The dreamworld was insubstantial, like clouds changing shape as they drifted across the sky. Until the nightmare arose as it always did when I finally succumbed to sleep. The dreamworld dimmed and darkened and a country road materialized and solidified.

My heart palpitated against my ribs as I relived the horror of that night so long ago, the sound of my baby sister's terrified wails tearing apart the desolate night.

Death and fear surrounded the crumpled limousine.

I hurtled across the road strewn with the rubble of steel and glass, the acrid stench of burning rubber assailing my nostrils. Wrath burned a righteous path of bloodshed through my veins, that she dared threaten my family. The knotted hilt of my wyrmbone blade, warm in my grip, sang a violent song of death.

A loud buzzing noise made the sky sound as if it were blanketed with bees. The Horned God formed from shadowy wind, struck out with a whiplashing force.

But I'd been born a storm. As swift as a striking gale. As vengeful and unpredictable as a squall.

I dodged, twisting midair, a spinning whirlwind. The razor-sharp sword in my hand carved through the dark magic right to the buzzing humanoid figure at its center.

A bellow of outrage, of howling pain, as the wyrmblade sank through flesh of an unnatural kind.

But I wasn't facing one Horned God, I was facing three.

Mistress Lyressa advanced, her fingers lengthening and thinning, becoming like long, vicious sewing needles.

In my periphery, I realized my mother had risen. She punched out with both arms toward the Frankenstein monster, and golden filaments of magic wove around her outstretched fingers. But she looked confused, as if struggling to understand herself, the why of it all...

All it took was a split-second distraction—

For the Horned God with the vibrant red hair and moonlit skin to fling a lasso of might around my forearm. She flicked the cord of power like a whip—

And I was hurled backward through the air, far, fast, crashing bodily like a fragile insect against the armored limousine.

My spine snapped. Fiery pain erupted and the world turned black as I screamed in pain.

My mother's petrified shriek joined mine.

It didn't stop either.

The Horned God slammed me against the wall of unforgiving steel, again and again. Until almost every single bone in my body fractured then shattered, my body pummeled until I was a mess of bruised, bloodied flesh.

Released, I fell with one last blood-gurgled gasp, thudding onto the road in a tangle of broken limbs, the mind-splitting agony so excruciating I wavered in and out of consciousness.

My vision swam with black dots edging my sight. I dazedly came to with my mother's voice spearing through the savage pounding in my head, as she frantically begged the Horned Gods to spare my life. The lives of my entire family.

She bowed low, her upper body curved across mine to protect me. Blood was splattered all over her face, the bright red flecks thinned by tears and washing down her cheeks in watery streaks. "Draxxon! Hamon! They sacrificed their lives to save yours. Without Great House Crowther all would have been lost. Please, I beg you for mercy. For Draxxon's Covenant. I'll do anything you ask. Spare my son. Spare my family!"

"MOM! NO!"

I was distantly aware that I muttered in my sleep, that my clammy body was shivering and twitchy.

A soft voice pierced through the shroud of the nightmare. "I'm here...I'm here..." A delicate hand ran soothing strokes gently up and down my arm, and warm lips nuzzled into my throat. "It's okay...I've got you..." My arms tightened around Nelle's willowy body, and I shifted in my sleep to rest my cheek on the crown of her tangled hair, the satiny strands tickling beneath my chin.

Her calming presence eased my erratic breathing and stifled the trembling. With comforting words and soft touches, she banished the nightmare, and it faded away to settle like sand into a new dreamworld painted in rich opulent colors

No, not quite a dream, a recently unearthed memory, expanding until it was fully realized and I fell back in time.

Fell back to a moment when I was five years old, standing inside a strange lair with fabrics lining the walls and vibrant rugs underfoot.

A hand with talon-tipped fingers clapped heavily on my shoulder. "Caught you, Sticky Fingers," a deep voice rumbled.

I gulped and whipped my hand from the enormous glass jar I'd been dipping my fingers into, trying to reach the dried willwips at the bottom of the container. They were tiny otherworldly creatures that came out at night to dance across the sky in a rainbow of light, and I'd been eager to see them better. Even dried, they looked like colorful, cottony clouds.

