I open my eyes and whip my head around, sure that I’ll find her in this room, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Disappointment weights my shoulders. I stare into my lap, biting down on my bottom lip to stop it from trembling. This is still great, I remind myself. I heard her voice.
I think about what she’d said. Leaving you two alone. Who was she talking to?
Bishop sighs. “Close your eyes or it won’t work.”
I close my eyes, and as soon as I do, another surge of heat shoots up my arms, and Mom’s speaking again.
“I’m kidding, but, Indigo, could I speak with you for a moment?”
Indigo? So she was talking to me. But why can’t I remember this conversation? I rack my brain for a clue, but all I get for my efforts is a vague déjà vu feeling.
“I don’t mind your boyfriend coming over, it’s just …” She pauses.
I don’t remember having this conversation at all—how can I not remember this conversation?—and yet it’s as though my responses are just out of reach, sitting on a virtual ledge in my mind, ready to tumble over and out of my mouth with the tiniest puff of wind.
“Just don’t let him near the book, okay?” Another pause, long this time, and I worry Mom won’t speak again, that the magic is over, but then she says, “I’m serious, Indigo. If that book gets into the wrong hands—”
My stomach pitches. The book did get into the wrong hands, and look what happened. Tears spill down my cheeks, and even though it’s been quiet for a long time and I feel Bishop watching me, I don’t wipe them away.
“I told you that you might regret it.”
I open my eyes and lock them with Bishop’s. “I don’t regret it.” How could he think I would regret hearing Mom’s voice, even if it has opened up so many new questions? Even if I can’t seem to shake the strange déjà vu sensation—the same sensation that’s been pricking my senses more and more lately—that the summoning caused.
Bishop shrugs. “Whatever you say. Magic time?”
I take a big breath and tuck my hair behind my ears. “I guess.”
He pushes to his feet and reaches a hand out to help me up.
Daylight seems cruel after the dark of the shop, and I have to shield my eyes against the bright sun as we venture back outside. Bishop follows me and pulls the door closed.
“Give me the keys so I can lock—”
A bloodcurdling scream pierces the air, interrupting his statement.
Tires screech to a halt. A siren wails, and the red lights of an ambulance flash behind the crowd gathered around the movie set.
“Did the big bad ambulance scare you?” Bishop jokes, hopping down the stairs next to me, but his words float right out of my head. In its place is an image. A memory. Blood. So much blood. A body in the street. Leather.
Someone yells “Cut!” and the ambulance lights flick off.
My heart pounds an erratic beat.
“You okay?” Bishop touches my elbow, his dark eyes narrowed with concern. “I was only joking, you know.”
I blink at him.
“Indie, you’re starting to worry me, and I don’t worry.” He steps in front of me and takes me by the shoulders. I stare at the faded leather of his collar.
“Why do I remember you hurt on a sidewalk?” I blurt out.
Bishop’s hands fall to his side. “You remember that?”
I don’t tell him I have no idea what “that” is, because I’m scared he won’t tell me the truth when he finds out how little I really understand. “Yes, I remember. What I want to know is why I forgot at all. You don’t tend to forget stuff like that.”
“Crazy,” he mumbles. “Why wouldn’t the wipe hold?”
“Wipe? What are you talking about?”
He pushes hair back from his face with shaky hands. “This is crazy. I’ve never heard of this happening before. It must have been the summoning. It must have unlocked something in your brain—”
“Yes, it’s crazy. Can you just explain what’s going on, please? How come you were hurt, and why didn’t I remember it until now?”
Bishop sighs, looking around like he’s considering how best to tell me what he has to say. Or not say.
“Spit it out. I want the whole truth, Bishop.”
He turns to face me, looking me dead in the eye. “The Priory killed me before they stole the book.”
“Killed you?” I ask, incredulous.
He nods.
I let out a humorless laugh. “So, what are you, a ghost? Because I don’t see how else that can be possible.”
Bishop spins the ring on his finger. “Remember when you asked me about this ring? Well, it’s much more than a family heirloom. It’s the most important thing I have.”
I look at the chunky silver ring, the number two etched deep in its center, that occupies Bishop’s middle finger. “What’s the two mean?”
“It’s the number of lives I have left.”
Extra lives? I exhale. “So where can I get mine? Because that’d really solve a lot of my problems right now.”
He shakes his head. “No can do. Only one way to get a ring like this: a dying witch has to transfer her powers to you. So unless you know a witch on the outs or keen on killing herself, you’re out of luck.”
I chew my bottom lip, turning his words over in my mind. “Your mom gave it to you, then? Before she died?”