Copper Veins(29)

“That’s my point,” I said. “We need someone familiar with dark magic and its aftereffects. She doesn’t seem to be much into charitable works.” I shuddered, remembering the deal she’d tricked me into.

“That she does not,” Micah said dryly. We had reached the apothecary door, and I laced my fingers with Micah’s before we entered.

“Thank you for coming with me,” I said. “I know you don’t like it here.”

Micah smiled and squeezed my fingers, but did not speak. Only a fool would disparage the crone while standing on her front stoop. With that, we pushed open the door and sneezed.

Somehow, I always managed to forget how filthy the apothecary was. It could be a dust museum based on how thick the stuff was. I really should have brought Shep, along with a Dustbuster or three. Once my sneezing fits had subsided, we found the crone seated in her usual spot behind the counter, drinking something out of a clay cup.

“Lord and Lady Silverstrand,” she croaked. “What good fortune has brought you both to my shop today?”

Micah inclined his head toward the crone and murmured a greeting. Forgoing the niceties, I asked, “Do you know anything about spells that demand your memories as a price?”

The crone raised a shaggy gray brow. “Those magics are powerful,” she replied, “far too powerful for a girl like you.”

“I don’t want to use them,” I said. “I…know someone who has.” She stared at me, unmoving, until I elaborated. “My father. He had to use those spells.”

The crone’s eye widened—I’d actually shocked her. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured. “A Corbeau would never sink to dabbling with such forces.”

“He had to. It was war,” I said. “Is there any way to restore his memories?”

“There is, but the price for restoring them is as dear as the memories themselves.” She leaned forward. “Do not forget, dearie, you already owe me. Careful you don’t amass more debts than you can pay.”

Micah, who had been wandering about the crowded shop, was at my side in an instant. “Watch your tongue, old woman,” he growled. “Sara owes nothing.”

“Um.” I touched Micah’s hand, and his furious gaze slid to meet mine. “I kind of do.”

Micah’s eyes narrowed. “My wife’s debts are my own,” he proclaimed. “What does she owe?”

The crone cackled. “Shall I tell him, dearie? Or would you like the pleasure?”

I looked at the floor and wondered if I could dig a hole and hide in it, and if, once Micah heard my answer, he would want me to stay there. “Anything.”

“What?” Micah slid a long finger along my jaw, and tilted my chin up. “Please, love, repeat that.”

“Anything.” I took a deep breath, and continued, “I told her I would owe her anything.”

Micah dropped his hand from my chin, his back straightening. “When are you planning to collect?” he asked the crone, his gaze never leaving me.

“Not today, and probably not tomorrow,” she replied. “But I fully intend to do so.”

At that, Micah bid her a good day, grabbed my elbow, and hauled me out of the apothecary. Others stared at the sight of the Lord of Silver dragging his wife down the village streets, but no one was foolish enough to get in his way. I was the only fool there.

Once we reached the metal pathway, Micah threw us into the silver, I assumed so we could quickly return home. Instead of the smooth, straight ride to the manor I was used to, Micah took a hard turn, so hard that I had to grab onto his shirt or risk being flung from the metal. The rest of the journey was like driving down an unpaved road in a car without shocks, so rough I felt my teeth rattle in my head. When we finally stopped, we were standing in the middle of a green meadow. The tranquil scenery did little to alter Micah’s mood.

“Where are we?” I asked, wobbling as my legs adjusted to being still. “Why didn’t—”

“How could you do such a thing?” Micah yelled. “Of all the foolish things you could have done, owing a debt to the crone is arguably the worst!”

Ah. Micah had taken us to the middle of nowhere so he could bellow at me at the top of his lungs without risk of being overheard. If he kept yelling like that he was going to blow out my eardrums. I was almost hopeful at that thought—at least then I wouldn’t be able to hear him.

I sunk to my knees, watching as Micah stalked around the field, yelling and flailing his arms. I hadn’t seen Micah this mad since the time Max led a gang of iron warriors to the manor, and Micah had crumpled them up like so much used newspaper. While I was used to people being mad at my brother, Micah had never been this mad at me.