“Even yesterday morning’s attack on the foreshore?” Mary prodded. She picked his jacket up off the floor and folded it over the back of Edwina’s chair. “The police will be keen to discover what you know about the assailant who struck you.”
“Attacked?” He reached for his throat again and then quickly pretended to scratch an itch along his stubble instead of checking for a gash wide enough to spill the life out of him. “Perhaps I spoke prematurely. While I do recall waking up in hospital with a head wound . . .” They both nodded in encouragement, so he continued, “I dinna seem to have any recollection of any attack on the foreshore. Are you sure it wasn’t in an alley? Near Flint Street?” They shook their heads, but he continued anyway, overtaken by conflicting memories vying for the right to be called true. “And it couldn’t have occurred yesterday,” he insisted. “I only arrived in the city by train this afternoon.” He stopped and pulled a face, confused again. Why could he remember a phantom attack that left him choking in his own blood but not the blow to the head that actually put him in the hospital? “Wait, that canna be right. I clearly remember speaking to you in your shop yesterday after I left the hospital. I was angry about something you took from me.”
“So you remember my sister Mary and myself.” Edwina glanced at her sister. “And you remember the conversation you and I had yesterday about the spell I performed? And who you are?”
Ah, she’s prying now to know more. It was odd how his mind had filled in the gap of his understanding of magic with doubt before, yet his body and spirit had retained the truth. The essence of his being had still recognized his magical self, despite the temporary loss of memory. Curious yet reassuring.
“Aye, quite,” Ian answered without wanting to give more away. Indeed, how could he forget about an encounter with two witches with such distinct eyes and manners? They unnerved and invigorated him with their mere presence. At the same time, he had to admit there was something not quite right about his recollection. “I remember,” he said as a dull pain throbbed between his eyes. “But things also seem a jumble. How could I have had a conversation with you here, when I remember clearly being on a train coming from Auld Reekie yesterday?”
Hob tried to suppress a squeal, but it squeaked out anyway. He jumped onto Ian’s chest and grabbed his face in his hands. The elf peered at him with wide amber eyes that had welled up with overactive concern. “You remember Hob. You remember home. Say it is so. Say you do!”
“Hob, what the devil is the matter with you? Stop that.” He gripped the elf by his wrists to steady him.
“I wasn’t there,” Hob cried out in a shameful wail and dropped his head. “I could not put back what I did not know. Will Mister ever forgive me?”
“What’s this?” A spark lit in Mary Blackwood’s smoky eyes as she took a step nearer. “What’s he on about?”
“I’m not sure.” Ian continued to restrain the elf to keep him from thrashing about in overdramatics. “I had business in the city. I made him stay behind while I caught the train. The city is no place for his kind. Nor me, to be honest, but I’d already made up my mind to come.” Ian let go of the hearth elf’s wrists and wrapped the strip of tartan around his narrow shoulders in an effort to comfort him. “Now, calm ye down and tell me what happened after I got on the train. How much am I missing between then and now?”
The little elf held up his furry fingers and counted them off one at a time. “Four days since you left. I only followed you to this noisy, smelly city today when I sensed the great pain in your head and neck.”
“Four days!” Ian lifted the elf off his chest and sat up with his feet on the floor.
Bloody hell.
“Mr. Cameron, are you all right?” Edwina stood and scooted her chair back to the kitchen table.
He raked his hand through his hair, scowling as though he’d just lost a bet he’d once been confident of winning. “I canna seem to remember anything between leaving the station at Everly and waking up at hospital.”
Four days lost. Four days of work that had ended in an attack he couldn’t remember, in part because of the women standing before him. What had happened to him? Who’d attacked him? And why? He couldn’t be sure of anything from the moment he’d stepped foot in the city.
The smoky-eyed witch excused herself, saying one of them ought to keep an eye on the shop, winking at her sister before heading down the steps. Edwina remained behind, fidgeting with her hands as her cheeks flushed shell pink.