Page 62 of Wicked Embers

“It’s not just a songbook,” he says gravely.

I open my mouth to argue, flipping the cover open, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me. His gaze bores into mine, his tone deadly serious. “Don’t. Not yet. That book could be a trigger.”

“A trigger?” My stomach twists with unease. “A trigger for what?”

“For your memories,” Nikolas says, his voice dropping. “Lulu-Petal, you need to know the truth—we all do.”

The words slam into me like a physical blow. My pulse quickens, and a sharp pain stabs through my temple. “No,”I whisper hoarsely, shaking my head. Terror grips me by the throat like it’s trying to strangle me, and my breathing becomes labored. “No, I don’t want to remember.” I try and shove the book back at him.

“You have to,” he says gently, almost pleading. “You need to remember because you’re in danger. And you’re the only one who can identify the people who were in the room that day.”

“What day?” The pain in my head intensifies, pounding against my skull. My vision blurs slightly, the room spinning. “What day?”

“The day you almost died.” His voice feels distant, echoing. “The day you witnessed the deaths of Gunther Mirochin, Vladimir Molchanov, and your mother.”

The names hit me like a freight train, and the blinding pain in my head sears through me, pulling me under. My legs buckle, the weight of his words crushing me. Everything around me dissolves into cold, swirling gray. Somewhere in the fog, I feel strong arms catch me, holding me tightly, warmly.

“Don’t leave me again, Papa,” a distant voice—mine, but not mine—floats through the haze. “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to do it.”

Darkness claims me.

Chapter 23

LEIGH

A knock at my door pulls me from sleep, the sound distant yet insistent. I stretch, blinking at the morning light filtering through the curtains. Despite the previous day’s exhaustion, I feel groggy, like I’ve been dragged from the depths of a restless dream.

“Come in,” I call, surprised by the steadiness of my voice.

The door creaks open, and Tracy steps in, a bright smile plastered across her face. She’s carrying a steaming cup of coffee, placing it on the bedside table. A glance at my watch tells me it’s six in the morning.

“Good morning, Leigh,” she chirps. “Today’s a big day. We’re heading to Vegas, and I’ve been tasked with taking you shopping for a special dress.”

The word Vegas sends a jolt through me. My heart quickens, excitement and unease swirling in equal measure. Vegas means freedom—escape. A chance to start orchestrating my plan for theGamblers Cross.

But beneath that flicker of hope, a knot tightens in my chest.What’s Radomir planning? Why is he suddenly letting me loose in Vegas on a shopping spree? What is the catch?

“You look tired,” Tracy observes, walking toward the dressing room. She stops, frowning at the door handle that won’t budge. “Did you lock this?”

I sit up, my brow furrowing.Did I lock the doors?I glance at the bedside table where a small set of keys sits innocuously.

“There they are!” Tracy exclaims. “Mind if I unlock this?”

The sight of the keys jolts my memory.Last night. The songbook. Him. A sharp ache blossoms behind my temples, and my breath hitches. My head feels like Swiss cheese, riddled with holes where memories should be.

“Leigh?” Tracy’s voice breaks through my daze. “You okay?”

I force a smile, brushing away the rising panic. “Yeah. I locked the doors in a fit of paranoia. This place is too big and creepy at night.”

She laughs, unlocking the doors one by one. “I don’t blame you. If I had to sleep alone in a place like this, I’d barricade myself in too.”

I nod absently, my eyes darting to the pillow beside me. Something peeks out from underneath. My chest tightens. Slowly, I lift the pillow, revealing my mother’s songbook. My heart pounds as I flip it open, and a note slips out:

Don’t be afraid, Lulu-Petal. Take it one page at a time. I’ll be close if you need me. ~ Papa

P.S. Hide this book. Your phone’s been cloned.

A searing white-hot pain slices through my skull, making me gasp. Clutching my head, I shove the book into the bedside drawer. The world tilts, nausea surging as bile rises in my throat. I stumble into the bathroom just in time to retch into the toilet.

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