Chapter 38

Morpheus's hands pressed against her shoulders, holding her against the wall in the front entryway of the Ferry estate. She struggled, but he wouldn't let her go. Simon stood on her other side, his hands finding a path on her skull like a Memory Recoder in the middle of an examination. Was he in the middle of an examination? She wouldn't know - she'd never been to a Memory Recoder before, nor had need of one.

"What are you doing?" Lysandra cried. "Let me go, you bastard!"

"Listen to her," Morpheus said. "Like a child who doesn't want to take her medicine."

"Is that what Recoding is now?" Simon asked, his voice devoid of inflection, making the question sound more like a statement.

"It is. It's replaced psychologists, hasn't it?" Morpheus asked. "And a lot of regular doctors, too."

"I don't think now is the time to be having such a political conversation." Simon continued tracing lines on her skull with his hands. He didn't look up.

"Father, tell him to let me go," Lysandra snapped. "I don't deserve this."

"She's a bit demanding," Morpheus said. "Is that how you treat your Memory Recoder, Miss Ferry?"

"I have no need for Memory Recoders!" Lysandra screamed.

"Oh, but that's where you are wrong," Morpheus challenged, grinning.

She remembered Morpheus Rose now - a friend of Simon's, a colleague, a fellow Memory Recoder. She remembered his dark hair and bright eyes, still that unnatural shade of white-gray. She'd never held a shred of mistrust about him until the night Simon shot Corinna. He'd never spoken to her until the day she woke up to forgetting the last sixteen years of her life.

But now that she had fallen into the memory, she had given him a chance to escape. When she opened her eyes, blinking away traces of the dreamlike reminiscence, she saw that he had vanished.

"What does it mean?" she whispered. "Father - what did you do to my memories?"

Pulling her cloak against her in the cold, she ran on to Cale's studio, still holding on to the hope that it wouldn't rain.

Someone had locked the door. Lysandra knocked and stared up at the sky, praying that the rain would hold off. She let out a sigh of relief when the door opened, revealing Clove.

"Cale isn't here," she said upon seeing Lysandra there.

"I know. I went to see him," Lysandra told her. "He told me to come and see if you're doing okay."

"I'm doing okay." She nodded once.

"Are you sure? You don't need any help at all?" Lysandra questioned.

"I've been on my own before," Clove said. "I'm almost the same age as you, you know."

"I know," Lysandra responded. "But Cale told me you have problems with your memory. Worse than I do."

"I'm doing okay," Clove insisted. "Is Cale well?"

"He's awake," Lysandra said, "but he has... a bullet wound in his arm."

Clove's eyes widened. "How?" she exclaimed. "Guns aren't allowed."

"No, they're not," Lysandra agreed. "The man who shot him should be imprisoned."

"Who was it?" Clove asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"He was another Memory Recoder," Lysandra told her. "His name is Morpheus."

Clove shuddered. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I."

The two of them fell silent. Lysandra took a deep breath, trying to fill the quiet, and said, "Well, I should go."

"Okay," Clove said. "Tell Cale to get better."

Half a smile pulled Lysandra's lips. "I'll do that."

She turned away, and Cale's younger sister closed the door.

Later that week, Lysandra found a note from Zephyr on her windowsill. Zephyr had written that she'd wondered where Lysandra had gone in the middle of the night, and that she was free today if Lysandra wanted to go anywhere. Lysandra crumpled the note in her hand and sighed. Ismene had already gone over the details of another meeting with the Collingwoods with her. If she wanted to keep her freedom, she had to sit through another day with Dragon.

"Sorry, Zeph," she muttered and tossed the remains of the note out the window. "Blame Dragon."

She headed downstairs, where Ismene watched over Nereus and Vasu, who were in the middle of cleaning the kitchen. Ismene greeted her with a "Good morning, Lysandra," and at the mention of her name, Nereus stopped cleaning to turn toward her. Their eyes met, and Lysandra looked away.

"Good morning, Ismene," she said.

"We should go upstairs so that you can prepare for your meeting with Remiel," Ismene murmured. "I have just the right dress for the occasion, you know."

"Whatever you say, Ismene," Lysandra muttered under her breath as the older woman turned and started up the stairs.