“Really?” I ask. “You’re going to talk about disrespect? Youstolemy memories. They’remine. You have no right to them, and you’re acting like you’re the good guy for doling them back, one by one.”
“Let’s take a breath,” Henry says. I don’t know when he moved, but he’s closer now, hand heavy on my shoulder. “We’re all friends here.”
“No. We arenotfriends,” I growl. I shove his hand off me, twisting to face him. “Shemurderedmy friend. She stole my memories. I’ve agreed to her fucking requirements to get them back. I’m not leaving them with her, so she can keep my thoughts in her twisted little collection, watching them whenever she’s bored. They’re?—”
“I haven’t watched them since the night I took them,” she says. Her voice is level, devoid of emotion. It is only the slight curl of her upper lip that gives her away, that indicates there’ssomethingmore behind her icy mask. “I’m not some obsessive stalker, all right? I was going to give it to you. But I figured you wouldn’t have a memory stone. You can’t just go sticking random things in your head, Elliot. I could’ve fucked with it. You have to watch it like this first. Which youknow.”
I grind my teeth. I hate this woman. I hate more that she’sright. I do know better than to stick a random strand of magic in my head. It could be laced with poison. It could be manipulated.It could bea lotof things, and if I didn’t check with a memory stone first, I could have killed myself.
I just assumed Cora wouldn’t care if I did.
I assumed she’d leave it to me to find a memory stone, not that she’d offer up her own.
“But you don’t have to use it,” she says. She grabs the ingredients from the memory stone, shoving them back into their velvet bag. I don’t remember much about memory stones from school, but I know these ingredients are hard to come by. If I ask Mama for them, she’ll know I’m up to something.
“Wait,” I say.
I can feel Henry watching me, but I don’t take my eyes off Cora. She’s paused her movements, and her stormy eyes stare up into mine. If they weren’t so angry, they’d be pretty.
Fuck. Even angry…
“I’m sorry,” I say. It feels like I’m choking on the words as I speak them, as if I’m personally stabbing my mama with this tiny betrayal. Apologizing to the henchman of my mother’s greatest enemy. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I…can we still? Please?”
She doesn’t respond. I can see her jaw working. She’s grinding her teeth so hard I’m surprised I can’t hear it. She doesn’t move to put the ingredients back, but at least she’s stopped taking them away.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, harder.
Cora lets out a shaky breath. She’s going to agree—I can see it in her softened expression. I’ve already won, and yet, I find myself continuing anyway.
“You can watch it too, if you want.”
Without looking, I can see Henry’s shock from my peripheral vision. Both blond eyebrows are raised as he stares at me.
“She’s probably memorized them anyway,” I say. More as a way to convince myself than him.
“I haven’t,” she says. Her words are level, steady.
I don’t respond, and she somehow knows I’m not going to. She lines the ingredients once again onto the black stone and removes two jars from her bag. Both are labeled with silky ink and the same description:Elliot Lyrie, age 12, Ochre Primary School.Within each jar, a vibrant memory thrashes against the glass. One is blue. The other is somewhere between orange and red.
“How many?” I ask. My voice is hoarse, almost unfamiliar. “How many jars do you have?”
“A hundred, maybe more,” she says. “Only some are yours.”
“Only,” I repeat. Nausea pinches my gut, threatening to eject this morning’s breakfast. Part of me wants to lash out, to tell Cora exactly what I think of her and her cruel, twisted games.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion from spellcasting. Maybe it’s the surreal realization I’m about to learn something new about my own life. Either way, I’m too tired to fight.
“All right,” I say. “I’m ready.”
Cora carefully places the memory onto the stone, and an instantaneous burst of blue smoke surrounds us. I can’t see Cora or Henry. There is only a thick wall of blue around me, slowly dissolving into a past world. By the time the smoke has cleared completely, I am no longer in the present. Sebastian Vulce’s courtyard is gone, replaced by the outer fields of my primary school.
13
STAY FAR AWAY
ELLIOT
Harrison isn’t in school today, and neither is Margot. Mrs. Raekes said he’s sick, but I doubt it. He was just fine last night when we were playing groundball at Rowan’s. Then Margot called, he took off early, and now he’s sick.
