I grasp for my treble clef–heart necklace at my collarbone, as if somehow the familiar token will help the missing memories return in full. But the charm feels different. Double. I dig it from beneath my blouse. My eyes widen when not one but two charms appear. Joshua’s treble clef–heart has been joined by a copper button engraved with a rose. I recognize the button as the one from my favorite pair of jeans. Problem is, I have zero clue how it wound up hanging from my neck. And where is Joshua’s engagement ring?
Just another complication to add to my growing list.
The boat drifts under an arched bridge, and the pilot steers us toward the edge of its shadows. Bianca offers him a nod, releases my wrist, and exits the boat, stepping out onto a small platform.
Hesitation keeps me glued in place. I may or may not be in danger, but it’s not as if I’m helpless. My mirror walking is off-key, but could my Mask be in tune? I can always butterfly my way out of here if escape becomes imperative.
Still, I need my song for every aspect of my Calling. If it won’t vocalize, I can still find it within. I’ve done it before.
I’ll do it again.
Bianca rummages through her purse, giving me my window. I draw the music from deep inside, waiting for it to rise to the boundaries of my heart. Longing for it to spill from my soul. To transform me. To give me wings.
But I feel nothing. Nothing at all.
My guide withdraws an object from her bag and click. A flashlight illuminates the upward-curving wall ahead. Unlike my venture with Joshua in the subway last November, I know what’s coming now. I can’t help it. I can’t detect it in this light, but I’m able to guess it’s not a barrier at all. Bianca examines the concrete, then walks through unhindered.
Metamorphosis apparently out of the question, I follow her.
“Well done, signorina.” Bianca slings her handbag over one arm, flashlight brightening the tunnel before us. “Come now, we mustn’t be late. His Majesty would be most disenchanted if we delayed our meeting with the Second Alliance.”
The Second Alliance? As in the Second Reflection? I riffle through names, subtracting years, guessing ages. It’s 1945. Could someone I know or recognize wait here? Wade Song, traditional Physic a.k.a. Robyn and Wren’s dad, would be too young, maybe not even born yet. Who else? Preacher? He’s pretty old. And Reggie, oh Reggie! She’s an Ever, more aged than any of us knew. It’s totally possible she’d be around. And knowing her, my time travel–slash–wormhole story wouldn’t sound crazy at all.
Hope wells as Bianca and I venture deeper into the underground. The way narrows the farther we travel, her heels clacking, my bare feet padding. At the tunnel’s end a frosted glass door waits, a circular knocker fashioned from silver at its heart. The art-deco door seems random, nestled inside so much concrete. Then again, nothing is random. Not when it comes to the Called and Reflections.
Swirling silver designs climb up and cascade down the door’s front. Mesmerizing. Unique. But also achingly familiar. The Fourth’s council meeting was held underground, an out-of-place circular door waiting to admit us. Joshua read the most tragic tale of the first Verity’s vessel. How her heart broke into a million pieces.
Horrible. I can’t stay stuck in the past. I need to return and help the others set things right.
Bianca takes the knocker between two fingers and her thumb. Two quick taps precede three slow ones. The door swings inward. To a room full of . . .
Teens?
A guy who can’t be older than a high school senior waits as we enter, then shuts the door behind us with a rattle. I study his face. Nope. Don’t know him. Then again, he could have wrinkles and be bald by the time he gets to my century.
The room before me is arranged like a lounge, wingback chairs set up in a circle bordering a round Venetian rug. Several chairs are occupied, just more almost-twentysomethings I can’t identify. Hope falters. Not one friend? Not that they’d know me. Still, a little familiarity on my end would be nice.
Bianca, the oldest of the group, though that’s not saying much, takes a seat at the far side of the circle and signals for me to do the same. I choose a floral-patterned chair a few people down from her. Wait. Anticipate. I drum my fingers on the chair arms. I cross my right ankle over my left, then switch. A fire crackles in a hearth to the right of the circle. Where does the smoke release without raising suspicion? Is there a house above us? A factory?
One boy with a cigarette tosses it into the fire, clears his throat, and waves for those standing to take the remaining seats. Everyone tunes their gaze to my channel.
I sink deeper into my chair. What’s with the staring?
Oh-kay. Guess I’ll introduce myself. “Hello.” No ums or likes. Be straight. Queenly. “My name is—”
A throat clears behind me. I crane my neck and look up. Gasp and hole-ee Verity! Not just one, but two guys I know stand there. One I’ve met, the other not so much. But I’d know his face anywhere.
Because it’s Joshua’s face. Uncanny.
King Aidan Henry steps forward, assuming his place at the circle’s core. He’s young, maybe Bianca’s age, with honey-blond hair and jade eyes. Though Joshua has cerulean eyes and brown hair, these features are familiar as well. I take the smallest second to stow away the thought in the folder of my mind labeled “Save for Later,” then blink and focus on the man behind me.
He doesn’t look down, just rests an elbow on the high chair back and keeps his eyes trained on the king along with everyone else. But my gaze remains on this man. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s so much like Makai it’s crazy, with shaggy dark hair and a strong jaw. There’s even a bit of rebellion sparking in his gray eyes, though it’s more reserved.
Nathaniel Archer notices me then, considers me through thick-rimmed black glasses. He’s pushing midtwenties? Probably the most mature of the bunch, which, again, isn’t saying much. And now I realize why I recognized Bianca’s pocket watch.
Because when my grandfather peers over me and winks at Bianca, I know.
Because when she winks back, a blush taking up residence in her cheeks, I see it.
Bianca Moretti is my grandmother.
FOUR
Ky
We don’t have time for Dragon games. Son of a crowe, David. Just tell me what you did! I know you messed with her memories, but I need you to explain how you accomplished it.”
Back against the opposite wall and knees bent, my enemy emits a heartless laugh. An alternate tactic is inevitable. Acting as his superior is getting me nowhere. Perhaps it’s time for a little sibling bonding.
I remove my sheath and knife from my hip, then set them on the bottom cellar stair. David doesn’t glance up as I move toward him across the dusty floor. When we’re half a fathom apart, I sit before him, legs crisscrossed and elbows resting on my bowed knees. I clear my throat, which itches as if a cough might be coming on. Though I’d wager it has less to do with the mold and dust and relates more to the blackness attempting to take hold.
And this is when he lifts his head. He glares, unblinking, and we sit that way for quite some time. There was a day he saw me as at least a worthy comrade. Someone who could guard and protect the one thing we both cared for most.