House Of Gods 9 - Samantha Snow Page 0,58

he remembers everything, including his actions during the past hundred years. He will feel ashamed, I am sure. And so you will need to grant him patience. As for why I care, my reasons are my own.” After she spoke, she turned to leave without waiting for Brenna’s response.

“Wait,” Brenna called after her. “How were you able to restore his memories?” It had been a question that had plagued her ever since she had found out that Brandt’s memory had been returned. She knew the witch was powerful, but to be able to undo something that powerful seemed strange, especially since it was something caused by Brandt himself. Or at least, she thought it was caused by Brandt’s overexertion of his power.

The witch turned to look at Brenna over her shoulder and smiled. “Magic,” she said and then walked away.”

Brenna nearly ran as she went to say goodbye to Njord. She was a mix of anxiety and ecstatic joy. She had not set foot in Manhattan for a few days over a century, and she tried to choke down the longing feeling that she had to rush into Brandt’s arms so that she could think straight.

“Thank you,” she said to Njord before she left.

“For indenturing you into a hundred-year servitude?” he laughed.

“No, for being a counterbalance to the witch.”

“Trust me,” Njord smiled. “She had your best interest at heart.”

There was that nagging feeling that Brenna kept having about the witch again. Regardless, she didn’t have time to think about it. She needed to go home.

“Here,” Njord said. “Allow me.” He waved his hands in the air to call upon his magic and send Brenna expediently home to Earth. “Tell my grandson that I said hello.” His kind smile was the last thing Brenna saw before her surroundings faded.

Njord had done her a kindness by not dropping her smack in the middle of the apartment. He knew that after reading a hundred years of disheartening letters from events occurring at home, that Brenna would need a few minutes to reacclimate and get her head on straight. The weather in the city was cold and crisp; it was exactly what she needed for a walk alone toward the apartment in the solitude of her own head.

She walked purposefully, not too fast and not too slow, and watched the puffs of her warm breath against the cold air. What would she say to him at first sight? Better yet, what would he say to her? The time apart meant nothing, a mere blink for an immortal even as tedious and torturous as it had been. It was the events that would be the sticking point. She didn’t know whether to pretend like none of it had happened like she didn’t know about the events in as much depth as she did, thanks to Jerrik’s descriptive written accounts. Or perhaps it was better to just lay everything all out in the open and get it over with right from the beginning. It would be fresh and raw, and it would hurt. Their time apart, Brandt’s indiscretions, all of it would hurt, but they would get past it. Brenna decided that the latter was the better option to go with, like peeling a Band-Aid off quickly to then focus on the healing. Truly though, she had no idea what to expect.

As the apartment came into view, Brenna inhaled the city air deeply, pushed her shoulders back, and mustered the courage to face whatever reaction would be waiting for her. Getting on the elevator felt more like coming home than it ever had before. Her heart raced as the metal box lifted her upward toward the apartment…toward Brandt. She felt a little bit like she had when she had seen him for the very first time, when she had walked into the high-rise with Eric and saw Brandt turn around at the window. She felt breathless and a little bit like her heart would explode. She wiped her sweating palms on the front of her jeans and re-tucked the front of her white T-shirt into a French tuck that left the rest of the shirt hanging casually out around her hips. She was a bit thinner than when she had left a hundred years ago, mostly from stress but also partially because the food on Vanaheim couldn’t compare to all of the Manhattan eateries that she had missed dearly. She ran her fingers through her dark hair, which had gotten even longer and now reached down