The Raven Spell (Conspiracy of Magic #1)(61)
Edwina approached him with a pair of scissors from her cupboard. “May I?” Her hand swept the side of his face as she collected a twist of his hair in her fingers. Her face came close enough to his for him to smell the flowery pomade she massaged in her own hair. The nearness of her skin, mouth, and eyes to his kindled his desire. He swallowed, wondering which forgotten memory of the flesh had been resurrected. Whatever the source, he could no longer deny the pleasantness of her body next to his.
Edwina snipped the lock of hair, letting it curl around her finger until she dropped it beside the gold ring. Elvanfoot crushed the dried leaves of lemon balm and sprinkled the flakes into a small porcelain bowl he’d snatched off a shelf.
“A candle, if you please.”
Edwina lit a beeswax candle in a brass holder with the snap of her fingers. Her attention briefly flitted to the front of the store, where the odd boy cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his face to the window.
“Never mind the mortals outside,” Elvanfoot said. “They can see nothing of our business here. Only shadows of an empty shop.” The witch cleared a space on the counter for the baubles, cleansed the air above with the smoke from the candle, then put the ring, hair, and crushed leaves in a pile together. “It’s a variant of a common attraction spell. The leaf will help boost the power of memory. The hair will attract like to like, meaning you,” he said to Ian. “And, with a wee bit of luck, the gold will enable the energy to flow between the two. If all goes as planned, the rightful memory will make itself known so that we may restore it.”
The detailed preparation settled Ian. He no longer blamed Edwina for her part in the false memory he’d been given. Looking at the collection of stolen memories, he understood the challenge she’d faced and reasoned she’d tried to restore his mind in good faith, choosing the one she felt most confident about. It was plain, both then and now, how she’d defied her sister’s nature to see the right thing done. He stepped up to the counter ready to risk the process of recovering what he’d lost all over again, despite the sliver of doubt reminding him of the feel of the phantom knife sliding across his throat.
Elvanfoot had been brushing his beard absentmindedly as he peered one last time at his book. Seemingly ready, he nodded and looked up. “Let us begin.”
“Begin what?” Mary stood on the third stair from the bottom. Her hair was a tangled mess from sleeping. A bruise on her left cheek had blossomed into a purple rose. Edwina went to her, hoping to offer comfort, but those eyes full of smoke tracked to the old witch and the items arranged on the counter. “What’s going on? Why do you have my things?”
“We need to return Ian’s memory to him,” Edwina said. “The correct one.”
Mary ran down the last few steps, agitation and disbelief flaring in her eyes. “Those are mine. You can’t just take them.”
Edwina put her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Mary, we need you to help us.”
“You took my baubles from me? Without asking my permission?”
“It’s very important we return the correct memory to Ian so he can remember how he found Sir Elvanfoot’s missing son.” Edwina smoothed a loose strand of Mary’s hair behind her ear, but her sister shrugged her off. “We’re going to use a spell—”
“Why are you all conspiring against me?” The distress in Mary’s eyes turned to fury. “Get away from me!”
A plate that had hung on the wall for six months shattered and fell to the floor. A mirror cracked.
“Mary, stop it! This is unseemly. Please, we need you to cooperate.” Edwina tried to maintain her composure, but her ire was building as well. “A man’s life may be at stake. Surely that’s more important than a few shiny baubles collecting dust in an old jewelry box.”
Mary’s fury combusted into fire. “You’re no better than all the others. You betrayed my trust again. And for what? Him?” She pointed at Ian in disgust. “He doesn’t even notice you, you dried-up old spinster.”
Elvanfoot attempted a gentlemanly intercession. “Miss, if you’ll allow—”
But she cut him off, charging forward and swiping her arm across the counter, scattering the ring, hair, and leaves of lemon balm before grabbing the jewelry box. Observing the outburst in his distracted, studious way, Sir Elvanfoot backed away and raised his hands, apparently not intent on interfering with her rampage.
Ian caught the toppled candle in its brass holder by reflex before it fell on the wicker basket where Hob crouched. Enough was enough. Mary’s reaction was too reckless, too vicious. She wasn’t in her right mind. Still gripping the candlestick, he slipped his spell inside a poem, the words falsely gentle. “O rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm, that flies in the night, in the howling storm . . .”
“No, Ian, wait.” Edwina gripped the arm bearing the candlestick, begging him to hold his tongue before casting a spell against her sister. “She’s overwrought. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
With his incantation incognito left hanging in the air, Mary bolted up the stairs with the jewelry box under her arm. Ian set the candlestick aside and followed, taking the stairs two at a time, but still she eluded him as though she’d turned to vapor as she fled to her room. The door shut in his face and the lock bolted before he could catch her. Edwina joined him at the top of the stairs and pounded on the door, demanding to be let in as the sound of something heavy crashed against the hardwood floor.