“Put it away,” I say. “And I suggest you don’t show it to anyone else.” Until I can find someone who might cast some light on the matter. Maybe the Crone? She was said to be one of the most powerful witches to have lived.
“Why?” Amber asks. “What is it?”
I glance away for a second. “I don’t know.”
She scowls. “Is that your freaking answer to everything?I don’t know.I was really hoping you’d be a little more useful. How about you just tell me something youdoknow?”
Instead of answering, I get up, cross the room, and pour myself a whiskey from the decanter on a side table.
I go back and stand in front of her, sipping my drink and turning over what she has told me in my mind. It would explain why she didn’t turn up as expected and also why she knows so little.
“Do you believe me?” she asks. “About my not remembering?”
“Actually, on balance I do. It explains why you come across as so clueless. I was beginning to worry you were handicapped in some way.”
“You’re such an ass.”
I ignore her—probably correct—assessment of my character and continue, “What I do know is that three years ago, I received a message from my brother. He was sending a girl to me. I was to keep her safe and take her to the Crone. No one else.”
“The Crone?”
“She’s a powerful witch.”
She snorts. “Of course she is.”
“She’s always been considered a legend by my people,” I continue. “A figure to scare children. Someone who perhaps lived and died a long time ago.” I sip my drink and eye her over the rim of the glass. “That’s presumably not the case. I was given directions—” sort of “—but you never appeared.”
“Your brother is this Khendril person?”
He gives me a sharp glance. “You remember him?”
“No. Your… Sheela mentioned his name. Is she your sister?”
“My cousin. So you have no memory of Khendril?”
“Not really, but I had this strange feeling when she said his name, like I should know him.” She shakes her head. “But when I tried to remember… nothing. You haven’t heard from him since?”
“No. He’s likely dead.” I keep my tone blank, but something flickers in her gaze. Pity?
“But you don’t know for sure?” she says.
“If he were alive, I would have heard something by now. He has to be dead.” Though he managed to go twelve years without communicating with me. Why should I expect any different now? My hand tightens on the glass as old bitterness threatens to engulf me.
”I’m sorry,” she says. She’s silent for a minute, nibbling on her full lower lip. I concentrate on that and push the dark emotions back down deep inside me. “So he sent me to you. To keep me safe, obviously. But safe from what?”
I shrug, and she scowls.
“Did he not say anything else?” she asks.
I’ve been of two minds about whether to reveal this next bit, but I want to see her reaction.
“Come on, spit it out, wolf-guy,” she says.
I bite back another smile and decide… “He said you had to find Lucifer’s Mirror. And that the Crone would help you.”
She frowns. Clearly, she has no more clue than I do as to what Lucifer’s Mirror could be. I’d thought maybe a mirror into Hell. But my father is adamant that there are no mirrors into Hell. That it’s not possible.
I watch as the thoughts swirl in her head. I try to imagine what it would be like to wake up with no memory of who or what you are. No past. It sounds fucking wonderful to me.
