experiencing severe memory loss, and I think it might be magical. I'm a memory keeper myself, but I can't figure out what's happening to me. Please, can we meet as soon as possible? This is urgent.
I hit send and stare at my phone, willing her to respond immediately. Of course, she doesn't. It's the middle of the night.
I look back at the photograph of Caspian Vale. At his smile. At the way his hand is barely visible at the edge of the frame, like he was reaching for me when the picture was taken.
Who is this man? And why does losing him over and over again feel worse than losing parts of myself?
My phone buzzes, making me jump. An email notification.
But it's not from Dr. Novak.
It's from an unknown sender. No subject line. I open it.
The message contains only one sentence and a photo attachment.
He's looking for you too.
My hands tremble as I click the attachment.
It's a picture of Caspian Vale, taken recently maybe even today. He's sitting alone in what looks like his apartment, surrounded by papers and journals. His head is in his hands. On the table in front of him, I can see photographs spread out.
I zoom in, my heart hammering.
They're pictures of me.