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Mor turned back to Violet, not sure whether to apologize or to explain why he’d just thrown someone out a window or if he should start by trying to tell her everything she’d forgotten about him. But he started when he saw streams of tears wetting her face.

“Violet—” His heart did a double flip when she stepped to him and slid her arms around his middle, hugging herself to him tightly.

It didn’t seem real. She didn’t know who he was; why would she—

His phone rang. Mor would have ignored it, but he had a special musical flute that played whenever Shayne was calling him, so he’d know not to answer. But he’d just tossed Shayne through a window and—what if the fairy’s faeborn legs were broken and he needed help snapping them back into place? Mor bit back a growl, yanked out his phone, and hit the green button, but before he could ask Shayne what this nonsense was about, Shayne yelled through the phone, “Haley Whitefield, I want you to tell Mor the truth about what you can remember!” The sound almost burst Mor’s faeborn eardrum—he yanked the phone away from his ear and stared at it as Shayne’s words settled in.

“I lied,” Violet cried from a coarse throat. Mor’s gaze fell on her. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. At the look on her face, he dropped his phone to his side. “I lied, Mor!” she said again, the words nearly indistinguishable past her sobs.

Mor couldn’t stop the wild thudding of his faeborn heart at how close she came against him, how she gripped him, how she said his name. He wrapped an arm around her slowly, sure he was imagining it all. He placed his other hand on her head, brushing her hair away from her face so it wouldn’t stick to her tears.

“Violet,” he whispered. “What did you lie about?”

Violet unhooked her arm from him just long enough to wipe the sleeve of her shirt over her eyes. “I love you, Mor,” she blurted. “All I wanted to do was race to the hospital to see if you were all right!”

Emotions danced in Mor’s chest. “You remember,” he breathed.

There wasn’t time to ask her how. There wasn’t enough space in the whole human realm to have her explain or reveal how in the world Shayne had figured it out first. Time had vanished as she lifted onto her toes and pressed her soft lips against his. It was so much more than a simple kiss.

The kiss told stories.

47

Violet Miller and the Fox’s Secret

Two Nights Ago

Midnight was dark, and only the moon showed what was happening in the cathedral.

After the redhead had revived the curly-haired guy on the cathedral floor with a strange fur charm, he turned, pulled up his sleeves, and put his palm against Violet’s temple. He brought his mouth around to whisper in her opposite ear.

This is what he said: “You aren’t going to tell a soul I gave your memories back either.”

Violet gasped as something rushed into her mind like hot water—places, people, faces, memories.Everything.

No, she would not tell Mor that she remembered him. She would not tell a soul.

Warm tears filled her eyes. Her gaze flashed to the guy on the floor.

Mor…

Luc headed for the door, but Violet didn’t turn to watch him leave. It all sank in slowly, everything at once. And she said aloud the realization that should have come much sooner, “You’re cruel.”

The pause afterward was brief. Luc’s voice sounded far away when he replied.

“I know.”

Violet rushed to Mor’s side. She searched his pockets for his phone, but when she tried to dial all the numbers of the people who might come help him, her fingers didn’t seem to work. And she realized it was because she couldn’t let them find out that she remembered. She had a secret to keep now.

She dialed Zorah instead.

48

Mor Trisencor and Doom First Thing in the Morning

Mor stared evenly at the male faeborn doctor across the room. Dr. Wendal.

It surprised Mor to cross another fairy in the human realm, but perhaps he should have expected it. The doctor wore casual human-y clothes and fashioned long gray hair pulled back into a bun just like Mor’s to hide his pointed ears, though the doctor was considerably older than Mor by the looks of it. Perhaps around Freida’s age.