The Memory Puller (The Memory Puller Series Book 1)
The Memory Puller: Chapter 38

Tristan hugged the cliff, staying tight against the treeline as he flew Cassandra back to the Cloisters. He landed on the strip of grass beneath their windows.

The property slumbered, a dark and quiet beast he didn’t want to risk awakening. The abbess had given Cassandra permission to assist with the investigation after hours, but a trip to a high-end pleasure house was probably out of bounds.

Too bad Cassandra had changed back into her training attire. He would’ve loved to see the rushing wind rip that flimsy nightgown off, forcing her to snuggle in even closer for shelter and warmth.

The guilt he felt over snapping at her at the bar lingered, but High Gods, her insecurities baffled him. Perhaps they were the result of being hidden away at the Temple, a lack of socialization beyond the abbess and other Sisters.

Cassandra was the most stunning female in that lobby, and he hadn’t been the only male who’d recognized it—August Lambros certainly hadn’t tried to hide his blatant interest. Tristan had scented the male’s lust for her halfway across the room. He tried not to snarl at the thought of it, of what he would’ve done to Lambros if the Windrider had so much as touched her.

He settled her on the grass and grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “Go get Xenia and meet Cael and me in our room, please. We have a lot to discuss with them.”

She nodded, and he walked towards his own window, rapping on the glass before Cael appeared, wearied, to let him in.

“How’d it go, Ghostwalker?” Cael asked tightly as Tristan crawled into the room.

“It was very informative. I’ll elaborate when Cass and Xenia get here.”

“She prefers to be called Zee.” Cael rubbed his neck and shoulders, his muscles sore from the lengthy, round-trip flight to Meridon—lengthy enough that his healing powers hadn’t yet relieved the strain.

Just as Tristan was about to hurl a teasing quip about Zee, a long, black-clad leg appeared atop the sill and the woman herself unfolded into their room before reaching back to help Cassandra.

Xenia’s eyes landed on Cael, scanning him for signs of damage. She relaxed when she saw none, morphing from concerned to indifferent in the blink of an eye. Poor, oblivious Cael didn’t even notice. Tristan snickered as he gestured to his bed. “Have a seat, ladies.”

Tristan plopped down onto Cael’s bed, and his partner crashed down beside him, placing his forearms on bent knees, his massive gray wings drooping.

Tristan turned to Cael first. “What did you replace out in Meridon? Were you able to contact the Artisan?”

“I was—she says hi,” Cael sighed, picking at his fingernails. “High Gods, I need a drink.”

Tristan rose, aiming for his armoire where he plucked up two cut-glass tumblers and a bottle of bourbon that Reena had gifted him, aged to perfection in oak barrels at a distillery on the continent and difficult to replace in the colonies outside of Fae-owned establishments.

He poured out a finger and handed the glass to Cael. Then, he jiggled the bottle at Cassandra and Xenia, but both Sisters waved him off. He poured a glass for himself and rejoined Cael on the bed, bottle in hand.

Cael downed the amber liquid in a single gulp, then thrust his glass towards Tristan for a refill. “She’s only working on one project—a commission for a client whose name and location she doesn’t know. The same client that requested a manipulation of a Shrouded Sister’s memories about a month ago.”

“That must be the implanted memory we pulled from Sister Galan,” Xenia said.

“It was. I brought it with me to confirm.” Cael took another sip of his bourbon.

“Handsome and smart, what a catch,” Tristan winked at his friend, who scowled in response.

“For this commission, the original memories were all about the Fallen Goddess,” Cael continued. “Memories from older Fae who were alive before the war when all of Ethyrios worshiped her as fervently as the High Gods are worshiped now.”

Tristan didn’t know much about the Fallen Goddess, the so-called Creator. A stipulation of the Accords had criminalized any mention of her or her religion, which was deemed incompatible with the new hierarchical order brought forth by the peace agreement. The Empire had destroyed all copies of her sacred text, the Compendium of Creation, and had forced her priestesses, by threat of execution, to preach faith in the High Gods instead.

