Page 18 of The Iron Hex

He looked back as he knocked the door open and saw what looked like genuine shock on Eira’s face. He heard the mumbling of the tavern’s patrons as the door shut and desperately hoped that the barmaid wasn’t worried enough for Eira that she called the guard over. Even if she did... well, they needed to leave anyway.

“This game needs to end,” Hugo said, still holding her arm, the cold air of the settling night a shock against his hot skin. “I don’t know where you’re hiding her, but you need to tell me now.”

11

Eira

Hugo snatched Eira closer to him, his hand pressing against her arm just a little too tightly. “You’re hurting me,” she said, shocked at the roughness of his hold.

“Where is she?” he hissed, his eyes sharp with a hint of dark green in the dim light of the alley.

“Where iswho?” Eira asked, tugging her arm back to loosen his grip.

He released her, putting the same hand on his forehead. They were so close that Eira could feel his hot breath on her skin, making her shiver involuntarily.

“You and I both know that the two of you were always together and I thought...” He trailed off. “I thought if I found you that I’d find her too.”

Who was he talking about? He’d been doing this the whole time, acting familiar when he didn’t know her.

“Hugo, I don’t know who you’re talking about, and I don’t know why you keep making comments like I know who you are. We metyesterday,” Eira said, tipping her head back to look him in the eyes, his face turned down in frustration.

“Why are you playing this game with me?” he said, hands shaking in frustration.

She hated that she found it attractive, but even more, she hated that she didn’t know what he was talking about.

“I am beginning to genuinely believe that you have mistaken me for someone I’m not,” Eira said, hands raised in his direction and voice as calm as she could manage.

“Eira, you cannot expect me to believe that you don’t recognize me... it’s only been three yea—” He stopped himself, looking into the distance in deep thought. His steaming breath became less pronounced in the cold air as his breathing slowed, calmed down.

“Eira,” he finally said. “Tell me exactly who you are.”

Their eyes connected, him challenging her to answer and her not wanting to. Why was this man asking her for her life’s story when they’d only just met? But Eira wasn’t a fool; she knew something was happening here. A quiet voice in the back of her head was telling her that this was something that had been brewing for a while. The misplaced familiarity in Hugo’s gaze made her want to speak, to answer.

“I’m Eira Eckhart. I’m an alchemical witch from the small town of Cilirien. I opened my potions shop three years ago. I’m just a woman who happens to be able to do a little bit of potions magic.”

“And who are your parents? Do you have siblings? Where did you grow up?” he spoke again immediately with his brow furrowed, throwing rapid-fire questions at her like he was trying to figure something out.

But Eira didn’t perform well under pressure, and neither did her memory. Eira knew she had family; she had to have had parents, and she could see the silhouette of a sibling in her dreams sometimes. It was just that though, silhouettes. No names came to her, no physical features—the same as it had been for three whole years.

Whatever had happened to her, her memory had never come back, and the local doctor could only guess at some sort of traumatic head injury. Except Eira didn’t have any scars from a head wound... which wasn’t something she liked to think about too much.

“I have one sibling and two parents,” she hazarded an answer.

“And their names?”

“The doctor in Cilirien thinks I took a fall... I don’t remember.”

He looked at her, eyes flicking between hers frantically. “No,” he said finally, hand moving to his mouth.

Eira watched as his eyes softened, hardened, and softened again. What had he realized?

“How long have you been a witch in Cilirien?” he finally asked.

“Witches are born with magic, so my whole life,” Eira responded with a scoff.

“And what is the furthest thing you can remember in the past?”

Eira thought about it and hit a wall, the same wall she always hit. “My whole life,” she lied, feeling sick and racking her brain for anything past three years ago. It was empty.