“You’re from London?” Rufus asked. He turned to Sariel. “Have you been to the U.K. lately without coming to visit Fabia and me?”
“No.” Sariel felt something in his head trying to break free—an idea or a memory or a dream—but then it swirled away in his confusion. He’d healed her before? What had happened to her?
“London!” Miranda said. “I live in the city. You know, San Francisco.”
“Well, you are a more talented penseur de mouvement than you ever imagined,” Nala said. “You’re in London now, and it would take one very magic bus to get you home.”
Miranda stopped moving, her eyes wide. “I’m in London?”
“Yes,” Nala said. “And we don’t have much time. As you can see, we have some work to do. Now, can you tell me what you know?”
“And then I can go?” Miranda stared at Nala, her eyes dark and angry.
No, thought Nala, loud enough for Sariel to hear, and then she said, “Of course you can go.”
“Okay,” Miranda said, rubbing her arms. Felix took off his dark blue robe and handed it to her, and she gave him a flick of a smile and put it over her body. “All right. So when I was in the gray Kallisto must have been thinking about you so hard, Sariel, that I got confused. And she must have been thinking about you for a couple of days because I saw this house and this room before. Yesterday. Anyway, when I was finally in the gray, I heard your voice, so I just followed. When I got here, she went into my mind and took what I knew about the night you were at my house and got that message. It was like she was inside my memory and could go into your memory at the same time.”
“I was at your house and got a message? Tell me what you know.” Sariel asked.
“It was the second message you’d gotten that day. The first seemed worse to me. We were at the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Sariel asked, knowing that he never set foot in those places.
“My sister was having a baby.”
Sariel blinked, uncrossed and crossed his arms.
What in the blazes is going on? Rufus thought.
Shut up and listen, Felix thought back.
“So, what then?” Nala coaxed.
“Well, you were acting like a total jerk that day, anyway, and you left after the first message. You wouldn’t tell me anything. Later, you came to my apartment. I mean, you just showed up, like always. We were talking and you hit the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, your eyes flicking back and forth,” she said, almost irritably. “I had no idea what was going on at the time. And then you tried to take my memories and then you must have left. Just like that.”
Sariel stared at Miranda, thinking back to the message he’d received about Quain and the second plaque. He’d been at home, hadn’t he? Brennus had been there? Or was it Rufus? Why would Rufus have been in Marin and not in Edinburgh? And what about the message about the first plaque? Wasn’t he with Philomel and Brennus in a restaurant on Geary? They’d been talking about—about vortexes?
Pay attention, Nala thought. We don’t have much time.
“All right,” Sariel said. “Then what?”
Miranda licked her lips and then rubbed them with the back of her hand. “Do you have any water?”
Honestly, Nala thought, but then there was a whoosh of air and Lutalo and Baris were back, both of them wild-eyed and agitated.
“What is it?” Sayblee asked them.
“We have to go. I think it might be a trap. Now. Let’s get out of here.”
Grab her, Nala thought, and Sariel pulled Miranda up by her elbows, careful with her wrists, and pressed her shivering body to him, and they all twirled back into the gray.
Something about holding her like this reminded him— reminded him of what? As they traveled back to the house on Victoria Street, she had her arms wrapped around him as if she knew his body, her hands pressed on his back, her cheek laid against his chest. Sariel wanted to stop somewhere else, just for a minute, and ask her questions. Not questions about Kallisto, but about how she knew him. It seemed impossible, as if she’d come out of some other world where she and Sariel were lovers. While that scenario was possible, what was becoming increasingly clear to him was that a piece of his memory was gone, the piece that held her. Someone had taken her away from him.
They all arrived in the house, and the minute they touched the floor, Miranda pulled away from him, her body a warm but quickly fading imprint on his.
“What happened?” Nala asked Lutalo and Baris.
Baris shook his head. “We don’t know. It seemed as though they’d decided to come back for Miranda here.”
