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Matteo had never been sensitive about his half-elven lineage. He wore the earrings on purpose, and I’d learned the hard way that each one was enchanted with charismatic energy. Not enough to make someone do anything against their will, but enough to sway those clients teetering on the fence.
“Yes and no,” I said, taking off my gloves and shoving them into my pockets. Matteo was probably the only person on earth that I could touch without getting a vision of death. His aura got so muddled by his client’s memories, nothing stuck long enough to trigger me.
Matteo rolled his eyes. “Speak plainly, please. Being cryptic has never helped anyone.”
“Early this morning, I broke into Lafayette cemetery to meet a client. But she was dead when I got there,” I explained, running a finger over the fading scar that bisected my palm.
“How’d she die? What did you see when you touched her?”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “That’s why I’m here. When I touched my client’s corpse, I saw myself.”
“You saw your own death?” His eyebrows lifted. “That must have been—”
“No, I saw Nadia’s death,” I said, scratching my nails over my scalp. “I saw the whole thing. I saw her arrive at the cemetery. I listened to her talk to a shadowed figure, but thenIwas the shadowed figure. I was there in the vision and watching it. I watched myself drive the knife deep into her neck.”
Matteo froze and blinked at me a few times. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The person that killed my client had my face. Jackson and Shado both suggested that it might have been a shapeshifter or another witch using an illusion, but what I saw—It was me.”
“And you’re here to what? Forget the murder?” he asked, clearing his throat.
“No,” I said. Talking about it all was proving harder than I thought. The words kept sticking to my tongue. “I’m here because I have no memory of the murder. I saw what Nadia went through, but I don’t remember doing it. And from what I can tell… her corpse looked exactly like my uncle’s body did the day I found him. So, I need to know if I killed him, too.”
Matteo paled, scratching at the stubble on his chin. He inhaled sharply and stood up. “We’re going to need something stronger than tea.”
“Matteo, I need you to help me remember,” I said, as he disappeared behind one of the shelves that cordoned off the back half of the shop.
“I know, and I will help. But I think we both need a little something to settle our—” whatever else he said was lost to the sound of him knocking over a box and a string of Deep Fae curse words. He returned a minute later brandishing a dark green wine bottle that had been sealed with something that looked like melted silver. “I was looking for ambrosia, but apparently I’m out. So, this will have to do.”
“What is it?” I asked, noticing that the bottle was, in fact, clear. It was the liquid that was green.
Matteo’s eyebrow lifted. “You’ve never seen fae-brewed absinthe before?”
He set the bottle down on the coffee table between us and looked around in confusion for a second. He snapped his fingers, and two crystal glasses appeared in a blink. He snapped again and a small silver box, the size of a pencil case, appeared beside them.
I recognized the floral engraving. “I told you I need to remember, not forget.”
“Easy, I’ve got more than drugs in here,” he said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. He clicked open the box, and dipped his fingers inside, deeper than I thought possible. He lifted out a smaller tin, the same dented silver as the box, and then a stack of thin, oblong cards. Tarot cards.
“Can you really help me?”
“What do I always say?” He rolled his eyes and cracked his knuckles. “All I can do is try. If you trust me.”
“Just tell me what I have to do.” Trust wasn’t an issue for me. Matteo had saved me more than once in the past. I had no doubt that he would do his best to help. He’d never given me a reason to think otherwise.
Matteo filled one glass about two fingers high, and the other he poured almost to the point of overflowing. He slid the first one across to me and swallowed half of the liquid inside the other with a quick flick of his wrist.
I gave him a pointed look. “Is getting drunk really a good idea?”
“First of all,” he said, holding up an index finger, “You’re not my mother. I’ll drink what I like. And second, remembering things and forgetting them requires two entirely different mindsets. So, drink up. You need to be utterly relaxed, ready to go with the flow. Equilibrium be damned.”
I frowned and picked up my glass. “If you say so.”
The liquid was cold on my tongue. The taste reminded me of ambrosia, but instead of the tingling sensation the other drink left behind, this one rolled down into the pit of my stomach with a sharp warmth.I set the empty glass down, and the room tilted.
“Don’t pass out just yet,” Matteo said, shifting the glasses aside. I groaned, and he spread the tarot deck across the wood in front of us. “Think about the things you’re trying to remember as specifically as you can and choose a card for each incident.”
My eyes felt heavy, but I pointed them at the table, and thought for a second about the two faces that haunted me the most. Nadia Lenkova and Viktor Devereaux. Had I killed them? Was I really a murderer? My finger fell on a single card and I slid it towards Matteo. I touched a second card and I slid that in the same direction.