I craned my head back and stared into a pair of narrowed, blood-red eyes glaring down at me. Fine wisps of smoke roiled off Florin's feathered figure.

"I'll handle this, Florin," I heard my mother call out sharply, and the sound of her high heels striking stone as she marched from the back of the lair toward me.

Florin gave a grunt of acknowledgment. The weighty pressure of his taloned hand left my shoulder as he let me go to turn away. The clunk of his walking cane was muffled by the thick rugs as he hobbled toward his office where warmth rolled outward from the fierce fire set in a huge hearth, and brought with it a stinky smell from something simmering inside the blackened pot perched over the flames.

I twisted around to face my mother. She came to a standstill in front of a gigantic shelf lined with jars. Honeyed candlelight struck off the curved glass and made the fronds of the feather duster she held in her hand seem as if they'd caught alight.

My guilt-ridden gaze locked on hers, and she gave me the stern-mom-eye. "Empty all your pockets, Gray."

"Come on, Mom," I grouched, toeing the ground and folding my arms over my chest. "I haven't taken anything." The lie burned my tongue. I didn't even know why I'd bothered. My mother knew me far too well.

"Now," she warned, stabbing a finger downward.

My shoulders sagged in defeat, as there was no way out of this. I reluctantly dug into my pants pockets and fished out a handful of oddities. They were so weirdly cool too, with strange names stamped on the labels of the jars I'd borrowed them from. Things like the 'Eyelashes of an Albino,' and 'The Hunter's Three-Headed Starburst' and 'Rustumple's Golden Wheat of Death.'

My mother tucked the feather duster under an arm and cupped her hands together. With a glare and a petulant poke of my bottom lip, I held my fists over Mom's hands and let the bits and pieces fall into her palms.

Mom held my gaze, raising an eyebrow, and said, "Alllllll your pockets, Gray. All the secret places on your suit."

Oh, for fucks' sake!

I'd stupidly thought I might be able to get away with it.

Mom twisted sideways and carefully put all the things I'd pinched on a shelf. Today I'd been shoved into a stuffy black suit, and I dug a hand into a hidden pocket stitched into the lining of my blazer, reluctantly fishing out the slender sword forged from the silver toenail of a Bog Booghie. It was as long as my pinky finger, and with my keen eyesight, I could make out the fine detailing, ornately carved into its blade.

Mom stretched out a hand with diamonds wrapped around her wrist. "Hand it over, Sticky Fingers." She couldn't help herself. The moment she voiced the nickname the Horned God had given me, her elegant crimson dress shivered around her figure as she shuddered, snickering. I scrunched my face into a dark scowl. Sticky Fingers!

Dropping the miniature weapon into her palm, I bent over and pulled out the line of teensy-tiny eyeballs strung together like a bracelet from the cuff of my pants. I straightened, my fingers moving to the stiff collar of my white shirt and tugging free a crystal the color of my baby brother's irises that was held in place by the black tie looped around my neck. The crystal sparkled and seemed to me to hold an entire galaxy within its cloudy center.

As I passed it to my mother, my gaze hooked on a jar nearby and I sighed with longing. I'd really wanted one of those creepy shrunken heads floating in a dirty-yellow liquid. Kenton would have screamed like a girl if he woke up to one of those sitting on his pillow.

As I handed them all back to my mother, she tsked me, shaking her head. Her nose wrinkled as she cut a glance over her shoulder with a wry smile. "I guess I can't really blame him."

A gritty, warm laugh floated from the Horned God's office. "No, little thief."

Mom brought her gaze back to mine and ordered, "Shoes too, Gray."

I frowned, glancing downward at my feet. "My shoes?"

She untucked the feather duster from beneath her arm and used it to point down toward our feet. "Shoes are perfect for hiding small things that can be concealed near your toes."

"Ah..." came from Florin. "I always wondered how you managed to steal those stones from me all those years ago."

My mother's mouth twitched with a grin and she clamped her teeth down on her lip to stifle it.

