Page 139 of The Lies We Conjure
Indeed. Ursula saw and planned for many scenarios, but most definitely not for the imposters. Ruby and Wren are entirely our problem.
One we haven’t yet attended to properly.
We could’ve spelled them to forget what happened—it was what we did to the waitstaff, after all—but we didn’t. We just let them leave. In that moment, after all we’d been through together, retention of the truth seemed like a kindness rather than a burden.
Yet, we can’t ignore what Ruby and Wren saw. Shock might keep them quiet for a while, but trauma is not a spell.
Winter arches a brow at me. “I don’t suppose the instructions Ursula gave you included protocol pertaining to literally the worst con artists in the history of the world?”
I sit forward, elbows resting on my knees. “No, but I do have a couple of ideas.”
EPILOGUE
RUBY
SIX WEEKS AFTER
The invitation arrives with a sense of déjà vu.
Cream-colored cardstock. No envelope. Set neatly in the cubby marked “Ruby” in the back room of Agatha’s Apothecary & Paperback Emporium.
The penmanship is neat and as sharp as a knife tip.
Saturday night. Formal. Wear whatever color you want. I’ll be in touch.
I flip the card over.
Tell no one.
From the ashes of what I’d snuffed out and locked away as we left the grounds of Hegemony Manor, something grows wings and lifts. Since returning home, Wren and I haven’t talked about what happened. Not about how we’d walked away, intact but changed. Not about the people we left behind. Who they were, what we knew, what we’d seen.
And yet, we’d still walked away.
No threats. No memory-wipe spell. No magic binding us to secrecy.
I’d burned Marsyas’s card. Deleted the file she’d sent that I had stored on my phone. Checked Wren’s phone to make sure she’d done the same.
It felt too clean. Too unfinished.
And this is proof.
Immediately, my phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans. Wren’s name flashes up at me with a FaceTime request. I scoot into the stockroom, flip on the light, and close the door. When I acceptand her face fills the screen, I don’t even get out a greeting before she’s squealing in my ear.
“We’re going shopping! Bring your savings account and the good sense to let me dress you.”
There’s not an ounce of hesitation in my sister’s voice. She’s just as impulsive as ever, despite what we’ve been through. Her hazel eyes are round, the bangs she’s let grow curtaining that thrilled gaze and grazing the apples of cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Are we sure this is a good idea?” I ask in a whisper. “To go back there?”
“Oh, come on, you saw how it was worded. It’s a callback! An inside joke—it made you smile or at least gave you warm fuzzies because it was donewith care.”
Somehow, my voice is even quieter now.
“We haven’t seen or heard fromthemin six weeks.”
I don’t feel like I can say the Hegemony name out loud. Not yet.
As usual, my sister is undeterred. “You saw the mess we walked away from. The actual cleanup is the easy part. The politics? Those loose ends might take years to sort out.”
