“Isn’t it lovely? I bought it a week ago at one of those secondhand stores. You know, I don’t usually set foot in places like that, but that figure caught my eye. I spent a dollar on it.” She laughed. “It’s probably the cheapest decoration in this whole house. Heaven knows why I decided to place it right there.”
So it wasn’t a gift. That was a bad sign. “May I look at it?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I gingerly picked up the statue. Although it was made of cheap ceramic, it had been painted with great detail. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it resembled my father. Uncannily so. “I didn’t know you were interested in stuff like this,” I said.
“Silly, isn’t it? But since I got that little figurine, I’ve bought several more. I can’t seem to stop.” She let out a nervous laugh.
I set the figurine aside to look at my mom. She hid her emotions well. Her physical appearance hadn’t changed—she wore her makeup with precision, her clothes were without a flaw or stain, even her smile looked genuine—so I wasn’t sure if she was experiencing symptoms of depression or not. Asking her was out of the question, but there was one other aspect I could look into.
“May I see the other figurines?” I asked her.
“Of course,” she said. “They’re in your father’s old office. Would you like me to show you?” She started to stand.
“No.” I stopped her. “That’s all right. I’d rather look at them by myself if that’s okay.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Sure, sweetheart. Just don’t rearrange them.”
“I won’t.”
Brent stayed with Mom as I made my way to Father’s office. Sunlight streamed over the hardwood floors, turning them a deep bronze. The smell of Mom’s gardenia candles scented the house, giving the place a calm, serene feeling, although I felt anything but calm.
Mom’s new hobby had me worried.
I entered the office through the arched doorway. Statuettes cluttered the long mahogany desk, the bookshelves, even the windowsill. Mom was downplaying it when she’d said she’d bought “several more.” My head spun as I looked from one statue to the next. They weren’t all elven. Some depicted dragons, sorcerers, fairies, a few trolls. Given Mom’s extended time in Faythander, her expansive collection made sense.
Somehow, I’d thought this would never happen to her. When Mom had returned to Earth, the dragons had used their magic to not just erase her memories, but replace them as well. I’d felt certain that suffering from the side effects of memory loss wouldn’t affect her. But things had changed. The magic was fading, causing the dragons’ spell to weaken.
I walked to Father’s desk and picked up a female elven statue. The woman wore pearl-white robes, and her corn-silk hair fell in waves down her back, reminding me of the elven princess Euralysia.
If the dragons’ spell was fading, it was only a matter of time before the less appealing side effects started to harm my mother.
But there was no way on this planet or the other that I could perform the spellcasting on her. She’d remember everything from Faythander. With a case like hers, remembering so many erased memories could easily put her into shock. She’d remember my dad; she’d remember the Caxon and how she’d joined them; she’d remember how she’d never wanted me; she’d remember vowing to kill me.
My heart stopped.
I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let my own mother remember how she’d tried to sacrifice me to Theht. I couldn’t let her remember that she’d never loved me. It was out of the question. My only hope was that she wouldn’t fall prey to depression. So far, she seemed fine. Maybe I was worrying for nothing.
I browsed over a few more statuettes when something caught my eye on my father’s bookshelf.
Mom had never rearranged the place. She’d kept it the same for as long as I could remember. Most of his books were Earth texts that my father might have read, although he’d never touched a single one. The dragons had placed each one to help with my mother’s false memories.
A slim brown book sat between two American history texts. I’d never noticed it before. As I picked it up, I felt a slight hum of dragon magic pulsing through its pages. But why had I never noticed this book before? Had it suddenly appeared? Or had it been hidden by the magic?
With the enchantments fading, the second option made more sense. I opened the book to find my father’s scrolling script written across the pages. A silver chain dangled from one of the pages, and I flipped to the page.
A silver-leaf pendant, interwoven with delicate veins of glass and bronze, sat on the page. The faint aftereffects of elven magic surfaced from within the necklace as I ran my fingers over the jewelry.
My eyes widened as I came to two conclusions. Although it would be of no use without the magic, this was a memory charm. And it belonged to my father.
Chapter 9
My hands trembled as I held the memory charm. Father had told me about it once. He’d made the charm so he could cross worlds and buy Mom a proper wedding ring, but he’d never given it to her. He’d saved it and given it to me, instead, to be used as a magical talisman. I’d learned a new magic word from it, but since then, the ring had collected dust on my bookshelf.
But what was the memory charm doing here? It must’ve been here for years, concealed by magic. Did Father intend for Mom to have it?
I looked from the charm to my father’s journal. Scanning the pages, I realized the journal recounted my mom and dad’s courtship. I stopped and read a passage.
We have camped on the west side of the mountain to avoid the brunt of the blizzard. The elves, used to Faythander’s winter season, suffer from no ill effects. However, Kasandra’s weakened state