My eyes went round in astonishment. "She did?" I glanced over my shoulder into Florin's office with its oversized furniture. The Horned God was partially obscured as he leaned over a worn workbench, digging around for something near the back of it. I heard a rasp of wooden drawers opening and closing, and chinks of rattling metal before his voice rolled from its depth to reach us where we stood amongst the rarities for sale. "Yes. I met your mother when she was a few years older than you. She'd slunk into my home to thieve from me."

My attention sliced back to my mother. "You're a thief?" I asked, completely taken aback.

She raised a finger to correct me. "I was a thief. I gave up that profession a long time ago."

"Was?" A gruff laugh came from the office as if Florin disagreed with her.

She rounded his way and shot back at him with a defensive tone. "It's not theft. Varen and I are merely reacquiring items that were stolen from his family's treasure trove when it was ransacked after they stepped down from Great House."

My eyes widened.

What the...?

My voice rose up on a squeak. "You and Dad are out stealing?"

My mother spun my way and her eyes grew just as round as mine. "Oh... No...? Maybe...?" she fumbled, fussing with the feather duster. She blew out a breath from the side of her mouth and caved, throwing up a defeated hand and stamping a foot at the same time. "Ugh. Okay, yes, on occasion we pull a tiny heist or two." She wiggled her golden eyebrows and her green eyes sparkled. "That's how we fell for one another all those years ago. We were out stealing from the same person and our heists collided one night."

"Fuuu—"

Mom suddenly let out a strangled shriek, lurched forward, and slapped a hand over my mouth. "Graysen, you know we don't use that kind of language in our family," she warned.

My voice was muffled beneath her hand "But Dad...?" Dad was always cursing.

Her eyes slit. She heaved an irritated sigh, muttering beneath her breath. "When I get home I'm going to wash your father's mouth out with soap."

I couldn't stop the burst of laughter, because that would be funny.

She dropped her hand away and I asked, not yet prepared to let it go. "Stealing, Mom?"

She grinned as her gaze went a little far away with memory. "I must admit, it's a lot of fun. Especially when our mark flashes about the fake copy we replace the stolen item with."

Oooo, clever.

"Can I help with the stealing?" My fingers were already twitching, eager to go out with Mom and Dad and steal stuff from the Upper Ranks.

She tickled my nose with the end of the feather duster. "No."

I threw myself at her, wrapping my arms around her middle to give her a squeezy hug. She smelled like her favorite roses and I sank into her comforting warmth, giving her my best pleading face. "Oh, come on Mom...pleeeeeease..."

She hugged me back, running her free hand through my hair and ruffling it. "Oh, my sweet Tamer. I'm only telling you this because very soon you won't remember any of it."

Wait...what?

"What do you mean?" How could I ever forget such an amazing place?

My mother unwound her arms from me and stepped back. "First, shoes."

I toed my shoes off, bent over, and scooped them up. My sock-clad toes dug into the furry rug as I shook the shoes to prove that I hadn't tucked anything small inside. But I made a mental note that next time I would. Like Mom said, it was the perfect place for hiding small things.

"Hmm, okay," my mother murmured almost as if she still didn't believe me.

I crouched down and put my shoes back on, concentrating hard on tying the laces into a bow. Straightening, I asked, "What did you steal the stones for? What did they do?" Because everything in here was magical, and I didn't think for a second that the stones my mother had stolen were anything ordinary.

She grinned while squeezing my cheek playfully. "You. Always full of questions." She nodded toward my hand, silently asking me to raise it. I did, cupping my palm, wondering what she was going to give me.

Behind me, Florin approached with the rhythmic thunk of his walking cane. The candlelight flickered with the dark magic that emanated from him and it trembled against my skin. His enormous shadow fell over me and I felt as small as one of my action figures in his gigantic presence.

He raised a hand that was human-like but for the black talons curving from the tips of his fingers, and he dropped something into my palm. I flinched as it wriggled against my soft skin, tickling as it writhed and coiled. It was a fat grub with feelers that sprouted around its head and tail, and its body was a glistening verdant green. "What is it?" I asked.

"Hymgild's Memory Eater."

I grinned. "So it makes memories go away?"

My mother nodded, and then said, "Eat up."

My eyes flared wide. "It's alive!" I shrieked.