“The Artisan has almost completed the final manipulated memory, said her client requested delivery no later than Monday of this week,” Cael said. “A Deathstalker is coming down to fetch it.”

“Did she show you the manipulated memory?” Cassandra asked, dark waves falling into her lap as she leaned forward.

“She refused,” Cael shook his head. “I had to promise I wouldn’t arrest her and used every ounce of my considerable charm to get her to even tell me that much.”

“Considerable charm,” Xenia snickered, and Cael aimed a smirk at her, something new passing between them. Cael winced as he pulled himself upright, massaging his neck and shoulders again.

“Did she tell you anything useful about the memory? Any hint of her client’s intentions?” Tristan asked.

“She was cagey, but I got the impression that her client intends to restore faith in the Fallen Goddess,” Cael said. “Wants to use Delirium to implant memories that will sow discord throughout the continent and bring down the Empire. The question is, is it a small group of zealots or a larger, more insidious movement? Until we can identify the mastermind behind the missing Sisters’ abductions, there’s no way to tell.”

“Fuck, that’s what I was afraid of,” Tristan said, pinching the bridge of his nose to chase away the headache forming behind his eyeballs.

Though Tristan welcomed the fall of the Emperor, he worried about what rebellion would mean for the less fortunate in Ethyrios—how likely it would be for them to suffer in the ensuing power vacuum.

“Did she realize we’re trying to stop her client?” Tristan asked.

“She was sympathetic when I told her we suspected her client has been abducting Shrouded Sisters,” Cael said. “She didn’t realize that was the intention of the first manipulated memory she’d created. She’s retained a fondness for the order and believes in the work you’re doing.” Cael nodded towards Cassandra and Xenia, the latter sitting taller at the indirect compliment.

“And as you guessed yesterday, Tristan, she has no love for the new Emperor. So no qualms that her work will help usurp him. Plus, she’s only received a half payment and wasn’t about to sacrifice the other half to help our cause,” Cael bit out harshly. “I got the distinct impression she doesn’t care what happens, as long as she and her partner are safe in their love nest in Meridon.”

“Short-sighted fools,” Tristan mumbled. “But at least she confirmed our suspicions—her client must be whoever Opheron was working for.”

Cael rubbed his shoulders again, and Xenia shouted at him, “Bloody Stygios, get over here you stubborn idiot!” He glanced at her questioningly before she shot up and crossed the room. She grabbed his hand, dragged him to the floor in front of her, and batted at his fleshy gray wings. “Put these down, I can’t reach you.”

Cael lowered his wings, and Xenia dug into his shoulders with her long, slender fingers, wringing a suggestive groan from him. Two spots of color bloomed on Xenia’s cheeks, though she didn’t stop her ministrations.

“Come to Meridon with me,” she mumbled. “Look at how sore you are from flying alone!”

“I would’ve managed,” Cael grunted as Xenia thrust a knuckle into the meaty muscle between his neck and shoulder. “Fuck, that feels good,” he exhaled, and Xenia’s flush deepened.

Cassandra glanced at Tristan, her teeth digging into her luscious lower lip to suppress her laughter as her eyes danced with mirth.

Xenia battered Cael’s sore muscles, the Vestian’s head dipping as he moaned with pleasure, and she addressed Tristan, “How about you two? Did you learn anything useful tonight?”

Cassandra spoke first. “The courtesan at the Serpent’s Den confirmed that the young man in the memory—his name is Aristol—works in the Delirium factory down by the harbor. That must be where the black marble hallway is located.”

“Shit,” Cael grimaced from the floor. “Why didn’t we think of that? It’s large enough and outfitted with Fae magic. High Gods forbid those junkies on the continent wait a few days longer for a mortal factory to produce their Delirium.”

