The air in the hut calmed.
“I need to keep the first of these memories,” Emma said. “I must. I have to remember that there were others like me, ones that had this mark, and what happened to them. The mortals who did this—I can’t stop them unless I’m armed with something.”
The water hag’s eyes narrowed.
“But you may have the rest,” Emma hurried on. “All the rest—nearly a thousand years of memory, which must mean something. And to make up the difference, take something of mine. Something of true value, this time.”
She held out her hand to the water hag and brought a memory to the surface. She was five or six, and it was the first time she had seen a horse. She had been gripping her mother’s hand, and seen the great tapered head turn, and the horse’s eye come to rest on her. And in the moment she saw the intelligence in those velvety depths, she knew that she wished to understand animals more than anything.
The water hag drew in a satisfied breath.“Ahhhh. That will do.”
Fighting the impulse to claw her memory back, Emma let the water hag take her hand. The hag fanned the fire, and Emma coughed till her sinuses ached. Smoke curled through the caverns of her skull.
A pleasant numbness swept through her. She knew that she had seen centuries of memories clinging to the mark set within her. She had just seen them, after all. But their contents were a watery blur. Only Lucy’s memory remained.
“I have known powerful men,”the water hag said, watching Emma cough out the last of the smoke.“That is what cast me into the Night City. Mine did not have such clever, sorcerous tools asyours, only the ordinary brutality of fist and muscle. But their effect was the same.”
She gripped Emma’s hand, and her touch was no longer ice.
“Take this one back.”
It was the girl kneeling by the river. The first sacrifice, her fear as fresh as if her blood had spilled yesterday, not a thousand years before.
“It is wise to know the beginnings of things. Therein can you find their end.”
“I don’t understand.”
The ancient eyes kindled.“I wish you victory. We do not all get our revenge. May you bring your enemies to their knees.”
Emma felt the kinship blaze between them. “I can take them lower than that, I think.”
The water hag cackled, high and eerie.“Oh, I like you. May we meet again.”
Crawling from the hut, Emma thought she might forgo that pleasure. She would rather be in the mortal world. And she was going to make it happen, if she had to force the whole Night City to bend before her to do it. The encounter had given her new fire. Yes, the memories had shown her no magical secret to destroy the Turnbulls. But they had given her a thousand more reasons for revenge. Her skin still sang with the feel of Lucy’s heart beating, and the edge of her nerves. The Turnbulls had to pay.
Emma pushed through the bracken, breathing in the scent of the river. And it came to her that memories were not all her time in the hut had given her. There was something the water hag said. It stuck in her mind, a barb. The hag had described Emma’s sacrifice mark as a key to those memories. A chance phrase. But Emma’s mindthrew up a thought to follow: What if other marks could be thought of as keys? There was a magical lock she had been beating her brains out to open. Which, logically, would require a magical key. The secret room at the Turnbull Clubhouse had borne the Turnbull mark. What if the mark itself was also the key?
Emma ran, shoving through the rest of the thicket to get to the river path. It made perfect sense. Only those who bore a Turnbull mark would be able to pass through that door. Which posed a problem. Her first rash impulse was to seize one of the boys straight from the street. But she’d not even been able to scratch Piers before the pain blinded her. She could not imagine trying to manhandle one of them to the upper floor of the clubhouse.
At the sound of voices, Emma stepped off the path into a tree’s shadow. The University track team thundered past. Emma let them go. She had more than hunting to think of now. She would need help to open that door. And Robin had promised to give it. Well then, she would have to see what he could do for her.
CHAPTER 33
Two nights later, Robin strolled into the alley behind the Turnbull Clubhouse. He hefted a sack on one shoulder. A large, ungainly sack with a distinct odor of damp soil.
“Shall we, lady fox?”
His cheerfulness seemed to dare her to ask about the sack, so she said nothing. Robin had his own reasons for everything. Annoyingly, they usually seemed to be good ones. So she kept her lips pressed tight when the sack proved to be just as difficult as it looked to squeeze through the window, and when it left the Turnbull carpets smeared with soil.
As they entered the mortal records room, Robin only sniffed. But Emma found her steps slowing. There wasso muchhere. Enough to bring the Turnbulls down, if she only had a way to spirit it all out before morning. If only—
“Lady?” Robin cocked his head. She joined him by the inner door, where the Turnbull mark glowed baleful and green.
He swiped a finger down the wood. “Basic, but not bad formortals. At least one of them must be practiced in runes. That’s useful to know.”
“Can you open it?”
“Not by myself. It can only be opened by someone with a matching mark.” Robin’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. “Andthat’swhy I brought a friend.”
