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My head ached as I mentally shifted the pieces of our situation around in my head. I needed some sort of spell to recover my missing memories, if there were in fact a few I couldn't recall. I needed to study Nadia’s grimoire, and check her source material. If by some miracle I wasn’t the one that killed her, then I needed to know what kind of trouble she was in.
Jackson parked at the curb in front of the house, and I picked up the bag of books he’d left in the footwell for me. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll let you know what I find in Nadia’s grimoire.”
“I’m not just dropping you off. I’m coming inside to make sure you get some rest,” he said, shutting off the engine.
“Jack, I’m fine. You should take the laptop into the precinct and see if the tech squad can break her password. I’m sure your boss is expecting an update.”
“I’ll take the computer in after you get some sleep and update him then.”
I ground my teeth together. “Dammit, Jack. I’m not going to bed until I get some answers.”
“You’ll get them after you’ve slept.”
I growled, pinching the bridge of my nose. “If you are so concerned with my wellbeing then stop arguing with me. You’re making my headache worse.”
“You see, you need—”
“Enough,” I snapped. “If you want to come inside then fine. But I’m not closing my eyes. So, just let it go.”
The cab of the truck warmed considerably as his frustration boiled. “You didn’t do this, Rebekah. I know what I said to you this morning, but I was wrong. You’re not a killer.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “I know you were angry, but we both know you weren’t wrong to question me. We both know what I’m capable of. I need to know what happened, Jack. I need to know if I have blood on my hands.”
He turned in his seat to look at me. “Then let me help you.”
“No,” I said, grabbing the door handle. “It’s safer if you stay as far away from me as you can. So, I’ll take Nadia’s grimoire and work the magic side of our problem. Take her laptop to the tech guys at the precinct. Do what you can with it. Crack her password. Then, with any luck, we can compare notes and figure out what comes next.”
“You don’t have to do this alone, Rebekah.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, sliding out of the truck. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. So am I.”
I shut the door and hobbled across the sidewalk. Jackson made no move to follow, and as I closed myself inside the house, he sped away from the curb. His anger wasn’t surprising. How many times can a guy hear the wordsI don’t want you here, before they start to sink in? They were a lie, of course. Biting my lower lip, all I wanted was for him to turn around and break down the door and refuse to leave.
Too tired to cry, I set Nadia’s books on my desk, and made my way upstairs to my bedroom. I stripped my clothes off at the dresser, peeling the blood-stained fabric away from my skin. My bra, my underwear, my jeans, and even my socks were soaked with it. My shirt was unsalvageable. Half of it had been torn to shreds.
Naked, I balled it all together, and set them aside. I’d have to get rid of them in the annex fire, after my shower. I walked into the bathroom and cranked the hot water until the room filled with steam. It felt like heaven against my skin, but as I scrubbed at the blood, my heart raced. I scratched and scratched my entire body raw, but I just couldn’t seem to get clean. I couldn’t stop my skin from crawling.
When the water ran cold, I got out and wrapped myself in a thick white terry cloth towel. I brushed it over my arms and legs, then squeezed the excess liquid from my hair. My stomach was smooth where the piece of metal had pierced my flesh. The only sign left of the trauma was a small star-shaped scar. Examining it in the mirror, I brushed my fingers over the nearly imperceptible bump and sighed. I’d bear that mark for the rest of my life. Just like the ones that crisscrossed my back and lined my forearms. The damage done when casting a blood magic spell always leaves a mark, some more visible than others.
Cringing away from the memories, I pulled my clothes out of the dresser. I donned a fresh set of black underwear and a matching lace bra. I put on a fitted black tank top and then slid my legs into a pair of tight black leather pants. I shoved my feet into a pair of tall boots and smiled at my reflection. Black on black. I looked thin, strong, and ready to take on the world. It was my armor, and where I was about to go, I’d need it.
I raked my hands through my hair, brushing out the knots, and marched downstairs with my bloody clothes tucked under my arm. I grabbed my favorite black leather jacket from the hanger by the door, slipped on the fresh black leather gloves stashed in my pocket, and opened the annex.
Inside, I tossed my bloody clothes into the fireplace. The fabric caught and I slid my jacket on. The last thing I needed, if I wanted to get where I was going, was Viktor’s favorite enchanted object: his teleportation stone. Skimming my hand over the wall of knickknacks opposite the fire, I shifted a few boxes and found it hidden in a bowl of thirty silver coins. The object was a small purple egg-shaped rock. I picked it up and it warmed and buzzed against my palm, recognizing my magic.
I stepped into the open space in front of the fire and held the stone out in front of me. The more I focused on it, the louder the buzzing became. Magic rose up beneath my skin to meet its pitch and the air around my hand warped in a haze of purple and blue light.
I closed my eyes and pictured the place where the fae world of Sidhe sat closest to the earthly plane. In that small pocket of space, a market had formed centuries ago. A labyrinth of tunnels ruled by neither the supernatural leaders on earth nor the fae queens in Sidhe. It was a haven for the shadiest of beings. The kind that preferred freedom to tyranny.
It was in those tunnels that I’d first met Matteo Olivetti. He found me when I was at my lowest point. Trapped by memories of the dead, I couldn’t eat or sleep. A thousand faces haunted my every thought, every dream. I’d begged Viktor to help me forget what I’d seen, but he refused. He’d claimed that it was another form of penance. An equivalent exchange for the lives we couldn’t save.
Matteo knew better. He explained that my uncle had made his memories and his penance into a religion out of necessity. Without even meeting him, he knew that Viktor wasn’t brave enough to risk the spells it would take to forget. Though perfectly legal in the witch community, memory magic in many ways was more dangerous than blood. One slip of the hand or mispronounced syllable while casting a memory spell could cripple someone forever.
My heart sank when I heard that, but Matteo understood how much I needed to forget the things I’d seen. I went to him ready to beg for help, but all it took was one look and he said yes. Only a truly desperate sixteen-year-old witch would cross into the Borderlands Market alone. He brewed me a cup of tea, and I told him how my abilities worked. I explained Viktor’s theories on penance. I even touched his skin to show him what I could do.
By the time our tea turned cold, he’d sketched out plans and diagrams of spell work. He warned me that I’d have to take some pills to keep my equilibrium in check while he worked, and then the rest was history. He helped me develop a way to trick my brain into forgetting the dead, and I walked away happy.
