“I don’t remember her,” I say. “You mentioned her the other day, and I realized…I feel like I should remember?—”
“She murdered your best friend,” Mama interrupts. Though her voice softens, her posture doesn’t. “It’s normal to want to forget.”
I fix my teeth together, resisting the urge to say more. I can tell by her expression this was a mistake. Mama wouldn’t understand anyway. I’m not sure I would, had my path not collided with Secora’s. The moment I saw her face, I knew something was wrong.
Something is missing, and there’s nothing normal about it.
This woman had been my classmate for years. She’d been a spare child of my friend’s family. I should have memories of her. I should remember seeing her on the playground. I should remember her voice. I should know what magic she practiced. I shouldrememberher.
She certainly seems to remember me.
“Don’t bring up that horrid girl’s name again,” Mama says. She rubs her sternum, as if I’ve caused her physical pain.
And maybe I have. Secora Reed is one of two people to ever escape her council’s punishment.
“Mama—”
“I have a meeting,” she interrupts. This time, there’s no warmth in her tone. She looks pointedly at the door.
“‘Bye, Mama,” I say. This time, I actually go.
“I don’t know, man,”Henry says.
He sits across from me in the employee lounge of Lyrie Healing Center. Like all employees here—myself included—he wears a simple white shirt, grey pants, and black shoes. Only his pale violet blazer sets him apart. Most healers here are autumnal; some are vernal. Of our two hundred employees, only a handful are estival or hibernal.
Henry is one of them.
We met as new students at the Neutral Territory University and shared a fascination with rare and biologically complex ailments. When I’d pitched the idea of opening a new medical center, Henry was eager to join.
Now, he’s one of our top surgeons. He’s as obsessed with decoding mysteries as I am, which is why we’re here late into theevening. His shift ended in the early afternoon. Mine ended over an hour ago.
We’re only here because I can’t drag him away from his tomes. He’s surrounded by ancient books and newer research alike, the parchments cluttering the elongated grey couch. Its decorative orange and yellow pillows are on the floor to make room.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I continue. Henry is looking far more absorbed in his work than my personal crises. As his boss, I’m thrilled. As his friend, I’m irritated. I thrum my fingers across the oversized round table.
“Trauma does peculiar things to the mind,” he says distractedly. He spins his pen between his fingers, splattering his skin with black ink. As it dries, the color reminds me of Mama’s arms.
A sharp chill licks up my spine. Much as I try to ignore it, I can’t get the thought of Mama dying out of my head. There’s only one thing capable of distracting me, and it’s as much of a mystery as her illness.
“I know it does,” I say. And it’s true. I’ve seen a number of cases where the patient’s traumatic background infested their body, creating their own personal disease. Difficult to treat, strong enough to kill. “It’s just…”
Henry pauses his writing to look at me. Without lowering his pen, he runs his hand through his hair. A droplet of ink stains his hair. Normally, I’d laugh. Now, I just stare at the black drop, wondering how long it will be before Mama’s overtaken by disease entirely. Will it radiate over everything? Her face, her hair, her nails?
“She killed my best friend,” I say, my voice cracking pathetically.
Henry already knows this. Everyone in the Day Realm and beyond knows about the murder of Harrison Iyle. A prominentaugur’s son, slaughtered in cold blood by a fellow student. Motive, unknown.
“She killed my best friend,” I repeat, strengthening my voice. “She was our friend’s spare sister. She wasaround. I should…I should remember things about her.”
Henry studies me with a watchful expression. Finally, he sets down his pen.
“Why are you worrying over this now?” he asks. His face blanches the longer he looks at me. “Are you…are you thinking of seeking vengeance?”
I stop tapping the table, looking at Henry with both brows raised. We hold eye contact for a long moment before dissolving into laughter. I laugh so hard I start to cough, folding over against the table.
“For the Mother, Henry.” I choke down a breath, trying but struggling to get a hold of myself. “No, I’m not thinking ofseeking vengeance.”
I try to imagine it, me storming into Sebastian’s manor and killing this woman I barely remember.
