Page 27 of The Thief

“Yes.”

“Did you see the man’s face? Picture him in your mind. Is he tall?”

It was like standing with my heels halfway off a cliff and someone asking me to turn my head and describe the view. I teetered, unable to look back without falling. “I can’t.”

“Pain?”

“Yes.”

“In recent years, have you ever met anyone who knew you?”

“Yes.”

I saw Bear move out of the corner of my eye.

“Who?” Atticus asked.

“A Mage. He knew my name.”

“It’s that Argento guy,” Bear said, filling in the blanks.

With his eyes still on me, Atticus tilted his head toward Bear. “If you don’t mind…”

“Sorry.”

Atticus blinked, but it didn’t break the connection. “When did you first meet this Mage?”

“Right before I came to Storybook.” I felt myself resisting. I didn’t want to share this with anyone, and it had never occurred to me that he would fast-forward to recent events in my life.

Stop this. Please stop this, I thought. But those desires washed away when he spoke again.

“What did he say?” Atticus reeled me in even deeper.

“That he was taking me back.”

“To where?” This time his question sounded more like personal curiosity than a standard interrogation.

Bear put his arm in front of me. “That’s enough, Vampire. You’re asking her questions she can answer without your magic.”

Atticus arched one eyebrow. “I believe it’s all connected, but… very well.” He stood and crossed the room, where he then removed his coat and placed it on a coatrack.

When my willpower snapped back, I clutched Bear’s arm. “There’s something I need to tell you,” I said quietly. It hit me like a ton of bricks what I was about to reveal—a secret I could no longer carry. There was no avoiding this unpleasant discussion; it had to come out, and with it, so did a flood of emotions.

Disheartened, I felt my eyes cloud with tears. “My days in this pack are over.”

Bear put his hand on my knee.

“I took something from that Argento guy,” I admitted.

“Then give it back.”

“I can’t.” My hands dropped to my lap.

“Why not? What did you steal?”

I closed my eyes and whispered, “A life.”

“I can confirm she’s had her memory scrubbed,” Atticus said, standing with his back to us while staring at his bookshelf. “But it wasn’t a full wipe. That’s unusual. I’ve rarely seen anyone have such a large section erased, especially without inserting new memories. It’s easier to scrub everything and start over.”

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