One Crossroads Later

Chapter Fifteen

"Well, I guess that answers that question," Monica said, breaking a period of relative silence.

The sound of her voice summoned Flynn's attention. He looked up from his phone screen, temporarily forgetting about the scan through his text messages, and watched her read from her journal. "What question are you answering?" he asked.

"Trying to figure out the meaning behind this sigil your brother found. I thought I recognized it."

Flynn looked at the page as Monica turned the journal to face him. He saw the marking and vaguely remembered the pictures displayed on Martin's phone. "I don't understand what your notes say. But I recognize the symbol."

"It's a warding sigil. A potent one, too. If I had to guess, this might be the reason the Order hasn't picked up on the shit she's pulling." Monica sighed. Before Flynn could admire the picture any further, she turned the book to face her again and stared at the page in front of her. "The level of enchantment on this has got to be incredible. I'd say, more than she's capable of, but you told me about that memory."

"Yes, the memory."

Flynn's stomach sank as he thought about it again. Glancing at his phone, in some effort to distract himself again, he realized he'd suddenly lost the taste for scouring his texts and set the phone down on the table. He'd been trying to retrace the past five years; to make sense of a life that had been half a lie. Referencing why had struck an uncomfortable nerve, though.

He felt Monica studying him and tried not to make eye contact. When he succumbed to glancing up at her, he saw sympathy and grumbled at it. "Don't do that," he said.

"What am I doing?" Monica asked.

"You're doing that thing where you stare at me until I talk about what I'm thinking. And I'm not in the mood for that."

"All right, Baron von Broodhausen. What do you want to talk about, then?"

He finally looked her in the eye, glowering. She looked unaffected by it, and by any kind of threat Flynn might have posed to her, which astonished him yet again. "Do you not have any idea what she's turned me into? I know you sit there with this... nearly suicidal bravado having no clue what kind of hornet's nest you're kicking."

"So... tell me, then." Monica sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. When she refused to back down, Flynn frowned, sitting back as well. He placed his hands on his lap and stared her in the eyes, sensing an unspoken request for him to open his mind to her. Part of him didn't want to. Sabrina had delved into his mind and manipulated it enough. But as he also remembered the force Sabrina had used to bend his will, he also saw the direct opposite coming from Monica. She asked calmly. Patiently.

Isn't that always the more dangerous approach? When they lure you into surrender instead of prying it from you?

Maybe, he told himself, but he relaxed. 'Show me something of yours first,' he said telepathically. 'Then I'll share something of mine.'

'Okay,' she said back. 'How about the fact that I can sympathize with forced loyalty?'

Before he could respond, images filled his mind, like the memory in the basement had. He realized quickly that Monica had given him her eyes to see, and though the transition felt harsh, he adapted quickly. Becoming a practiced hand at that.

Whatever place he'd been taken to, the first thing he noticed, besides the dark colors and woods in the house surrounding him, was the crackle of energy in the air. Through his borrowed vision, he noted small adornments in what otherwise resembled a large personal library. Glass cases with different weapons in them. Displays carrying everything from books to coins to other things he couldn't identify. The man he first made eye contact with looked stern, with gray hair and a salt-and-pepper beard trimmed neatly around his mouth.