“Not unless you want to become a vegetable. The risks are too high, especially now that the wall has already been breached. There’s thisdarknessinside you. I can feel it seeping through those cracks. If I try to take the wall down, you might succumb to it and never be yourself again. Or you could go into an eternal coma. Mind spells are unpredictable, and one should never tamper with them. You’ll have to regain your memories gradually and on your own. Even so, there’s still a high risk that all those things will happen.”
Great. Just great.
“You got what you came for. My wife needs rest. Now leave,” Harold grits out through clenched teeth as he supports Iman’s weight on his side.
She gives him a withering glare. “Don’t be rude. They have done nothing wrong.”
“It’s okay. We’ll go. Thank you for your help!” My knees almostgive out when I stand, but I regain my balance.
“You all right?” Sam asks. I offer a nod. “I’ll come by next week to bring your payment,” she adds over her shoulder as we make our way outside.
“Well, that didn’t go the way I thought it would,” I mutter, climbing into the passenger seat of Sam’s red Mini Cooper. I press the heels of my palms into my eyes in a failed attempt to still my quivering stomach. Despite Sam’s protests, I haven’t had breakfast, but I still feel as if I’m going to throw up any second now. And not just because I’m in a car.
Sam closes the door on her side. “At least we know that K—he,” she corrects herself quickly. She knows the rule: no pronouncinghisname in my presence. “Wasn’t lying.”
I huff. “About that, he wasn’t. What if I never remember everything on my own? It took me eight years to get only some of my memories back.”
The sound of Sam rummaging through her designer bag fills the cabin. “Here, drink this. I don’t know, Iris, but you heard Iman. It’s too dangerous to even try tearing it down. Your scream earlier—I’ve never heard anything like that. My heart literally stopped.”
“Yeah, it was painful as fuck. Thanks,” I say, opening my eyes to take the vial from her outstretched hand. I uncap it and down its contents in one go.
“The other thing Iman said about the darkness inside you…have you considered your father might not have been human?”
“I have, yeah. Since Erik’s attack. What I did to him, and seeing ghosts on top of it. But I’ve never heard about a lightborn falling for a dark creature or having children with one.”
“Do you really think that in all history, since the initiation of the Order hundreds of years ago, it hasn’t happened? It not being in your history books at the compound doesn’t mean it can’t be true.”
She’s right. Of course, I’ve already considered it. But that would mean, again, that the Order lies and hides things from us, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow. A lightborn and a dark creature being in love would be sacrilegious for the Order. One of the worst sins, next to falling for a demon. They would do anything to bury it.
Still, I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for my father. His name is not on my birth certificate. Unless…my mother wrote something about it in her journal. However, I still can’t imagine how combining the blood from a lightborn and a dark creature would allow me to have all these enhanced abilities.
“Maybe your Mom wrote something in her journal about your father.”
“That’s what I was thinking just now.”
“Have you started reading it?”
A boulder lodges in my throat. “No…I can’t. Not yet. I—” I suck in a jagged breath. “It’s too hard, Sam. I’ve tried so many times. It doesn’t feel right to do it unless I visit her, and I couldn’t even get past the cemetery’s gate when you dropped me off.” I blow out a trembling breath. “What if I’ll never be able to go inside?”
Her perfectly manicured hand squeezes mine. “It’s okay, Iris. Don’t rush into it. Grief doesn’t have a timeline. You’ll get in when it feels right. I’ll call Grammie and tell her we’re on our way.”
The drive to Sam’s grandmother’s house only takes fifteen minutes. She moved from Ashville to Salem to be closer to her friends—all light witches—when Sam turned twenty, leaving her the Victorian house. She now lives in a charming two-story Colonial,white with blue shutters. As soon as we get out of the car, Beau, her Bernese Mountain Dog, runs from the porch to greet us. I bend and scratch the cuddly giant behind the ears while Sam takes out the Himalayan cheese treat from her tote.As soon as Beau sees it, he lets out an excitedwoof.
“Don’t tell Grammie, okay?” she whispers conspiratorially before giving it to him.
As if understanding his assignment, he runs off with it toward the back garden, tail wagging and ears fluttering.
“I saw that,” Grammie drawls from the open door, a hand perched on her hip.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam retorts in a nonchalant tone.
“The reason I don’t give him snacks anymore is because the vet said he needs to lose weight. You’re not helping by bringing him treats every time you visit.”
Sam gasps. “Don’t you dare call Beau fat. He’s perfectly chunky.”
Grammie shakes her head. “C’mon, you two. I made muffins and they’re getting cold,” she says as she waves us in. “Iris, my dear, it’s so good to see you.” She pulls me into a warm, motherly hug. “Oh, my. Your bones are stabbing me, child. Did you lose weight?” Concern flashes in her mossy green eyes—the same hue as Sam’s—when she pulls back. Wild auburn curls frame her heart-shaped face. Light magic helps her keep the color alive. It’s the only indulgence she allows herself because even if she could decrease the signs of passing time, she always says that aging is a privilege. Every etched line is a new year she got to live when her son—Sam’s father—couldn’t. In fact, looking at her is like looking at Sam’s aged reflection in a mirror. Not only is Sam the spitting image of her grandmother, but she also inherited her feistiness and quick wit.
I clear my throat. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