“Quain was on his way, and I picked up an image of a trap. We just barely made it ahead of him. I think I know where he is.” Lutalo pushed his hair back and sighed. “But he’s too strong. I don’t know—”
Don’t say any more. We don’t want Miranda to know any more than she does. She has a block on her mind, and we might not he able to take away what she hears, Nala thought.
“We were questioning Miranda, here,” Nala pretended to interrupt. “Let’s finish. Miranda?”
Miranda sighed. “And then I can go, right? A normal way. Virgin Airlines. British Airways. The cargo hold of FedEx.”
“Of course,” Nala lied again. “Please, continue.”
“Okay.” Miranda studied Nala for a moment, seeming, it appeared to Sariel, to try to read her mind. Then Miranda shrugged. “In my memory, she went into Sariel’s thoughts— not that I thought that was possible. He was thinking things I didn’t know about. Something about the stolen second plaque and that Sariel needed to go to Rabley Heath. Is that in Scotland?”
She looked at them, but no one said a word. Sariel touched her arm.
“And then what?” he asked.
“I could tell she knew you were all here, ready to do something. But after she was done with my memories, something really weird happened to me. I got into her head. I didn’t mean to. She was thinking about someplace she called l’enclos. And she was going back to this fortress. It’s called something ‘kent.’ No, not kent. Kend something. Kendall?”
“Fortress Kendall,” Baris said, turning to Lutalo, who nodded.
Nala nodded back. “Go on, Miranda.”
Miranda bit her lip, and then said, “She was worried about someone named Adalbert. There was also an image. I don’t know.” She paused rubbing her forehead.
“What was it?” Nala said softly. “Anything will help.”
“Okay, but it probably doesn’t make any sense. It was of three colors. Gold, red, purple, kind of…” Miranda moved her hands, as if she held the three colors between her palms and was spinning them. “Spinning, flashing one at a time. And from the top of it was this, well, flume of energy or something. It was powerful, I know that much. And Kallisto was so attracted to this image, so pulled toward it, I think that’s why she didn’t notice I was there. Just before she disappeared, I heard her talking to someone. Maybe it was Quain.”
Rufus cleared his throat. “This is most interesting, I must say. You, a Moyenne, managed to travel through matter across the flipping Atlantic and now you tell us you pushed inside the mind of the most terrible, powerful sorciere. And then you heard Quain himself? What next?”
Sayblee muttered something under her breath, and the rest of the group looked at Rufus and then Sariel.
“Ru,” Sariel said. “I know this sounds crazy, but I—I believe her.”
Everyone looked at him, and Sariel felt heat and blood rise in his face. It was crazy. Why did he believe her? It wasn’t just that she seemed to know everything about him and his family, which was strange. There was something else, a shadow of a memory, a feeling—or was it her face looking up at him, her eyes glassy with fatigue and frustration, her skin pale and glowing? But Sariel knew it went deeper somehow, as if he could see that there was no lie lodged in her center. Everything about her was whole and true.
Nala looked at him and thought, I hope you’re right.
I a
m right. And I think we should keep her around, Sariel thought back. She might he useful to us later.
Nodding, Nala turned back to Sayblee. “Take her upstairs. She needs to get cleaned up. And then we can eat.”
Sariel then heard what Nala didn’t say aloud. Don’t let her out of your sight. I’ve put a bloque spell on her, so she won’t be disappearing.
“If you’re done speaking about me in the third person,” Miranda interrupted, “I’d just as soon leave now, bloque spell or not. You promised me I could go if I told you what I know.”
Sariel, Nala, and Sayblee spun back toward Miranda.
“You heard that?” Sariel asked.
Miranda seemed to not understand, her eyes weepy. She nodded, though it seemed like the movement was an effort. “I may be crazy, but I’m not deaf.”
“You’re tired,” Nala said. “You’ve been through a great deal and are in no condition to wander over to Heathrow. Have a shower and some food and maybe a rest. It’s not everyone who lives through an encounter with Kallisto.”
Miranda swallowed, and Sariel noticed that her sore red hands were shaking. She looked at him for a second, saw him watching her, and looked away.
