“Hmm.” She scrunched her nose and tilted her head, a gesture that indicated she didn’t believe me. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I believed me.
“We’re working together on something important,” I said. “People could die. I can’t forget her entirely if we’re going to fix that problem.”
“I see what you’re saying. And you’re right. If you forget her entirely, you’ll just meet her again and be drawn to her. What I can do is make you forget the romantic past between you. You’ll know her and be able to work with her. You’ll even know that she is your Cursed Mate—that will help you stay away from her. But you won’t remember the sweeter times. You won’t feel them pressing on your emotions.”
It sounded truly awful. Just the idea of it made my chest feel hollow. But the memory of how I’d felt when the Cursed Mate bond was taking effect was horrifying. I’d felt the old blood lust returning. The curse was so powerful it could compel my will. And it was Carrow’s life at risk.
This was no game.
I couldn’t be trusted around her.
I nodded. “All right. Do it.”
Cyrenthia rose. “This is the right choice.”
“It’s the only choice.”
“That, too.” She approached. “Do you have anything of hers?”
“Like a possession? No. Just memories.”
“That will have to do.” She turned and strode to a shelf, taking a small golden rock from it. Quickly, she returned to me and handed me the stone. “Grip this tight in your hand and think of her. Put a memory directly into it.”
She handed it to me, and the stone was cold in my hand—icily so.
Which memory?
Would it be the memory I would give up? No, because I had to give up so many more.
Before I could think too long on it, an image of her flashed into my mind. Her smile as she laughed. The image was so blazing bright that I couldn’t get it out of my head.
In my hand, the stone warmed, becoming so hot that it was difficult to hold. I opened my fist at looked down at it, taking in the glowing golden orb.
“Yes, that will do.” Cyrenthia plucked the stone from my hand.
I wanted to grab it back, but I tightened my fist, resisting.
She hurried to the large table in the center of the room and began to work, mixing ingredients and conjuring a tiny fire right on the surface of the table. The little cauldron hovered right over the flames as she stirred, pink smoke wafting from it.
“I’m going to need a drop of your blood,” she said.
I approached and pricked my thumb on my fang, savoring the bite of pain that centered my thoughts. I hovered my hand over the cauldron, letting the blood drip. The surface of the potion was a deep red that bubbled when I added my blood. She added hers second, then dropped the small rock into the liquid. Light burst, and a noise cracked loud enough to reverberate against my ear drums.
On the far side of the room, I caught sight of Cordelia. The little raccoon sat in the shadows, watching me with judging eyes. Almost as if she knew what I was doing.
I frowned at her.
It was the only way.
And I didn’t want to be doing it. I had no choice. Not if I wanted Carrow to survive.
Cyrenthia turned to me and pressed a goblet into my hands. Across the room, Cordelia disappeared.
I stared down at the liquid in the cup, a tightness in my chest that was distinctly unfamiliar.
“Drink,” she said.
Like an automaton, I raised the cup to my lips and drank. It burned going down, leaving a trail of dread in its wake. Desperately, I tried to remember things as the potion sought to steal them.
“Don’t fight it,” Cyrenthia said.
“I’m not.
“You are.”
“I can’t help it.”
She frowned. I drew in a steady breath and forced myself to let the potion take effect. My mind began to fog, memories slipping away like smoke on a breeze.
In their place, emptiness filled me. Sadness, as well—a strange mourning that I’d never felt before.
Carrow.
I could still remember why I was here, but as I thought her name, an emptiness filled me. My chest ached. I struggled not to think of her, not to go hunting for the memories that were gone.
“I’m not sure it worked very well.” Cyrenthia frowned deeply, dissatisfaction in her eyes.
“What?” I searched my mind, looking for the positive memories that I knew had once been there. “My memories are gone.”
“Yes, but the bond between you is too powerful.”
“You broke the mate bond with the other potion.”
“I did. And that is still broken. But you’ve formed a bond without fate’s magic, and it is still so strong.” Confusion flickered in her eyes. “You really do love her, don’t you?”
“No. I told you, I cannot love.”
She laughed. “I was skeptical before. You’re the Devil of Darkvale. Of course you couldn’t love. But you do.”
“I do not.” Confusion flickered within me.