Tristan untied his hair, dragging his fingers through the loose strands that fell to his shoulders. Cassandra marked the movement, her fingers twitching in her lap as if she wanted to run them through it too. He wished they were alone; he would’ve let her. Would’ve laid his head in her lap and purred like a kitten while she stroked him, let her touch chase away the anxieties gripping his gut over their enemies’ newly revealed plans.

“We need to get in there,” Tristan said in a low, determined voice, “as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, but we need to be smart about it,” Cael winced as he looked up from the floor. Xenia caressed his neck, searching for her next spot of attack, and Tristan swore he saw his friend shudder. “We can’t just barge in in broad daylight.”

Tristan nodded, knowing Cael was right, despite his impulse to do just that—barge in, knock heads, and save Cassandra’s Sisters. “Aristol only started working there a few months ago. He’s part of the security detail.” Tristan snorted—some scrawny security detail. “He could be a weak link for us to exploit. Cael, you and I should scope it out tomorrow. Perhaps we could intercept him and, uh…persuade him to let us in after hours.”

Cassandra glanced meaningfully at Xenia, and the two lovely women nodded, some silent decision having passed between them. “We’re coming with you,” Cassandra said flatly.

“The fuck you are,” Cael chimed in, then yelped as Xenia pinched his upper shoulder. “Nasty. That hurt.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me, pterodactyl,” Xenia growled.

An almost imperceptible twitch revealed a grin on Cael’s lips before his scowl returned. “It’s not safe. That place will be crawling with Deathstalkers.”

“Oh, but it’s safe for Cass to go traipsing to the Empress’s Lap and the Serpent’s Den and the High Gods know where else with Tristan?” Xenia countered, digging into Cael’s shoulders harder with each word.

“She’s been journeying off grounds for years. She’s trained with real weapons and knows how to defend herself,” Cael choked out between hisses with each freshly delivered blow from Xenia.

Xenia removed her hands from Cael’s shoulders, severing whatever bond had been building between them. “I am not helpless,” she stated. “Cass has been training me in secret for months. And what better opportunity for me to test out my skills?”

Cael jerked around, grunting in pain at his sudden movement. “I—”

Cassandra cut him off. “She’s coming.” Her tone brooked no room for argument.

Cael glanced up at Tristan, dumbfounded and imploring for help.

Tristan laughed and leaned back on his palms. “You want to try to tell these two what to do?”

“Don’t you have temple shifts?” Cael grumbled, a final effort to dissuade the Sisters.

“Nope!” Xenia chirped. “Tomorrow’s Sunday—we’re only required at breakfast and chapel services. So it’s settled then. Cass and I will meet you out back once services are over tomorrow and we’ll all go scope out the factory together. Oh, this will be fun! I haven’t been off grounds in ages.” Xenia’s springy blond curls bounced around her excited face.

“Fine,” Cael surrendered, dragging his weary body off the floor and helping himself to another glass of bourbon. “But you obey every word I say. If I tell you to hold back, you hold back. I tell you to wait outside, you wait outside. Understood?”

Before Xenia’s mouth was even halfway open, Cael shut her down. “No arguing,” he bit out, gnashing his elongated canines. “Or I swear by Anaemos, I’ll leave you here tied to your bed.”

A faint blush crawled up Xenia’s neck as Cael stared at her, his steel-gray eyes flinty, determined. Xenia’s scent shifted, a tang of fear followed by a hint of musk that signaled she was frightened yet aroused. Cael flared his nostrils and rippled his wings. Oh, he’d noticed.

“Yes, Officer,” Xenia answered. And though she appeared to be the picture of subservience, something devilish sparkled in the emerald green eyes she aimed directly at Cael.

Cael was so still that Tristan could tell he was fighting some reaction. Xenia looked away first and the red-hot tension between them dissolved. Cael lifted his tumbler, draining the last of his bourbon.

As Cassandra’s gaze volleyed between Cael and her friend, Tristan suspected her thoughts matched his own.

Tomorrow just got a whole lot more entertaining.