“Fine. I’ll take a shower and eat. But then I’m going. I’ll take a cab to the airport, and if I can’t get a flight, I’ll sleep at an airport hotel. At least Kallisto isn’t a purse snatcher,” Miranda said, holding up her bag. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but it’s a wise decision stay for a while,” Nala said. “Sayblee will show you where everything is.”
Slowly, Miranda walked toward Sayblee, and then the two women walked down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor.
“We’ve got to get busy,” Nala said. “Lutalo and Baris, I need your memories of what happened after you left us.”
She turned to Sariel, Rufus, and Felix. Sariel just stared at her, wondering what to do with Miranda.
“Between the three of you, you should be able to figure it out,” Nala said. “But where she came from and who she was to you is of little importance compared to what she can do for us now. Think about it, Sariel. She got into Kallisto’s mind, farther than you have.”
Nala turned and walked into the lounge, Lutalo and Baris behind her. Mazi shook his head, said, “I didn’t see any of that coming,” and walked into the kitchen to start the meal. Sariel shook his head and looked at his brothers.
“What in the hell is going on?” he asked. “How does she know Felix and me? And she even figured out who you were, Ru.”
“We need to get to Adalbert,” Rufus said. “I know Nala said it was too risky to contact him now, but he would know what was going on.”
Felix sat down on the couch, rubbing his eyes. “If we send a message, Kallisto and Quain will intercept. They almost found us just now. It’s too dangerous. You told me what they did to Phaedrus’s people.”
“But who is she?” Sariel asked.
“A spy,” Rufus said flatly.
“No, she’s not a spy,” Felix said. “I feel—I feel like there’s some kind of, well, hole in my memory. When she was talking, I would almost remember… something. And the only reason I’m here with you now is that I heard her in Hilo. She was crying out for help. You heard her, too.”
Sariel sat down by Felix and sighed. “I did. She was so desperate. If she’s not a spy or a wonderful actress, she meant it. But about that hole—”
Rufus began to pace. “You’re right. I felt it, too, even before we met her. Do you think someone’s been tampering a wee bit with our minds?”
“Why would they? What’s the point?” Felix asked. “We didn’t have anything to erase, and Sariel’s memories of Kallisto are what make him so important to the mission.”
“No,” Rufus said. “Memories about this woman. Miranda.”
“So all three of us have memories of this woman? How far back does she go in our lives? Sariel, you never bring anyone around, and you’re suggesting that we all had something to erase?” Felix asked.
“I don’t know.” Sariel crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the floor. What was he forgetting? He got the call at his house, came to Rabley Heath for the meeting, and then went to Adalbert’s house for the night. He and Adalbert had a talk, Zosime showed up, and he went to bed. Was there something else?
“Okay. What if,” Felix began. “What if what she says is true? You and she were involved. And then you got the message, took her memories, and left. What if for some reason someone thought your memories of Miranda would get us or her in trouble? What if you were told you had to take them?”
“A miserable plan, that,” Rufus said. “We’re all in trouble, her most of all.”
“But what if,” Felix continued, “whoever thought up the plan didn’t know she was Croyant and would travel through matter to find our dear brother here? What if she were strong enough to resist your taking her thoughts? Maybe they thought she would stay home like a good Moyenne girl and behave.”
“She does have spirit,” Rufus said. “Kind of a wildcat. Reminds me of Fabia. Strong. You know I wouldn’t be here today without her.”
Sariel nodded, thinking of how destroyed Rufus had been after his encounter with Kallisto, Sariel too drained himself to help. Even Zosime and Adalbert hadn’t been able to find Rufus, his mind completely closed, and if it hadn’t been for Fabia finding him that night in Edinburgh… Sariel couldn’t think about it.
Sariel looked at Rufus for a moment, both of them holding that horrible night with Kallisto in their thoughts. Don’t let Kallisto scare you, Rufus thought. I’m not.
Nodding, Sariel rubbed his forehead, an ache radiating from the center of his brain.
