Moon Sworn

“Evin, my brother is my twin—” I paused, letting that word roll around my mind again. My brother, my twin, my life. God, I missed him, even if I couldn’t even recall what he looked like right now. “—and that’s a connection that goes beyond the physical.”

“Connection or not, it doesn’t alter fact.” He said it with such unwavering certainty that again I found myself questioning my memories.

But they weren’t off. His belief was.

Which meant maybe a little memory manipulation had been going on. It would certainly explain his unshakable belief that I was his sister.

“This is all going horribly wrong.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, then added softly, “You haven’t been taking your tablets, have you? They said it would be a problem if you didn’t.”

“Who said?” I demanded. “And what were you putting in the coffee?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was told to use it and I did. I figured you suspected something was up with the coffee when you went and bought your own, so I stopped.”

That explained why the coffee had started tasting slightly better recently—but it still wasn’t hazelnut. I hungered for that almost as much as I hungered to see Rhoan and … someone else. Someone who looked a whole lot like Harris. Someone who might well be dead. My throat closed over at the thoughts, and I had to force my question out. “And you report to the people behind this every night?”

“Yes.” He slumped down in the car seat a little. “Look, in all honesty, I can’t really tell you much.”

“Then tell me what you do know.”

He was silent again, staring out the window, his expression miserable. I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“My real name is Evin Jenson. I’m a border patrol guard for the Glen Helen Jenson pack.”

A chill ran through me. I knew that name. Knew that location. I’d grown up there, learned to fight and hate and fear there. The home of your birth, that internal voice said. But not the home of your heart. “That’s in the Northern Territory, isn’t it?”

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, but not many people would know that.”

“Unless that’s where you were born.”

He blinked. “You can’t be from the Glen Helen Jenson pack, because I would have recognized you.”

I smiled grimly. One of the problems with implanting a sole memory or belief was the fact you could never account for all the questions that might provoke the wrong sort of answer. Or right one, as it was in this case.

Evin didn’t know me, despite his belief to the contrary.

“There’s a few years’ difference between us,” I commented. “Which probably meant we would have run in very different circles.”

And there were other reasons we might never have met—reasons I couldn’t remember right now, thanks to whoever had meddled with my mind.

“But the pack isn’t that big and you’re my sis—”

“Evin,” I said softly, “I’m not. That’s a belief someone has planted in your mind.”

“What?” He looked at me like I was crazy.

And very possibly, I was. After all, I was just going on instinct here, and it had sometimes led me very far astray.

“Look, someone has seriously messed my memories. It isn’t just the tablets. Someone with telepathic abilities has erased—or at least contained—not only the knowledge of who I am, but where I lived, what I did, and who I loved. It’s probable that someone has snatched pieces of your memory, too, just to make it easier for you to project the lie.”

“You’re wrong. I know you’re wrong.” He stared at me for a moment, confusion bright in his eyes, then said,

“Even so, I can’t have been lying all that well if you’ve seen through it.”

“The whole situation felt wrong, Evin. It wasn’t just your lying.” Although that didn’t help. “Did you ever meet with any of them?”

“No. There was a meeting arranged, but they didn’t turn up. Contact after that was always via the phone.”

“Then how did you get your instructions about me?”

“Text, mostly.”

“So they told you nothing about my real identity?”

He shook his head and rubbed a hand across his face. “This is all so fucked up.”

He had that right. “Tell me what you know, and maybe together we can unfuck it.”

He snorted. “You and what friggin’ army? There’s more than one damn person behind all this, I know that much.”

“Oh,” I said, my voice soft and flat, containing very little in the way of anger and yet all the more deadly because of it, “I don’t need an army. I can do plenty of damage on my own. Trust me on that.”

His gaze was a weight I could feel, but I didn’t bother meeting it. He said, in a voice that was soft yet filled with sudden wariness, “Just who the hell are you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” I glanced at him briefly. “Whoever did this to me is going to pay, Evin. And while I don’t think you’re involved more than peripherally, you had better believe that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get whatever information you have. So talk, or I’ll make you.”

He believed me. The brief flash of fear across his features was evidence enough of that. “Lyndal—my soul mate—was snatched in Melbourne about a fortnight ago. I was told to go to a warehouse in Richmond and wait for instructions—”

“Melbourne?” I interrupted, once again feeling that sweep of familiarity. I worked there. In Spencer Street, at—

somewhere. I bit back a growl of frustration and added, “That’s in Victoria, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Lyndal and I were holidaying down there. I went to the warehouse and waited as directed.” He stopped, and frowned. “You know, I did lose time in that building. Is it possible for someone to tamper with your memories without them even going near you?”

“A trained telepath could stand in front of you and make you blind to their presence,” I said. “How much time did you lose?”

“Just a few minutes. I just remember looking at my watch and thinking it was odd.”

I nodded. “What happened after that?”

“I went back to our hotel and found a folder waiting in our room. It told me about you—the Hanna London you—and said that I was to be your guard. And if I went to the cops—or spoke to anyone at all about it—then Lyndal was dead meat.”

“So they didn’t actually give you the instruction about being my brother?”

“No,” he said. “Because that bit is true.”

I shook my head but didn’t argue. He continued to stare at me, then raked his hands through his hair and said angrily, “Fuck. They could have made me do anything. I’d never have known.”

“They could have, but they didn’t. I think they wanted me to be suspicious. Whoever modified my memory has left just enough to make me doubt my reality.”

He frowned at me. “But why would they want to do that?”

“To frustrate me, probably. I can remember someone telling me to enjoy what was left of my life—and they obviously meant that I wouldn’t.”

“What was left of your life? What the fuck does that mean?”

“What do you think it means?” We finally hit the bitumen and the truck’s tail whipped out sideways as I spun the wheel and flattened my foot. The roar of the big engine filled the night—a deep throbbing sound that oddly felt in tune with the anger within me. “Did you really think that they’d play this game for a couple of weeks then let us all go?”

“Honestly? Yeah, I did.” He scrubbed a hand across his chin. “I don’t know why, but I did.”

That belief had to have been implanted, too. Evin might be a trusting soul, but