Hurry.
I turn back to the others. “It might be best if I go in alone. If she’s been running and hiding from the Morrigan for thousands of years, she might not trust anyone whose minds aren’t safe.”
Kiaran nods. “Be careful.”
I head up the stairs. It isn’t until I reach the top that I realize I’m holding my breath, trying not to make a sound. I hesitate outside my bedroom, then push the door open. The lights are off. There is no movement in the room, and for a moment I wonder if I’m wrong—until I see the slim line of light coming from the closet.
I swallow hard and grip the handle. This is Derrick’s old home. Just the reminder makes my heart ache.
The house trembles. A great boom sounds in the distance. The foundations groan.
Hurry.
The closet door swings open to reveal the girl.
She looks younger than I thought at first, maybe younger than me. Her long black hair hangs straight past her shoulders to her waist. The strands brush forward as she crouches beneath a row of hanging dresses. The trunk that I keep there is open, and my mother’s tartan is in her hands.
I suck in my breath at the sight. It was destroyed when the pixie city was demolished. The scrap sewed into my jacket is a replica.
The girl lifts the tartan to look at it better. “I pieced it back together from your memories. It’s not quite the same. I don’t believe I got the stitching right.”
I clear my throat and crouch next to her. “You did. It’s perfect.”
“Good,” the girl says softly. “I hadn’t seen such a loving memory like that in so long. It means a great deal to you. I’m glad you’re finally wearing it.”
I swallow hard, the sting of tears in my eyes. “I still don’t know if I’m worthy of it.” I have a ruthless heart. Sorcha was right about that.
“Is that what you think?” The girl looks thoughtful. “I saw your memories. You believe you’re a monster.” Her dark, dark gaze rises to meet mine. Her eyes are as black as the space between constellations. “You don’t look like a monster to me. When I saw your memories, I realized you were different from the others who came for the Book. Aren’t you?”
Another distant rumble. The chandelier in my room sways. Something crashes just outside.
Don’t frighten her. You don’t have time to find her if she runs again.
Be quick.
I take a deep breath to control myself. “Sometimes monsters wear the skin of harmless-looking girls,” I say. And then I think of Lonnrach. “And sometimes handsome men. Maybe I’m no different at all.”
A lift of her lips in an almost smile. “They would have come into this closet and seized me like a prize once they knew what I was. I know you want the words on my skin, of course. I can smell your desperation in the air. And yet you are waiting for my permission while the world caves in.” Her smile is small. “Different.” Different. What a little word. What an important word. Perhaps there’s hope for me not to end up like Sorcha yet.
My laugh is dry, forced. “I know what it’s like to be taken against my will. I just want your help to save my friends.” Help me save them all. Help me end a war.
“My help?”
The house shakes and I have to brace myself against the doorframe or fall. I realize I don’t even know what to call her. “What’s your name?”
“Book of Remembrance,” she says, as if she’s said it every day of her life. A thing. Not a person. A possession.
“You weren’t always a book. You were fae. You were the Morrigan’s consort, weren’t you?”
She jerks back at the reminder, something stricken flashing across her face. “Once,” she breathes. “Before she became so powerful she had no use for a consort. Then I was just mo laòigh.” Her voice is bitter. “Her fawn.”
The Morrigan’s fawn.
The Morrigan’s little bird.
What’s the easiest way to take away a person’s identity and mold them to your will? Deprive them of the simplest thing: their name.
She brushes her fingertips down her arms. “When I wrote the Book on my skin, it became a part of me.” She stares down at the marks on her arms, the squiggles of ink that form the words. “It was alive enough that I’m no longer who I once was. Like any object that has lived on past its time, perhaps I am no longer worthy of a name.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and dark and vulnerable. “But they used to call me Lena.”
The house shakes again. The stone groans all around me. My heartbeat is frantic in my ears.
Hurry.
“Lena,” I say. She closes her eyes, as if she misses the sound of that. I wonder how long it’s been since she’s heard it. “Can one of your spells truly reverse time?”
“With a few limitations.” I worry about what she’ll say until Lena leans forward with another smile. “I couldn’t reverse the Book’s existence, for one.”
I smile back. “I also need information about the curse on the Cailleach’s lineage. Do you know it?”
The curse that’s caused so much suffering. Countless wars. Siblings killing each other, rather than ending the world. I can put it all back together again if only I can get this girl—this former consort—to help me.
Lena’s smile disappears. “Those pages are why I betrayed the Morrigan.”
“Could we destroy the curse?” I swallow hard. “Rewrite it?”
A violent boom! in the distance. Something falling and shattering downstairs. Kiaran urgently calling for me.
Hurry.
The look Lena gives me holds so much sadness that it’s more than I can bear. “As it begins in death, so shall it end in death, until the day a child of the Cailleach confronts their fate with a true lie on their lips and sacrifices that which they prize most: their heart.”
“I know that.” I try to keep my voice patient.
“Then you know what has to be done,” she says. “What you have to do. It was clear from your memories.”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
Before Lena can reply, the bedroom windows shatter. Glass crashes to the floor and the whole building sways. I’m jerked back violently, my shoulder smashing into the wall.
Lena pushes to her feet, her expression frantic. She nearly loses her balance. “We have to go.” Her eyes are deep, deep pools. “She’s coming.”
CHAPTER 45
I GRIP LENA’S hand and pull her down the quaking staircase.
Plaster falls from the ceiling and a sudden crack in the foundations almost makes me lose my footing. Lena pitches forward and I yank her back. The paintings sway on their hooks around us. Somewhere down the hall, a mirror shatters on the ground.
Kiaran looks up with relief as we enter the antechamber. Dimly, I notice the others aren’t there; they must have stayed outside. “Cutting it close, Kam,” he says.