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It was several minutes before either of them had the ability to move. Kingston was waiting somewhere above them. They didn’t have endless time. And yet neither seemed like they wanted to relinquish this sanctuary.

Finally, they cleaned up, and Kierse changed into one of Graves’s shirts. He returned from the closet in boxer-briefs, his holly tattoo visible as it threaded up his arms to his chest. He held a package out to her.

“What’s this?” she asked, sitting on the bed.

“Before…this,” he said, gesturing all around them. “I had a present for you.”

“A present? What is it?”

“Open it and find out.”

She took the box gingerly in her hand, removed the gold ribbon, and then tore into the shiny black paper. Inside was a flat black velvet box. Jewelry? Something to wear tomorrow?

She glanced up at him, but he signaled for her to continue. She lifted the lid, and her heart leaped into her throat. Nestled inside was a knife.

Not just any knife—her father’s knife.

She removed it, holding the worn handle reverently. It was the wrong fit. Her father had been a giant of a man. But still…her father had held this knife.

Her finger moved to the blade, and she hissed as it pricked her. It was still sharp to the touch. She sucked the blood away as she looked over the symbol carved into the metal—antlers around an Irish knot.

“It was his war band,” Graves said. “The symbol of his people.”

Kierse looked up hopefully. “Are they still around?”

“A few of them.”

“I could meet them?”

He nodded. “Though they were monster hunters and likely disagreed with your parents’ marriage as well.”

“Of course,” she said in understanding. But there was still hope. There might be family out there somewhere. “You kept this all this time?”

“I’d forgotten about it until the last time we did memory work and you recalled it,” he said. “It should belong to you.”

“Thank you.” She pressed the knife to her chest as tears came to her eyes. “It’s the best gift you could have given me.”

She had so little of her parents. She hardly even had memories of them. So much had been taken from her. All she had was this knife and her wren necklace.

She wanted more.

Suddenly, holding the knife, she felt as if she was ready. Ready to face her past. To face what happened to her parents.

“Graves,” she said, gripping the knife hard between her hands. “I think I’m ready to see that last memory.”

That didn’t seem to be the reaction he’d expected. “Now?”

“If we have time. I know the heist is tomorrow and Kingston is here…and everything could go wrong.”

He stopped her with a kiss. “We have time.”

“Should we go to the library?”

“I think we can do it right here,” he said, gesturing to the bed.

“Okay,” she said as she settled into the pillows. Graves sat next to her, his hand reaching for hers and squeezing.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

She swallowed. It was time. Time to find out what happened to her parents after the spell was put on her. Her hands shook slightly at the thought, but there was no use holding back any longer. She needed the truth.

“Ready,” she said and lifted her absorption.

“Let’s start in the hallway,” Graves’s silky voice said.

She swallowed and pushed forward to the point right before they reached the doorway.

“7016,” her mother said.

Kierse leaned into the memory. Cillian Ryan had taken her memories from her for the spell.

“7018.”

She just needed to push through . If she knew what had happened, then maybe she’d have the answers she needed to be able to move on. She wanted to find out what happened to her parents. She wanted to know so much more than this…

“Next one.”

Kierse pressed against the crack in the memory, smelled the lemon and pine, saw the crossed swords warding. All she had to do was walk into that room.

It wouldn’t bring her parents back. Nothing could bring them back.

But she wanted answers. It wasn’t too much to ask.

The memory gave, and she seemed to slip right through it like jelly and then past it. They were back in the tiny apartment. It was so like the night that the wisps had shown up to their place in Scotland. The wardings were failing.

“I thought we had more time!” Shannon cried. “Take Kierse and run.”

“What about you?” Adair asked.

“He’s here for me.”

“Mum!” Kierse cried, rushing for her mother.

Shannon bent down and pulled her into her arms. “Listen, love, you have to go with Daddy, okay?” She wrapped Kierse’s little fingers around the wren necklace at her throat. “This was given to me by my mum. It’s a wren, you know that?”

“Yes,” Kierse said through tears.

“My mum always said that wrens sang open the doors to faerie. That one day a wren would take us home,” Shannon said, wiping the tears from Kierse’s eyes. “So hold onto this and it will take you home, too.”

“Okay, Mum,” she whispered.

“Adair.”

Her father took her out of her mother’s arms, and Shannon grabbed a backpack, heading for the door.

“Mum!” she cried.

“I love you,” Shannon said.

Adair hurried Kierse into a closet. “Just like we practiced, remember?”

Kierse nodded and huddled in the corner, folding herself up as small as she could while her father piled their clothes and coats on top of her. The door to the closet shut just as their front door burst inward.

She could hear her mother’s shrieks as a soft pop sounded twice. A loud thump that Kierse now realized must have been her mother’s body.

“Shannon!” Adair cried.

Another pop. Another thump.

“Was there a third?” a distorted voice asked.

“I heard there may be a child,” a woman said.

“Can you feel them here?”

There was a long pause. Kierse’s younger body shivered under the weight of the coats, trying to keep from breathing too loudly, terrified they could hear her heartbeat.

“No. There’s no other magic in the apartment,” the woman said.

“Good.”

Then the door opened and slammed again.

Kierse yanked free from the memory. Blood ran out of her nose, over her lip, and down her chin. Tears coated her lashes. Graves handed her a tissue.

“I remember. I remember it all,” Kierse whispered as she wiped at her nose. The rest of the memory rang through her like a gong. “I think I’ve known for a while. The Fae Killer showed up. That’s who that was.”

“Yes,” Graves guessed. “Your mother didn’t leave soon enough, and he found you.”

“How?”

“I think the woman with him senses magical signatures. Possibly she can hunt them. Though I haven’t heard of any warlock with that ability.”

“I see,” she said softly. “I remember the rest. The block—I think the block is gone. I came out of the closet, and they had bullets in their chests. I ran out to the street to tell someone what happened, but as soon as I was away from my mom, I forgot what wisps were. I forgot I had parents,” Kierse told him, staring down at her hands.

“Like the spell wrapped itself around me like a cloak once I was free.”

“He made you forget magic. So your past would disappear as well.”

Kierse nodded. She glanced up at him. “He stole everything from me.” She set her mouth. “I would like to find out why.”

She’d witnessed her parents’ deaths. Now and in the past. And no matter how much her mind had shielded her from it, how much the spell had removed, it still lived in her. No wonder she’d had trouble opening up. No wonder she struggled to accept love. From Gen and Ethan and now Graves…

Her hand went to the wren necklace at her throat. Her mom had said that a wren would sing open the door to faerie. That she should follow it, and it would take her home. Was that literal? Or metaphorical? Prophecy? It sounded like an old wives’ tale.

“Not everything,” she corrected. She touched the necklace. “I kept my wren, and it brought me to you.”

“It did,” he agreed.

“Had you ever heard that tale, about wrens opening the doors to faerie?”

“Never,” he said. “Not in all my years.”

It didn’t even make sense, but she would have to investigate it once they’d gotten the cauldron. That was still the most important thing.

Graves drew her into his chest. She’d thought she would feel worse after finding out about her parents. And while she was melancholy, it was a relief to have the truth. That was all she wanted. The Curator had the rest of the answers.

“We need to get the Curator alone. I want to ask him questions.”

“I have some questions for him as well,” Graves said, flexing his hands. Kierse had an idea he had a very specific kind of questioning in mind. “Let’s secure the cauldron. Then I’ll use my resources to track him down and get your answers.”

“Deal.”

“Good,” he said and kissed her again.

Tomorrow their world would change, but this…this would stay the same.