Page 21 of The City Of Fractured Memory

He shakes his head and I feel Stryx tense beside me. Like most mortals, Xavier has always held resentment toward the Echofae, in no small part thanks to the fact his father was killed by one. It’s the only thing we’ve never seen eye to eye on, and the reason why I continue to hide Stryx’s true identity from him, even though it pains me to do so.

“If you could use magic freely,” he continues when I stay silent, “you wouldn’t have to be in pain all the time. I can’t stand watching you sacrifice your memories and emotions just to ease your suffering temporarily.”

“It is what it is,” I remind him, giving him a small smile. “It’s not like anything can change, right?”

“Right,” he repeats, though his gaze falls from mine, his mind clearly preoccupied with something.

“Are you okay?” I ask, the bags under his eyes drawing my focus again. “Is Vesper alright?”

It’s not often we talk of his twin sister—she’s been bedridden for so long, and the mere mention of her always makes him sad––but her absence has left a permanent void whenever Xavier and I are together and it’s impossible for me not to ask.

He shrugs dismissively. “I’m fine and she’s…her usual state. Nothing to worry about.”

But when his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, something in my gut tells me there’s more to the story that Xavier’s omitting, and for the first time since we met, I wonder if he’s just lied to me.

Twelve

Iglare at the cryptic note, willing it with every fibre of my being to burst into flame and rid my mind of its ridiculous snare.

You will find me when you find yourself –C

The note was waiting for me when we got home, pinned to the door of our apartment with a huge thorn. Instead of getting some desperately needed sleep, I’ve been sitting in the window instead, staring at it for hours as the morning light slowly creeps in.

I hate riddles. They bore me. Fancy poetry to hide true intent, and for what? Stupid fucking thing, with it’s stupid words, in stupid cursive, with stupid blue ink…

Wait.

I sit up straight and grab the parchment, bringing it closer.

I’ve never seen that colour ink before.

At least, I hadn’t, until I saw that overturned inkwell at the second crime scene. My heart stutters anew.

Maybe riddles aren’t so bad after all.

Could that be why the inkwell had spilled? If the ink matches, it could place Corvus at the crime scene. I push myself off the window seat and walk over to Quill who flutters awake, fluffing his feathers as I wave the parchment at him. I can’t believe I never thought of this before.

“Do you recognise this ink?” I ask urgently, watching him float closer to the parchment as he seems to study it. My heart rate increases as I wait for his reply, but a moment later he shakes back and forth, his message clear. My shoulders drop as my hope falters, but Quill floats over to his parchment and starts writing.

There is one who may know

My breath catches as I read, my head whipping to him for an explanation.

“Who?” I demand, tapping my fingers impatiently as he starts to write a name.

Cyril

“You know of Cyril?” I ask with a frown, wondering how that could be possible.

“Your librarian friend from the Memosyne Archives?” Stryx yawns from behind me, stretching her arms up above her head as she emerges barefoot from her room.

I nod. “Quill seems to think he might know where this ink comes from,” I muse, waving the note in her direction.

Her ears twitch back and forth as she observes it with narrowed eyes, and I notice the tiny crescent moon tattoo on her forehead is no longer glowing, along with the tattoos up her arms. She must have drained her magic last night by maintaining that illusion for so long.

“Maybe we should take a trip to the Archives, then. While we’re there we can do some research on memory siphoning too, see if there’s any reference to this ‘fog’ Riven mentioned,” she says sleepily, rubbing her eyes.

I swallow down my guilt at her lack of sleep. As soon as Xavier left us to head home, I’d told her what Riven had whispered to me, and we spent the rest of the night speculating its meaning. I can tell she’s still eager to help me, and I don’t want to deny her, but I can’t ignore the horror she went through last night because of me either.