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“I suspect there’s a good story behind that statement,” Darby said. “Perhaps you can explain it one evening over dinner.”

“Dinner would be lovely,” Eljin said. “I might even be convinced to tell a tale or two.”

“Excellent. I’ll be in contact.”

She gave me a look I knew meant she and I would not only be having a long discussion about the man on my arm but also, I suspected, my reluctance to commit more fully to the chase, then bid us both goodbye and led Lugh across to her car—a new SUV she’d purchased because his height and her beloved old mini just weren’t compatible. She still had it; she just didn’t drive it when he was a likely passenger.

Eljin guided me across to his hired Merc, opened the door, and ushered me in. It didn’t take us all that long to get home, and he was as good as his word, making me dinner and cuddling me to sleep.

The morning, however, was a different matter entirely, involving several hours of slow and very, very thorough lovemaking. To say I was a satisfied woman by the time we finally climbed out of bed to make breakfast would be the understatement of the year—in a year that had been full of them.

Dr. Catherine James was a small, dark-haired woman who radiated power and friendliness. The former probably wouldn’t be evident to anyone not sensitive to magic, and the latter was undoubtedly designed to put her clients at ease.

It was definitely putting me at ease.

She steepled her fingers against her chest and leaned back in her chair. “What can I do for you this fine morning?”

I hesitated. “I believe someone might have smudged my memories of a particular event and person, and it’s very important I retrieve what I lost.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I take it, given the fact you are here rather than at a regression therapist, you think they’ve been magically smudged?”

I nodded. “It would have happened a good forty years ago, though—is retrieval possible after such a long time?”

“Anything is possible, it just depends on the memories and the skill of the mage behind the smudging.” She studied me for a moment. “I sense magic on you, but not the smudging kind. Are you carrying a charm or some other protective magic?”

“Not a charm. Knives that are goddess blessed.”

“May I see them?”

I hesitated, then picked up my bag from the floor and took them out. She didn’t reach for them. “Draw one.”

I did. Blue flickered briefly down the fuller then fizzled out. A reaction to the magic protecting this place and an acknowledgement that it was no threat.

“The goddesses do not gift such weapons lightly.”

“No, but gifts like these always come at a cost.”

She smiled. “Indeed, but it is interesting how few realize that. What do you know of mage-directed memory regression?”

I sheathed the knife and tucked it back in my bag. “Nothing.”

“Well, it’s generally agreed that there are three levels of being. They are the conscious mind, the subconscious mind, and the superconscious mind, which is what the spirit, soul, or higher element of a person is considered to be. Mage memory regression works along the same lines as regression therapy, in that I will put you in a light trance—which eases your mind’s natural resistance—and guide you into your subconscious mind. That’s usually where these smudging events take place, as that’s where thoughts, feelings, and memories are usually stored for easy retrieval. Tell me, have you had any minor memory triggers of the events you’re trying to recall?”

“Only a few.”

“A few is good. It means the memories were indeed smeared, not erased.”

“Magic can erase memories?”

She hesitated. “Not really, but it can smudge access to certain memories, and it can certainly ensure pain hits when you make any attempt to remember.”

Who knew magic could be put to such a devious use?

“What happens once I’m in a light trance and guided into my subconsciousness?”

“If there is any smudging—or indeed, something deeper magically—I’ll pull up its threads and allow the memories to come through.”

“Will you see those memories?”