“You can lie to yourself all you like, but it’s true.”
“How can I love her if I don’t remember her? It’s absurd.”
She clucked her tongue. “The heart knows.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Well, whatever it is, I suggest that you stay away from her. I don’t know that this spell is going to hold very well if you spend much time together. The thing between you two . . . it’s just too powerful.”
Frustration surged within me, so strong that I wanted to tear something apart. I’d just given up the best memories of my life—though I couldn’t remember them, I could feel their loss. And it wouldn’t even save Carrow?
I said a terse goodbye and left, trying to ignore the strange, aching emptiness in my chest that indicated something enormous was out there, waiting for me.
The day was cool and bright as I stepped out of Cyrenthia’s shop. Despite the sun overhead, Hellebore Alley was dark and dreary, as if a shadowy mist hung right at the level of the roofs, blocking the sun.
It suited my mood.
Now that I’d taken care of the issue with Carrow, I had work to do.
Christoph Venderklein lived on this street, according to Anton. The talent scout for evil, as Carrow had dubbed him.
I rubbed my head, the slightest pain flaring at the thought of her. That memory had remained, but there were so many missing.
For the best.
I reached into my pocket and withdrew the paper Miranda had slipped me on my way out the door. She’d found Christoph’s address last night, and now I’d find him.
Though I was tempted to abduct him myself and question him, I doubted I’d get any more information. And it was vital that I did not interrupt any future chain of events. We’d gotten what information we could out of Anton, but we needed much more. Letting things unfold and observing them was the only way to get what we needed.
Quickly, I strode down the quiet street. A few supernaturals were out and about—they’d probably also been out when I’d first arrived, though I’d been in no state to notice them—and they darted out of my way as I passed.
About midway up Hellebore Alley, an even smaller street turned right. Nightshade Lane was damper and darker, smelling foully of wet rodent and body odor. I breathed shallowly as I passed the boarded-up shop windows and checked the walls of the buildings for numbers.
I found Christoph’s flat easily. It appeared to be a tiny place right above a long-shuttered butcher shop. A faint golden light glowed from the two small windows, but the angle wasn’t quite good enough to see by. I turned and looked up at the building behind me. It was situated right across the street from Christoph’s, but the windows were entirely boarded up.
Since I couldn’t set up a spy outside of Christoph’s flat, I’d have to go with Plan B. Fortunately, I’d come prepared.
I strode across the street and found the street-level entrance to Christoph’s flat. It was a rickety old wooden door with a shoddy lock that no one had bothered locking. The door swung open with a creek, and I climbed the narrow, dark stairs to his flat above.
A quick test of his doorknob showed that Christoph did indeed lock his door, but no matter.
I knocked, waiting patiently as I heard footsteps within.
“Who is it?” A creaky voice inquired.
“Open the door.” I imbued my voice with my power, and soon after, I heard the doorknob twist.
The door opened silently to reveal a middle-aged man with prematurely stooped shoulders and a mean glint to his eyes. The mage wore clothes far finer than his flat, and I could easily guess how he paid for them.
“Who are you?” Christoph demanded.
“None of your concern.” I made sure to put as much power as I could behind my voice. “You will immediately forget that I am here.”
His eyes turned foggy, and I smiled with grim satisfaction.
“Step back from the door,” I said.
He did as I commanded, and I walked into the dim little flat. The ceiling was low and the floor sloped, in the way of many of the ancient Tudor buildings in Guild City.
I inspected the small space, looking for the best place to deploy my spying device. There was a dark corner opposite the door that would provide an excellent view of whoever came to the flat in the future.
I turned to Christoph, who watched me with blank eyes. “When Anton makes his requests of you, how does he do it? By note? In person?”
“He sends an intermediary to the door.” He nodded at his front door.
“Excellent.” It was just as I thought. Anton had always preferred to use minions instead of technology or putting things in writing. It was easier to say someone was lying and kill them than it was to disprove hard evidence.
I withdrew a small charm from my pocket and stuck it to the wall in the corner. It was so small and unobtrusive that it was nearly invisible, but it was the magical equivalent of a video camera.
Satisfied that it was in the right location, I pulled the corresponding mirror from my pocket and inspected it. The little charm provided the perfect view of the front door and Christoph, standing right in front of it.