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He stares at me for a long moment, then slowly nods. Climbing from the bed, he walks over to the table and slides open the drawer. He pauses for several beats, then sighs. Reaching inside, he pulls out the necklace and something snaps into place in my chest as my gaze zeroes in on the ruby pendant.
Mine.
I force myself to remain still while Jesse turns and shuffles toward me, the necklace dangling from his long fingers. He stops just out of reach, and my gaze snaps up to meet his.
“If anything happens that appears to put you in any danger at all, I’m ripping it off you.”
I nod emphatically, eager to agree to anything to get my hands on the antique again. Somewhere deep in my mind, I know this isn’t normal. No inanimate object should have such an intense hold over me. It’s mystical and dangerous, but I can’t resist its pull.
Ever so gently, Jesse pinches the chain between his pointer fingers and thumbs on both hands and slips it over my head. The pendant warms when it rests against my skin, and I squeeze my eyes closed and brace for the pain I experienced the last time I put it on.
Then…nothing.
My eyes pop open, and I close my hand around the pendant, clutching it tightly. My eyelids drop as I try to clear my mind while simultaneously inviting the magic to consume me. I wait for an eternity, but still, nothing happens.
“Damn it,” I spit, ripping the chain over my head and dropping the necklace to the mattress beside me in a fit of temper.
“Nothing?” Jesse asks, sitting down beside me and curling an arm around my back.
I shake my head as I lean into his comfort. “I still feel its pull. It wants me to wear it, to never take it off. The magic hasn’t gone anywhere, but it refuses to give me another vision or even replay the first one.”
I know I’m speaking of the necklace like it has a heart and mind of its own, and that way of thinking is kind of ridiculous. Or it would be in a world without witches and magic. But I am a witch, and magic does exist.
It exists inside that ruby pendant. It’s there for me to access and use, but apparently not on demand. It has a will of its own, and will only show me what it deems necessary, when it desires.
“Maybe we can try again later,” Jesse offers, and I lean my head against his chest and sigh.
“Yeah, we’ll do that,” I say.
He holds me for a long while, and I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Jesse is pushing the feeling toward me with his mental ability, and I’m thankful. I need to be calm to think. To figure out the puzzle that is my start to life. To––
“Wait,” I say, pushing myself upright. “What if the adoption didn’t happen in Georgia? What if my parents and I moved there after I was born?”
“Did they ever mention anything that would suggest that?” he asks.
My shoulders slump. “No. When I was little, we used to drive by the church where I was found, and Mom would point out the steps and tell me God’s angels watched over me there until his shepherd found me.”
“Your parents were religious?” he asks, and the question throws me off-kilter.
“No, actually. We never attended church, and there were no bibles or religious symbols in our house, at all.”
“It seems strange she’d refer to angels and call the preacher a shepherd if she was an atheist.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if they were atheists, so to speak, but they weren’t religious. Anyway, we’re straying too far off-topic. We need to find out if my adoption records were actually lost, or if that story about the church was a total lie.”
“There’d be news coverage if a baby was found like that,” he says.
Picking up my phone, I pull up my favorite search engine and type in the words “baby found at church in Asheville, Georgia.” The search brings up no results, and I deflate.
Undeterred, Jesse picks up his own phone from the nightstand and taps at the screen. His thumbs fly across the glass as he types, then he sets it back on the side table before turning to grip my upper arms.
“I have a contact in Atlanta. A vampire who works for a prominent newspaper in the city. He has resources he can tap. If there was ever an article or television report about your discovery, he’ll find it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, then shake my head. “But he’s not going to find anything. I feel it in my gut. The story my parents told me was a fabrication. I just don’t know why.”
“Is it possible they acquired you illegally?”
“You mean like on the black market?” I ask, deep furrows forming in my brow.
