Page 147 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

“Next one.”

There.

The next door.

She could see it ahead. The 7020 on a little plaque on the front door. A little glow of magic around the frame. Warding, just like Mum could do. Just like in the library from the night before. And a smell…

Pine and lemon.

Just like in Sansara.

She was ripped away from the scent of that magic, as if she wasn’t supposed to have remembered that part. She landed on the streets of New York. She’d just pickpocketed an unsuspecting tourist for money for lunch. She was six and starving. Her mum had died in childbirth. Her daddy had abandoned her without a word. She had to survive. She couldn’t die. She touched the wren necklace against her chest, the only thing she had left of them. It had been her mum’s. That was all she knew.

Survival was what mattered.

“Hey, kid,” a voice called. “Neat trick.”

Kierse whipped around as fear pierced through her. A man was smiling down at her. He had dark features—dark hair and eyes—with an angular face and a kind look about him. His hair was groomed, beard shaved clean, and he was dressed in nice clothes. Nothing fancy, but cared for. Nicer than anyone living on the streets would wear, but not like the clothes of the people she stole from. Nondescript.

“What do you want?” she asked, mimicking a cool, adult voice.

“I can show you how to get better at that,” he said with a dark grin.

Jason.

Kierse dropped the connection. More blood trickledout of her nose. Enough that Graves passed her a second tissue with a concerned look on his face.

“It was him,” Kierse said. “Cillian Ryan. I smelled it.”

“We should stop there for today.”

“I can keep going,” she whispered.

“I don’t think so.” He handed her another drink. “We pushed too hard.”

Her head was pounding a quiet rhythm against her skull. She needed a break, and yet she couldn’t stop.

“Not hard enough,” she gasped as she downed the water. “We still didn’t see him.”

“We may not see him, Wren.”

She closed her eyes, unable to believe that. She had to see him. He was there in her memories. And yes, she had the confirmation she’d needed that the person who put the spell on her was also the person running the tree cult. Which meant he was the Curator and he would be at Monster Con.

But she wanted more.

“There was a guy in Sansara who recognized me,” Kierse said. “I thought he looked familiar, and then he said my name.”

Graves narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t mention that.”

“I forgot. We were in a rush, and it just came back to me.” She ran a hand back through her hair. “We should look for him. Maybe he’s a key from my past to unlock this.”

“He could beanyone,” Graves argued. “You have no idea where you know him from. Maybe he wasn’t even connected to the Curator when you knew him.”

“I know, but he’s the last connection I have. Can we at least try?”

He stared down at her like he wanted to dismiss thescenario. Perhaps if it was anyone else, he would have. But he yielded for Kierse.

“We’ll try.”

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