“You want me to jump.”
It wasn’t a question.
Elgin sucked in air. Rowan stared at her tersely.
Rowan lowered the vial and set it on the oversized desk.
He didn’t look at his counterpart as he spoke. “It seems it is time for me to confront the past, which I have long ignored.”
Maeve stayed silent.
“If I am to be a part in the war on our doorstep, I need some answers.”
Maeve looked to Elgin. Her face pulled taunt.
“This is to do with Kietel?” Asked Maeve.
“Yes,” said Rowan. “I’ll admit Maeve it is purely for personal and selfish reasons that you are here.”
Maeve hesitated. “I owe you,” she said finally.
From the corner of Maeve’s eye she saw Elgin shake her head.
Maeve swallowed and looked at Rowan. “Into whose mind?”
“This memory is mine,” he said. “From the summer. There will be a man with dark black hair sitting across from me playing chess. I need you to get into his mind. I need to know where he is.”
Maeve took a deep breath. “It would be better if I just used the memory straight from your mind.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed, a silent rejection of that idea.
She pushed back from the edge of her seat and leaned into the soft back of the chair. “I’m ready.”
Rowan picked up the vial of swirling substance, pulled the topper off and stepped towards her.
She and Mal had practiced this dozens of times now. She anticipated the falling sensation that was about to drift through her as Rowan poured the silvery black mist onto his fingertips.
Maeve closed her eyes.
He moved before her and braced her face with his unused hand, tilting her head to the side. The memory was warm as it trickled into her temple.
Slowly the feeling of the chair beneath her vanished. The hues of the headmaster’s office though her eye lids turned to black light. She straightened her legs as she fell in a slowed motion. She heard her feet touch down before she felt it. The sound echoed across the void.
Light flickered in the distance, like a single burning candle flame. She pushed towards that light, and it flew at her in one blink. Rowan and the black-haired man came into vision. They were blurred and muffled at first. Then in another blink they were fully formed, and a tense voice filled the space.
“Damn, Ezekiel,” said the dark-haired man. “I forgot how well you played.”
Each of them was staring at the chessboard between them.
Rowan didn’t laugh or smile. He moved to touch a piece and then didn’t. The dark-haired man leaned back in his chair.
Rowan then reached forward and moved a piece with confidence. The dark-haired man looked across the board, realized what Rowan had done, and frowned.
They stared silently at the chessboard.
Maeve circled around them.
They continued to play until Rowan won. The dark-haired man shook his head. “Another game?”
