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Rage was combusting within her chest; it felt as if her lungs no longer circulated air but pure gasoline and every heartbeat set it ablaze even more than it burnt before.
Her mind kept flashing back the images she saw in the hidden rooms of Julian’s lab – the images of beings, captured against their will, to be used for harvesting their power and thus stripping them of far more than their freedom; their life.
What once was a heart ablaze had now turned into a wildfire that burnt through every positive emotion she ever felt for him as the next image reappeared – Harry, captured in that container. She could still feel the dread climbing up her throat as she called his name, with every breath crying for an answer, for his sweet eyes to open up once again and to look at her.
But they didn’t; and had it been up to Julian and his aunt Vivian, they never would again.
Closing in on their house – as she was returning from Safe Space with a few herbs she picked up from Kat’s shop – Macy began suppressing the anger and rage; for now, their priority wasn’t making Julian pay, it was helping Harry regain his memories.
As she opened the door, her eyes immediately caught the sight of Maggie drawing a pentagram on the hardwood floor. She sat down with the chalk in her hand as she saw her sister.
“Hey!” she exclaimed, “how do you like it?”
Macy was confused for a second. Why was she drawing a pent-
“Maggie” the eldest sister pinched the bridge of her nose as she shut the door behind her.
“This is on me. My phone autocorrected sanitize to satanize in the message.”
Another perk of being a witch – even your phone keeps reminding you of it.
“Right… Mel and I were confused as to why you wanted to go full-on Sabrina Spellman all of a sudden. I mean, look at the bright side; at least it’s pretty.”
Maggie smiled, and as it always went when she smiled as full-heartedly and sweetly as she did, a smile popped up on Macy’s lips as well. “As long as we don’t end up summoning a demon or something, it’s a great accessory.”
“Don’t worry about that, love.” A familiar voice came from the kitchen, and soon, Macy’s eyes were met with the embodiment of all evil and malicious, portrayed in the image of Abigael Jameson-Cain. “You already have.”
She leaned on the doorframe with a glass of scotch in her hand, the scarlet lips arched into a smile as devious as only she could pull.
Clutching the bag in her hand, Macy forced a smile. She felt the tips of her nails digging into her palm as she said, “Oh, look – it’s the Queen of Mean in our house. Maggie, where’s the holy water?”
Abby smirked. “Don’t worry; I’m not here to spread malice and malignance. I’m here to help you out.”
In the very second that the words sat in, Macy felt the giant Damocles sword hanging above their heads; there was reasoning behind the saying that demons shan’t be trusted.
“And what do you get out of that?” it came naturally – and Abigael appreciated it, as it gave her the green light to be the star of the show.
“Well, one of the things certainly would be the satisfaction of knowing that the Charmed ones owe me one. An additional bonus is seeing that little vein pop up on your forehead each time you grow more frustrated with my presence.”
Macy laughed. “Who called her here?”
Abby smirked, slowly looking over her shoulder, towards the kitchen. Seconds later, Mel had walked out of there with her mortar and pestle in her hands. “We need her, Mace.”
But what the eldest of the sisters noticed beside the stolen glances between the two as Mel walked past the demon, was the way in which Abigael’s face softened and relaxed as the same girl she referred to as Potion Penny last week came into the room;
the forced grin washed away, only to be replaced by the marks of a concealed, faint smile.
“It’s true, Judgy Judy” the former demon Overlord spoke to Macy, “My monster of a mother had a recipe or two that would help your beloved whitelighter boyfriend, and my combined natures give me an unique approach to the spells necessary.”
Macy’s grip softened. She gave Mel the bag with the Myosotis flowers, and as Maggie and Mel rushed into the kitchen, Abby put her hand on Macy’s shoulder to stop her.
“Don’t worry, love. I have no interest on enchanting your Romeo to love me or whatever pathetic idea it was that is brewing in your smart head – I love and respect myself far too much to chase someone who would give his life for you. He never was mine to love to begin with.”
“Besides, I’ve got my eyes sat on a different kind of prize.” Abigael winked and as puzzled as Macy may have been by her speech, she followed her into the kitchen, where Mel and Maggie were already working on the potion.
“We’ll need some of your blood, Mace” Maggie said.
“What?” they were all fairly fresh to witchcraft, but Macy was well familiar with the danger that lay in blood magic. “Why do you need my blood?”
Abigael took it upon herself to elaborate. “See, my dear – the irony is that you picked up some Myosotis flowers, whose folk name is Forget-Me-Not flowers.
We need to bind the magic that rests within them to the person he has the strongest connection and most memories to – and that happens to be you.”
*
The ritual went smoothly. Although she was on edge because of Abby most of the time, Macy ended up hugging and thanking her sincerely before she left the house and went off to do evil someplace. Perhaps there was a future where they could speak without the room being in danger of being set in flame; but it was Abigael we are talking about, so it was only a perhaps for now.
She made some tea and tried to recreate his recipe for scones – and they turned out amazingly, as this was the genius that Macy Vaughn always has been – before she collected the courage to climb up into the attic.
As soon as she’d gently pushed the attic door open, she’d seen his silhouette leaned against the window. Macy knocked lightly; she didn’t want to scare him, as one would imagine reliving a lifetime of memories was a lot to take in.
