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My magic explodes behind my eyes, and then—

It begins.

CHAPTER46

It startswith the most recent memories, this evening and then the rest of the day filling out in such detail, I nearly gasp.

It’s…it’s actually working.

There was a part of me that didn’t think it would.

The previous week comes back in all its fullness, then the week before that—and the one before that. Faster and faster, the memories return, though there’s no time to examine each one.

I see the span of my time here at Henbane Coven, and then I see my time before that.

I see myself opening Memnon’s tomb—then awakening my trapped mate. And before that, finding Nero and the harrowing plane crash I survived.

My lips have parted, and though I know Memnon is staring intently at me in the present, I’m locked in my past, my unearthed memories demanding nearly all my attention.

The past year comes back to me, and my breath comes out in shaky gasps. There was so much yearning and frustration and self-doubt as I worked to get into Henbane Coven. But there was so much self-discovery over that time too—I was able to live alone and function well in San Francisco. I had my own job and paid my own rent.

Little bits of knowledge come back to me, things I was never sure of before—like the fact I enjoy working out, despite all the bitching and moaning I do about it. And I’m a truly awful cook—my mind has unearthed so many disastrous attempts. I have been intimate with four men—Memnon included—and I’ve been on far more dates than I imagined. I’ve reread my favorite books half a dozen times each, and I really did get to relive the joy of them over and over.

My years at Peel Academy, the supernatural boarding school I attended, come back, then the memories I had of life before my power Awoke. Not even these memories were safe from the ravages of my magic.

As a child and a young teenager, I was happy, chaotic, wild. I played outside most of the day, alongside my powerful parents, who—with the help of a little magic—grew our backyard into a wild wonderland. When I wasn’t digging my hands and toes into the earth, I was painting or drawing. More shocking still, I was messy,disorganized. My room was absolute chaos, and my mom would have me recite a cleaning spell alongside her.

I remember my great-aunt Giselle, who smelled like baby powder and way too much perfume and had an opinion about literally everything, and how she passed away from cancer. My father cried for weeks after, and I thought maybe he’d never smile again, until he finally did.

Further and further back, my mind goes.

My dad taught me how to ride a bike, his meadow-green magic billowing around the wheels when I started to lose my balance. I baked and ate ginger cookies with my mom, the two of us making faces at the sharp sugary flavor.

Young, I was so young. Mom read me fairy tales, and they made me upset.Princessesdon’twear dresses—they wear trousers and shoot arrows from the backs of horses. I would know this because I’m a queen. But where’s my king? He should be here. He’salwayshere. Something’s wrong.

My memories grow indistinct and distorted.

I can see a tire swing. Bushes with strawberries on them, but someone said not to eat them. They looked really good, and I wanted to.

I got old words and new words confused. It was hard. My parents didn’t understand. I didn’t really either.

Long hallways. An old heavy book that seemed to make the air glitter around it. A checkered blanket, a fuzzy kitty.

I was rocked. Held. Warm arms…

The memories close, and Memnon comes into focus. His hands are no longer holding mine; instead they cup my face.When did that happen?I feel the press of his magic and mine.

The throbbing in my head has worsened.

“I remember,” I whisper.

He gives his head a shake. “No, you don’t,” he whispers. “Not everything. Not yet.”

His bloody hand presses against my cheek. And somewhere down below, the Politia hammers on the front door.

“Ready yourself,est amage—it’s coming.”

“What is—?” I choke on the last of my words.