“So,” Sariel said. “You think I’ve been—”
“I think you’ve been sleeping with her,” Felix said. “And not only that, I think you were totally into her. Who wouldn’t be? Did you see how she looked at you after Kallisto disappeared and the dust, settled? A woman doesn’t look at you like that unless she, well, loves you. She, clearly, is completely into you, even if now she wants to rip your throat out. Not that I blame her.”
Sariel leaned over and put his head in his hands, mumbling from behind them. “So she thinks I’m pretending to not know her.”
The brothers were silent. Rufus stopped pacing and sat down on Felix’s other side. Sariel sat up straight and closed his eyes, feeling his brothers’ thoughts with his, all of their minds humming together, the strains of their melded thoughts familiar and comforting. Relaxing into their combined memories, Sariel tried to find a leftover, a fragment, a clue, something the mind thief left behind. What was there? He’d had momentary glimpses of something ineffable and transient for the past couple of days, something about wings or flying. Angels? No, no. There it was. An image of a girl in a backyard, lifting off the ground, hovering in the afternoon sunlight, her sister looking up at her and believing what she saw. Then there were words, a piece of paper, pictures lifting off a page.
“She’s a poet,” Felix said suddenly, bringing them all out of the backyard flight.
Sariel gasped. A poet. He could almost feel his hand on the page, her words in front of his eyes. There he was, with the girl in the poem, hovering, laughing, taking off.
“I don’t know who took all our memories away, though I’m having my suspicions now,” Rufus said. “But Sariel, whatever those memories were, you gave them up willingly, as did Felix and I. I know that. These memories weren’t dragged from us. We weren’t kicking and screaming and carrying on. Otherwise, we’d have scars, rips we’d feel for days, pounding headaches, insomnia. I know from experience. Aside from this Quain business, I’ve been sleeping like a baby.”
Rufus was right; memories stolen by force could often hurt the mind, sometimes break it. But how would Sariel be able to explain to Miranda that he’d given her up easily, just like that?
“You might not be able to,” Felix said, hearing his thought. “It might be too late.”
/> “Aye, lad,” Rufus said. “But even though the taking might have been easy, the decision might not have been. You can tell her that, when there’s time.”
Sariel nodded, pulling his mind away from his brothers’. He really shouldn’t be concerned about making up with Miranda at a time like this. There was much more at stake right now, and from the other room, he heard Nala giving out orders to Lutalo, Baris, and Mazi. After some rest and a meal, they would be back to plotting their strategy against Kallisto and Quain. But as he listened to the shower water trickling down the old pipes, he knew he wanted nothing more than to go upstairs to Miranda, beg her forgiveness, and try, if he could, to remember what had happened between them. He wanted to talk with her before Kallisto and Quain made any happiness as impossible to remember as whatever it was Sariel and Miranda once had together.
Chapter Twelve
Letting the hot water hit her, Miranda stood under the showerhead, the stream beating down on her face. The water had calmed her a bit, helped her ignore the nerves that had made it almost impossible for her to walk up the stairs.
Sayblee, her new bodyguard, sat right outside the shower door, her figure bumpy and out of focus behind the opaque glass.
Miranda had already washed her hair twice and soaped and rinsed five times. But the cold and fear of Kallisto’s dark room seemed stuck on her no matter how much she washed. And even though she’d always found a shower restorative— a cure for bad dates, terrible writing sessions, and fights with her mother—she couldn’t get Sariel’s face out of her mind.
He’d stared at her as if she were a total stranger. As if she were crazy. As if he didn’t know her at all. As if he would never be able to remember his theft of their story. The theft of part of her life! Who had given him permission to do that!
Jerk! she thought. Typical man. Worse. Worse than a typical man. Sariel didn’t care, didn’t ask, just took and left. But no man she’d ever met, not even Jack, had pretended she didn’t exist. Maybe Jack stole everything from her, but at least he’d looked her in the eye and known who she was. At least he hadn’t taken her existence away, too.
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