“Macy” joy flourished in his voice at the sight of her. As he’d come closer, she saw the puffy cheeks high as the corners of his lips loosened into a soft, beautiful smile. “Come in, please-“he’d taken the platter out of her hands with a heartfelt thank you and added “I need your help with something.”
She sat down next to him, watching him blush as he tried the scones with clotted cream and his favorite jam. “This is absolutely delicious. Did you bake them?”
“I did, actually.” Macy smiled as well. Watching him eat it with joy as she hadn’t seen in a while – ever since the Darklighter hunted them for the first time back in Hilltown, probably – was something she enjoyed.
“It’s a good recipe.”
He nodded, brushing the corners of his lips with a little napkin. “Thank you,” he says, “it’s my grandmother’s recipe. Willa was a truly amazing cook.”
“Wait, you remember your grandmother? I thought you didn’t remember that much about your old life.”
“And I didn’t” Harry replies, pouring her a cup of tea. They still kept buying his favorite kind, even though he’d moved out a long time ago. “Not until tonight, that is.”
“That’s great, Harry!” the warmth in her voice is sincere; so is the gleam in her eyes once their eyes meet. “Wait, what did you need my help with?”
“Ever since the ritual, I’ve had trouble telling apart what memories are mine, which are Jimmy’s and which of them belong to James Westwell.
So, I was wondering if, perhaps, you could help me out which memories belong to the man I am now? Of course that is only if you have some free time willing to spend it on something as messy and disorganized as this.”
Gently and slowly, she embraced his hand with hers, looking him softly in the eyes as she nods.
“There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.”
And so the stories began.
To the kind-hearted man sitting next to her, it was as if all three lives were happening at once; he was in England in the 50s in one moment, purchasing a Manhattan apartment in the other and cooking breakfast for the sisters afterwards;
To her, it was something that filled her heart with gratitude and happiness, as listening to something so private and personal meant that she succeeded in the one thing she was trying her hardest to beat – she was finally taking down the walls she’d built around herself, and she’d let in a good man who appreciated it enough to bare the most concealed parts of his soul to her.
Somewhere along the lines of explaining how he’d been given the nickname “sprog” and how he learned how to prepare vegan meatballs for Maggie, the two had taken in to her room, as the day had been tiring and long, so they wanted to exchange the attic’s sofa for a bed in which they could actually straighten their backs for a bit.
“I must confess,” Harry says, “it’s still quite a mess up here.”
He’d held his hand over his forehead for the last five minutes and Macy was laughing.
“I trust you.”
“I have an idea.” He looked at her with his eyebrows raised; she blinked, laughed once more and then stood up to close the door.
The room was pretty dark afterwards, but he could still clearly see her standing next to the nightstand and taking the lid off of a small jar.
“May I ask what that is?” he asked, not out of concern, but out of sheer excitement; if there was one thing he remembered clearly, it was the spark in her eyes every time she gets one of her brilliant ideas. This was one of those moments.
“Well, I may not be a neuroscientist, but what I do know is that it’s difficult remembering who you are in this lifetime because you remember two other ones as well.
So I thought: why wouldn’t I introduce you to the Harry Greenwood that I met and fell in love with? I’ll talk and you listen. I’m sure you’ll get a pretty clear image of him very soon.”
A giant smile graced his face as she took out some of the powder from the jar she held in her hands and blew it into the air above her bed.
“What does that little thing do?” his naïve nature was like that of a child; it was cute, Macy thought to herself as she returned to her side of the bed and laid down next to him.
“Just close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you to.”
A happy okay later, he heard her whisper what he was pretty sure was Latin:
ostende mihi faciem stellas.
“Alright, you can look now.”
As he opened his cobalt eyes, Harry Greenwood was no longer looking at the ceiling of Macy’s room; he was looking at thousands of constellations, colorful nebulae and supernovae that painted the darkness into all the colors of the rainbow and so many more, living before their eyes as they lay next to each other.
“Macy…” he was giggling, covering his mouth with his hand and looking at her in one moment and into the birth and death of universes that he was watching in live time in the other.
Yet, every time he’d look at her, with that beautiful glisten in her kind and loving eyes, he knew which of the two was more magical and far more beautiful.
She gently slipped her fingers between his.
“The Harry I know….
When we first met, he was our Whitelighter.
He was tidy to the fullest - Windsor knot and all - and cautious, oriented on one thing primarily: teaching us about witchcraft and helping us defeat the Source.
He was a great man even then; but soon, he became family.
After the attack of the Darklighter, he began changing as well.
He started a journey that required bravery and selflessness that not many have, and he came out of it stronger than he ever was.
Something between us changed as well; I began realizing my feelings for him.
At first I thought I felt something for Jimmy, but then it hit me - I didn't want to spend any more time not being with Harry and not loving him.
I love him with all my heart."
She’d been gently stroking his cheek with her thumb as his eyes began lightly watering up.
“Harry sounds like a good man.”
Abigael’s spell would set in stone once he fell asleep again, she remembered.
"I hope that you know that, no matter which name, motive or time period, my heart will always for yours and yours only."
He remembered a quote he'd once read in an Arabic poet's book: "...and if the devil was ever to see you, he'd kiss your eyes and repent."
Looking at her sharp eyes, teared up like his, he'd never heard anything more sincere than that.
Macy smiled as she put her hand on the back of his head and pulled it a bit closer to herself so that she could kiss him in the forehead.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“And I’m glad to have you in my life, Macy Vaughn.”