own way. “I was magically tied to a man who couldn’t bond to me before he died. I have a bond ache.”
She clenches her jaw. “Those foolish warlocks. Handing out magical ties like they’re candy. Let me guess. He was far too old for you, but he had an obscene amount of money, so you took the risk.”
That’s true, but it isn’t the whole truth.
“I was eighteen. My father set it all up.”
She steps closer to me, her white skirt moving more like a cloud than fabric around her legs. “So you hope I’ll take pity on you and fix all your problems with a bit of magic?”
I guess that’s exactly what I thought. Howard made it seem like Sarah was the nice warlock. Are they both evil? What have I gotten myself into?
“I assume a warlock brought you here. There’s magic holding you down. I can see it swimming around your ankles.”
“Yes. He said he couldn’t do the spell, but maybe you could.”
She purses her lips. “Did he tell you what kind of spells I specialize in?”
“Memory magic?”
“Did he tell you what memory magic does to those who use it?” she asks.
“I… no.”
She turns around and walks back to the French doors. “Memory magic is blood magic, and blood magic always leaves a mark. The more complex and powerful the spell, the deeper the mark. And the marks memory magic leave behind aren’t easy to live with.”
I follow her outside, watching the way she almost floats across the ground, stopping in front of a pink rose bush. Perched on the edge of its petals is a bee.
“A bond ache, at its heart, is the pain caused by an unfulfilled connection. I could take away your memory of that connection, Andrew. That’s what I would need to do in order to remove your bond ache with memory magic. But I would have to remove your former mate from your mind completely for it to work, including every part of your life that’s remotely tied to him. I’m assuming you live in a very nice house? You won’t remember it after this spell. You won’t remember the money you inherited either. In fact, you probably won’t remember a single day of your life since you met him. Not only because you live in his house and spend his money, but because you ache for him.”
Most of those memories I wouldn’t mind losing, but I met Timber because of my bond ache. We made our baby together after my father showed up and reminded me of the danger the Monroes presented.
Am I willing to give up those memories?
The bee lifts off the flower, and Sarah leans closer to it. “The problem is that it’s impossible to separate memories in the human mind like that without what is called a ‘flicker.’ You’ll still be able to feel the presence of the memories you no longer have access to. So close, but never quite there. Like a flutter in the corner of your eye. And when you turn your head to see if it’s a bee or a fly or some other insect, it will be gone.”
The bee disappears. Or maybe it wasn’t ever a bee, but part of Sarah’s magic.
Maybe it’s a part of this house. The rose bushes are more muted now. Not fuzzy, exactly, but not as bright either.
“Sometimes a lost memory will leave behind the slightest hint of lavender, which you assume is from the soap you used to wash your hands, even though you never buy lavender soap. Sometimes it’s nothing but a tingle along the back of your neck. But regardless of how it manifests, the footprints are always there. Or perhaps I should say they are almost there. That’s how you know. When an image, smell, or sensation comes and goes like the flicker of a flame, that is a lost memory trying to hint at its presence.”
As she stands, a light blue seeps into her white dress, rushing along the fabric until it’s stained every inch. Her skirts no longer look like clouds, but a clear blue sky.
“People don’t like to think their memory is fragile. It’s too frightening. You will avoid anything or anyone who causes your mind to seek those mental pathways it can no longer cross. You’ll likely move away from your current home, choose an entirely different profession, and leave behind everyone you love. I’ve seen it again and again. If you’re doing this to be with someone, you’ll find him repulsive.