Iman’s head tilts. “A hellseeker and an Ambrose witch. Interesting pair—”
“They might be lying, Iman. Don’t help her,” Harold intervenes, an edge of desperation added to the fear seeping out of his pores.
Sam’s eyebrows furrow. “Mrs. Havirsham, you know my Grammie. I would never bring trouble to your door, even though your husband is an asshole.”
Harold looks flabbergasted. “Me?!? Your hellseeker friend attacked me!”
“You were about to blast Samantha,” I remind him dryly. Harold cusses under his breath. “Listen, I understand why you might distrust hellseekers, but as long as you are under the Conclave’s protection and you don’t harm humans, I don’t care if you’re a dark witch. This is something personal I’m seeking help for.”
“Distrust? You lightborn think you’re above any other creature out there. Our vampire friend disappeared a month ago, and she was last seen in a dark alley alongside a hellseeker,” Harold spews. “No one did anything.”
“Okay, Harold dear, calm down. That’s only speculation. We don’t know anything for sure,” Iman soothes before inquiring,“Can I unpin my husband from the wall now?”
I flap a hand in the air. “As long as he doesn’t intend to fry us anymore, sure.”
“I’ll make sure of that.” Iman strides behind the counter. She takes out my dagger and uses magic to make it float back to me. Snatching it from the air, I slide it back into its holster. She plants her hands on her hips. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“Well, this is a delicate matter. Before we can tell you anything, we will need an oath of secrecy from both of you,” Sam answers.
Iman and Harold share a look. Iman drums her fingers on her arm, the lines around her eyes and mouth where the passing years have left their mark deepening in thought. “It’s going to cost you.”
“Name your price,” I chime in.
“Word has it you’re the only light witch able to grow rafflesia arnoldii. I want ten,” she tells Sam.
Sam nods. “That can be done. I need a week for the plants to reach maturity, though.”
“Okay, then. Please follow me. This does not seem to be a discussion we should have here, where customers might walk in. Harold, dear, can you please lock up and then join us in the office?”
He sucks on his teeth, clearly displeased that his wife didn’t heed his warnings. “Sure.”
Iman leads the way through the door she came out earlier. We pass a kitchen where two pots of fragrant plants are boiling on the stove. When we reach another wooden door, Iman opens it, waiting for us to file inside the office. Harold strides in after a few minutes. He’s huffing and puffing as we gather in a circle, holding hands while Sam chants something in a language I don’t understand. We each seal the secrecy oath with blood by cutting a crescent line into our palms using a special ceremonial dagger Sam brought specifically for this purpose. A breeze coming fromnowhere hits the circle and flutters my hair before this weird feeling seizes me—like an invisible ribbon tying around my tongue.
“It’s done,” Sam announces, and we step away.
Iman tilts her chin toward me. “Okay, let’s hear it. Why are you here?”
“Well, since the age of fifteen, I’ve had amnesia. I thought it was because of the trauma I suffered during a severe car accident, but I recently found out that’s not true. Apparently, someone put a kind of barrier in my head.”
“Grammie said you were the only witch she knew who dabbles in mind-altering magic.”
A shadow passes over Iman’s features at Sam’s words—the kind that speaks of sorrow and regret. “Yes, that was before I joined the Obsidian Conclave and left my coven. Many years have passed since I’ve touched that kind of magic. It’s very taxing. Let’s just say I’ll never recover the pieces of my soul I lost in the process of accessing that type of power.” She blows out a breath as if trying to cleanse herself of the past before gesturing toward the chair in front of the mahogany desk. “Take a seat.”
I sit down while Sam strides to stand next to me. Harold leans back on the wall, watching us like a hawk, a sour look pinching the planes of his face. Iman bends and places her warm palms on the sides of my head, right at my temples. When she starts chanting, a thick, inky fog envelops the room. “I am going to examine the barrier. Close your eyes,” she whispers.
I do. At first, nothing happens. Then, without preamble, my back bows as white-hot pain burns through me and blisters my insides. The migraine I’ve had since waking up at Kaiden’s penthouse after Erik’s assault intensifies to the point of madness. Someone screams. I think it’s me, but I can’t be sure because the pain is all-consuming. As fast as it sank its claws into me, though, it dissipates.
“Iris?” Sam’s worried voice brings me back into the present. Something wet tickles my top lip. I wipe at it with a trembling hand. It’s blood.
Sam passes me a tissue. “Here.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, using it to wipe off the blood as best as I can.
“You shouldn’t have agreed to this,” Harold chastises his wife acidly as he helps her to her feet. She must have collapsed.
“I’m okay,” Iman says, but her voice is strained, and her knees wobbly. “Whoever put that wall in your head is extremely powerful. Only direct descendants of Hecate can perform such intricate mind-altering spells. There’s only one warlock I know of, but he’s almost a myth amongst our kind.”
Does that mean K—hehad a warlock put the wall there? But who? Malik? And why? Jesus, I thought that by coming here, I would get answers. Instead, I have more questions than before. “Is there any way to break it?”
