“Oh, Olive. I appreciate your humor. You always did know how to make me laugh.”
“I’m not joking this time.”
“I know.” But her tone told me she didn’t.
“I’m serious. You’ve had your memories erased, but because the magic is failing, the dragons’ spell that was meant to keep you protected is also failing. That’s why you started collecting. That’s why you’re suffering.”
She stared at me with wide eyes. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“But I thought all this fairy stuff you went on about was just a joke. I mean—people don’t really believe in those things. Sure, they like to be amused, to pretend. But it’s all a fantasy. That’s all it’s ever been. Those people who give you money aren’t looking for a cure, they’re looking for a diversion—something to get their mind off their problems.”
“That’s what you really think?”
“What else could I think? That it’s real?”
“Yes. Because it is real.”
She shook her head. Her voice grew panicky. “It’s not true. It can’t be. If it’s true, then what does that make me? What does that mean? My whole life is a lie?”
She was partially right. She’d lived for years in Faythander and had no memory of it. I wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, but it had been long enough to fall in love. It had been long enough to join the Caxon. It had been long enough to give birth to me.
“Will you at least let me try to help you?”
“Let me go to a therapist. Or a psychiatrist. They make medicine for chemical imbalances. I can beat this. I know I can.”
“But I am a psychiatrist! Going to someone else won’t help,” I said, my voice desperate. “If you were suffering with typical depression, then I would be all for it. But you’re not.”
“Olive, how can you be serious about this?”
I pulled out my mirror and clicked the lid open. For half a second, I expected the Faythander magic to appear, but the glass remained empty. A feeling of unease settled inside as I turned the mirror to face her.
“I am serious,” I said. “You just have to let me show you.”
She studied my case, particularly the five figurines that lay atop the red velvet lining. The dragon, elf, Wult, pixie, and goblin must have triggered some sort of memories. She’d seen them all before.
“Why do you think you’ve been collecting so many figurines?” I asked. “It’s because you’re trying to remember a part of your life that you’ve forgotten.”
She pressed the tissue to her mouth. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at the statuettes. “You have an elf,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” The last rays of sun glinted off the pewter, turning it bright silver.
“It’s beautiful.”
My fingers brushed the soft velvet as I removed the elf from my case. I held it out to her. “When you touch this, look into the mirror and your memories will return.”
At least, I hoped so.
She stared at the figurine with one part hope and another part fear. “What sort of memories?”
I cringed at her question. Why did she have to ask? “You’ll remember Father—the way he really was. You’ll remember the… groups you were associated with, and your time spent helping those you believed were oppressed. You’ll remember giving birth to me.”
“I already remember that.”
“No. You were given false memories. They were meant to help you be a better parent to me—but they aren’t the truth.”
She shook her head. “You realize how hard this is for me to believe?”
“Actually, I have no idea. Being told that half your life is a lie has to come as a major shock. But there’s only one way for you to remember the truth.”
Holding the elven statuette in the palm of my hand, the Earth magic came slowly, making me wonder if it would work at all. I’d only ever used my Faythander magic in the past. But as the power swelled within me—amber mixed with gold and warmth—I knew I had to trust it. Magic trickled through my veins and into the figurine, warming the metal.
Mom fidgeted with the tissue. “Are you sure about this?”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I tried saying with confidence, “I’ve done this lots of times before.” But never without my fairy magic.
“You’re certain it won’t hurt me?”
“You’ll be fine.” I hoped I wasn’t lying to her.
“And you’re absolutely sure this is the only way? The other doctors can’t help me?”
“In your case—no. Studies have shown that antidepressants can actually make healthy people more depressed, and your brand of depression isn’t caused by traditional means. You’ll never get better unless you confront the past.” I held the figurine a little closer to her. “Please, Mom. I want you to get better. Just give me a chance.”
My pleading must have struck a chord with her, because she nodded and then reached for the statuette.
As I stared into the mirror, I expected to see my mother’s memories replayed. Instead, a jolt of energy shocked us with the sensation of a sledgehammer ramming into my gut. I gasped for breath. Mom cried out.
The room vanished. An inky blackness engulfed my body. This was all wrong. What was happening?
Voices came from somewhere, but I couldn’t make out the words. Lights bobbed in and out of view until they coalesced into a whirlpool of swirling colors.
Something was very wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The lights kept swirling, faster and faster, until I thought my body would rip apart. My thoughts became disconnected, and the churning whirlpool squeezed around me, tightening against my lungs. I gasped for air, but none came. Suddenly, a woman’s voice came to me.
Marked by death from the beginning—she will come in flame and ash, wielding the fire gifted to her of her fathers. She will cross worlds and mend the rift. She will bring death to the unbelievers, life to those marked by the ancient one. Her life will bring death, for she is the Deathbringer.
Pain exploded in my
