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“Good idea.” Matteo gave the whole street a wary look. “I donotlike this place.”
I grunted in agreement, and we hurried toward the shop we were looking for. There was a glittering Open sign in the window below the hand-painted wordsGach Rud, and under that was a shelf displaying some of the shop’s items. Leatherbound books. Crystals. Some bottles of liquid that seemed to glow like the alchemist’s sign—from something on the inside. Something that wasn’t entirelystilleither, and it didn’t move in the way carbonation did. Magic, then. And I’d seen plenty of magic in my life, but this magic—the movement and the light that I hoped were securely trapped inside those bottles—was fuckingweirdin a way my lizard brain didn’t like.
A sour taste in the back of my mouth had me swallowing suddenly. My body remembering something else that my conscious mind didn’t?
Please tell me I didn’t drink one of those.
I swallowed again and reached for the door, but I paused. This was it. We were here. I was about to either get my memories back or find out they were gone forever, and I wasn’t sure which choice scared me more.
Matteo’s hand landed gently on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was?”
“Not even a little.”
I managed a soft laugh. Then I took a deep breath, pulled open the door, and stepped into the shop, glancing back to make sure Matteo was on my heels.
Just like the neighborhood outside, this place was a hundred percent unfamiliar, and it was also absolutely something that would’ve registered with at least a couple of synapses. Shelves weighed down with bottles and jars of unnaturally glowing—and moving—liquids. Cases full of crystals and rocks that didn’t look like any I’d ever seen before. Jewelry that I was weirdly drawn to; I didn’t wear jewelry and had no desire to start, but my fingers itched with the need for one or two or five of those silver rings, and my neck was uncomfortably light without one of those chunky chains or the crystals hanging from leather cords.
I quickly pulled my gaze away from the jewelry. There was some kind of glamour on them, I had no doubt, and I wasn’t here for that. I’d had about enough of the magic this shop apparently had on offer. I didn’t need a cursed ring or a pendant that had been stolen from another fae. No, thank you.
There were some animal skulls and bones along the top shelves, and I didn’t have to look to know Matteo was bristling. The vast majority of magic users sourced their teeth and bones ethically—either harvesting what they found in nature or buying from zoos or owners after animals had passed away—but he’d always been squicked out by it. I wondered if, like me, he was mentally wondering if this particular magic user acquired things through acceptable means. Ireallyhad questions when my gaze landed on a row of human skulls behind the counter. Again, those were typically acquired through legitimate and ethical channels, but I was too uneasy in this place to take for granted that everything here had been appropriated properly.
A woman’s voice made me jump. “Can I help you?”
I turned around and found a white woman who was probably in her sixties. She leaned hard into the fae aesthetic—mismatched clothes from multiple eras, a necklace of feathers and bones, tattoos covering her arms all the way to her fingers, gray hair that was partially braided and brought to mind words likefrazzledandscraggly. Her smile was warm and friendly, but her eyes… I wasn’t sure about them. I was on edge about this place and my situation, so I wasn’t going to be quick to trust anyone, so maybe I was just projecting, but I didn’t think so. They were bright blue, and I couldn’t help likening the vivid color to what I’d seen in one of the bottles in the window.
She was also looking at me like she’d never seen me before in her life. Fucking great.
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t remember me?”
She stared at me, then shook her head, the motion making some metal beads in her braids clink and clatter against each other. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
I huffed a laugh and glanced at Matteo. “Is this the definition of irony?”
“Probably.” He gestured at my jacket pocket. “Maybe the receipt will jog her memory.”
Good idea. I tugged it free and stepped closer to hand it across the counter. “I need to talk to you about this.”
Furrowing her brow, the fae put a pair of rimless glasses on her nose and peered at the receipt. Then understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh, you want to see Ronan.” She held it up. “This is his handwriting.”
Oh. Okay. So she had no reason to recognize me, but there was someone else here who should. Thank God.
I nodded mutely.
The woman stepped into the back, leaving us alone in the room full of skulls and potions and enchanted jewelry. Matteo was heading for the jewelry displays, a curious expression on his face, and I was just about to stop him when footsteps told us the fae was returning. That was enough to break whatever had drawn him toward those rings, and we both turned toward the back door as the woman returned.
Behind her was a tall, lanky man who looked like someone from another time. Not unusual—the fae didn’t care too much about changing fashions or humans’ opinions. He apparently preferred a tidier ensemble than his colleague, and he wore an embroidered waistcoat with a pocket watch chain dangling from one side. His salt-and-pepper beard was meticulously trimmed, as was what remained of his hair.
Recognition flashed through my mind, giving me hope that something could, in fact, unlock my memories. Then I realized he bore a passing resemblance to Sigmund Freud, and the recognition ended there. Damn it. As far as I could remember, I’d never seen this man in my life.
Nor had I seen the raróg perched on his shoulder. I would have absolutely remembered eyes like embers, and how its red and black feathers shimmered in a way that was reminiscent of fire.
Beside me, Matteo shifted, and I wasn’t surprised to see that he was warily watching the dragon-bird and idly rubbing at the bandage on his arm. Rarógi never been his favorite animals to treat, and he hated the idea of people keeping them as pets.
This was a fae, though, and the fae didn’t give a damn about people’s opinions on things, which was probably why Matteo didn’t say anything. At least they could usually handle them better than mortals could, and they typically didn’t underestimate how powerful the little scorch chickens were. Matteo probably just didn’t relish the idea of being in the same room as one of them, especially after one had cut open his arm so recently.
The bearded fae stood behind a case of clay beads and a variety of feathers, and as soon as his gaze landed on me, he smiled. “Mr. Carter. I thought I might see you again.”
