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She smiled. “A common question, easily answered. No.”

“And the magical wall?”

“Given the length of time it has been in place, it is probably better not to interfere. It can disrupt whatever processes the mind has put in place to deal with the event or indeed the lack of remembering.” A smile touched her lips. “Which, in plain terms, means some memories are best left behind walls on the off chance a deeper trauma lies behind them. There have been cases—few and far between, granted—where the sanity of the subject has been... altered... by the flood of remembrances.”

That did make sense, and I mentally crossed all things that I wasn’t hit by any sort of residue trauma once—if—my memories were restored.

She pushed a number of papers across to me. One was the pricing—and holy hell, it wasn’t cheap—the other a form stating that I was undergoing the regression at my own free will, and she was not responsible for any trauma raising the memories might cause, blah, blah, blah. I signed it and pushed it back.

She filed it, then rose. “Follow me, please.”

She led me through into a connected small room that held little more than a comfy-looking chair and a height-adjustable, well-padded, reclining therapy bed.

What most people wouldn’t see were the layers of magical protections that ringed the room. I suspected they’d protect her from magical and physical assaults, and it said a lot about her confidence in them that she’d allowed me to bring my knives in with me.

“Please,” she said, motioning toward the bed. “Sit and make yourself comfortable.”

I did so. It was every bit as comfortable as the cloud I’d woken up in yesterday.

“Before we begin, you do consent to being lightly hypnotized in order for us to reach your subconscious state?”

“I do.”

She nodded and asked me to close my eyes. Barely audible relaxation music began to play then she spoke—softly, calmly, slowly. Phrases like “you are now slipping deeper and deeper into this beautifully soothing relaxation state” and “every sound you hear causes you to go deeper into calmness” flowed over me, until I’d reached a state that was sleep and yet not. Aware and yet not.

Her magic flowed over me, through me, a gentle touch that was warm and non-threatening. She kept speaking, kept guiding, drawing me ever closer to the memories that would not be remembered.

Eventually, we reached the block—it was a small blot of darkly entwined threads against the brighter lights of accessible memory. The pulse of her magic sharpened, and its fingers plucked at the darkly balled threads, moving them, pulling them apart piece by piece, until enough had been lifted that I could slip past and remember. Not full memories, but rather bits and pieces. It reminded me a little of a picture wheel, with each image coming briefly into focus before being spun away by a new one. Perhaps too much time—and too much damage—had been done for anything more.

I saw a man. No, two. Brothers and yet not. Lovers who did not enjoy each other sexually, instead finding satisfaction through an intermediatory. Me, in bed, with those brothers. A flash of another woman, another lover, briefly glimpsed and never seen again. Gilda. The reel’s speed surged, showing flashes of a street, a restaurant, a hidden door that led into a deeper darkness. A place protected by magic and unseen by the public who unknowingly passed it every single day. Then a knife. A game that went wrong and ended in blood. Fury, violence. Not Halak. Mkalkee, the man we’d been calling Keelakm. A raised hand, hitting hard, once, twice, before Halak grabbed his hand and stopped him. Magic. Then nothing. Nothing until I was back home at the tavern and Lugh was demanding who the fuck had split my lip...

The memories slithered away as the barrier fell back into place. Words flowed over me again, calming my racing pulse, drawing me back to full consciousness while ensuring the memories remained on a conscious level.

I sucked in a deep breath and opened my eyes. Catherine James looked pale, gaunt, but the smile remained in her eyes.

“Were we successful?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Because I not only remembered what we’d been to each other and who his partner was, I now knew where to find them.

Better yet, I still had the key to get into their “special” place.

Chapter

Thirteen

The first thing I did once I’d paid her fee and left her building was ring Cynwrig. The call went straight to voicemail, so I quickly outlined what I’d discovered and asked him to call me back when he had the time, sent a text just to be double sure he got the message, then hung up and rang Mathi.

He answered immediately.

“Well, you’re obviously still alive,” I said, “so it wasn’t a trap, then.”

“To the disappointment of some, no doubt.” His voice was dry. “We got access to the security vids placed around Renaldo’s building. It wasn't our elves going after him—it was another dissatisfied customer.”

“And he used your need for information to get a safe house?”

“Well, not so much a safe house as a secure building, but yes. We decided a jaunt through Europe to see some relatives was in his best interests, and he was safely boarded onto a plane this morning.”