The Raven Spell (Conspiracy of Magic #1)(12)
“Who are you, Mr. ‘I.C.,’ and what are you up to?”
There was no denying the obvious. The man on the floor, the one who would not die, must be witch-born. But then why hadn’t he defended himself against her rather innocuous spell? Edwina studied his face again. Beneath the scruff of new beard, he wore a stern expression, even in unconsciousness, yet the lines in his face did not bear the tolerance of boorish cruelty, despite his attempt to bully her. Given the same circumstances, she would have done no less if someone had stolen something as precious from her as her memory, which his instinct clearly understood was the case even if he didn’t remember. Leaning closer, she observed no deep-set grooves from a constant frown nor a wrinkled forehead from brows constantly pinched together in anger. Instead there were opposing parentheses at each corner of his mouth, perhaps made permanent from the effort of smiling and laughing. And there, just beneath his collar, was the faint glow of a magical aura. A remarkable transformation of her opinion followed, knowing they were kindred spirits. Her mood toward him changed considerably and she found herself wishing to help the brute any way she could.
Still, the disconnect between who she thought him to be and how he’d behaved when he confronted her still irked. Was it possible to forget something as inherent as one’s magical identity? Curious that his talent hadn’t come naturally to him like a reflex. She didn’t think forgetting one was a witch would make them any less attuned to their magic, but perhaps one could suffer from a sort of magical amnesia under the right circumstances. Of course, that begged the question of what to do about the poor man’s stolen memory.
She would never have attempted to restore the remembrances of an adult mortal, knowing how flighty and righteous they turned when even a hint of the supernatural threatened their worldview. But a witch was another matter. Even if his mind doubted her because of his lapse in understanding, his body would instinctively know, wouldn’t it? It must or the man risked remaining as dull-witted as a common clodhopper the rest of his days.
Edwina listened a moment to the noise and bustle outside the shop door as she contemplated the risk. Perhaps there was time to do what she must. Returning his pocket watch to his waistcoat, she left the young man resting on the floor and ran up the stairs. She rummaged through the jewelry box atop the dresser, sorting through Mary’s baubles. The new orb had to be among them. It was only this morning that Mary had put the thing away. Unlike for her sister, the remembrances always appeared vaguely similar to Edwina, but she knew the newest one, the one belonging to the man downstairs, had a vein of gold and a cobalt sheen unlike the others. Yet as she stirred the baubles around with her finger, there wasn’t enough distinction between them to be sure which one it was. Perhaps guilt affected her eye’s judgment as much as her ignorance. The remembrances belonged to Mary. Her sister doted over them, so proud of the shine and luster she was able to preserve with her magic. It wouldn’t be right to take one without permission.
Her eye landed on the pressed flower given to her by a young man three years earlier. Freddie, so handsome and industrious, had wanted to marry her until circumstances forced her family to move from the small village under cover of darkness. He’d accused Mary of bewitchment after she’d enticed him into a shaded glen. There, he claimed she’d summoned a blue light out of his mouth. He was witch-born and no stranger to spells, but he’d feared for his life and stopped her the only way he could—with a kiss. After that he would have nothing more to do with the Blackwoods, nor would anyone else in the village. The blade of regret announced itself sharply in Edwina’s side for the life she’d had to say no to in exchange for defending her sister once again. It was always Mary who strayed from the confines of conformity to reveal their nature as something otherworldly to be ridiculed and feared, even among their own kind, until there was no option but to flee in the middle of the night.
Normally Edwina wouldn’t allow her resentment to surface—her love for her sister was above all else—but she let those feelings well up now, enough to fuel her courage so she could do what she must for the man downstairs. She owed him that. Despite his rough behavior, he was the injured party in this unfortunate matter. And there was something she could do to make things right. At least she was moderately confident she knew the spell for how to get the memory returned to him.
With a fresh sense of purpose, Edwina sorted through her sister’s orbs again, this time noticing there were at least three of them with that bright vein of gold running through the deep blue. Still, one outshone the others with the way the gold glinted from the sheen of newness, so she snatched it up and returned to the shop just as the man roused from his spell-induced sleep.
Chapter Seven
His eyes felt sticky as he struggled to open them. After a disorienting and blurry moment, his vision cleared enough for him to recognize where he was. His brain took a moment longer to make sense of how he’d ended up asleep on the floor of a secondhand-junk shop. He sat up and patted his pockets to see if he’d been robbed yet again when the woman he’d been speaking to—the thief!—walked down the back-room stairway.
“You did something to me,” he said, searching his pockets for his watch with greater effort.
The woman, dressed in black as though she wore widow’s weeds, stopped with her hands held in front of her. By the way she cupped them together, she carried something small, fragile. Her face, unendowed with the blush of rare beauty yet with enough color in her cheeks to arouse interest, betrayed her surprise at seeing him awake. After a quick recovery, she attempted a smile, though it was only half-hearted at best. Like the sort of expression one makes when lying bold-faced to get what they want, he thought.