Astrid giggled and propped her elbows and the table and chin in her palms. “Yeah, but life’s too short to be serious.”
I hummed in agreement and looked out of her kitchen window for a moment, that feeling of being watched still prickling against my periphery. I couldn’t see anything or anyone lurking across the street, but as I stared at the grove of trees, I couldn’t shake the feeling of a threat.
“What is it?” Astrid asked.
“Nothing,” I lied and turned back to her.
She stared at me with a frown, but she didn’t call me out on my bullshit. “Okay. If you say so. You want another?”
She shook the gin bottle at me, and I was tempted but I had some life-changing shit to deal with. Staying here and burying my head in the sand wasn’t going to help anybody, least of all me.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Attaboy,” she chuckled. “My door’s always open if you want gin or tea.”
I stood and strode around the table, throwing my arms around her in a hug. She flinched in surprise, which was understandable. I wasn’t the type of person who normally went in for a hug, but I needed this. “Thanks, Astrid. You’re the best.”
She patted my back awkwardly. “I know. Make sure you stop by shop this week; I’ve got some new things coming in you’ll want to see. Plus, your order should be ready just after Christmas.”
I pulled back and smiled. “Sure. I’ll find some time.”
“Good.” She eyed me curiously. “You know, you never asked.”
I frowned. “Asked what?”
“If I could tell that you were a Shadow Witch.”
“Could you?” She did have the ability to sense power types, but the thought of asking her hadn’t even crossed my mind. It was too consumed with all the other current crap.
She tipped her head to one side, her bright pink eyes assessing. “Not really. It’s strange. Your power feels… muted.”
“Well, I don’t step into my full power until my twenty-fifth birthday.” Which was New Year’s Day next week.
She shook her head. “It feels like more than that, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. It might have something to do with your missing memories.”
Astrid slipped off her stool and went to rummage in one of the drawers in her old French dresser. Not finding what she was looking for, she slammed it shut and moved to the next one.
“Ah-ha,” she cried, holding aloft a small black business card. “If you want to unlock those memories, see this guy. He’s creepy as fuck, but he’s the best at recalling lost memories.”
She handed it over and in small neat, silver block capitals were the words:
THE MEMORY WRAITH
I shivered as a feeling of foreboding rippled under my skin. There was no address or any other text. Just his name. “How do I find him?”
She dropped her voice into a corny tone and wiggled her fingers. “He’ll find youuuuu.”
“You’re such a dork,” I snorted.
“I know. But you love me anyway. Seriously though, only go there as a last resort. He’ll exact a price and it might not be worth the cost, but if you do want to see him, hold the card and call him with intent.” She wrapped her hand around mine that held the card. “Just be careful, okay?”
“I will. Thank you.”
Then I turned around and headed out of her house, more confused than when I had entered it.
Chapter Seven
Byron