Copper Veins by Jennifer Allis Provost Page A

snorted. “She is unquestionably without honor.”
    â€œThat’s my point,” I said. “We need someone familiar with dark magic and its aftereffects. She doesn’t seem to be much into charitable works.” I shuddered, remembering the deal she’d tricked me into.
    â€œThat she does not,” Micah said dryly. We had reached the apothecary door, and I laced my fingers with Micah’s before we entered.
    â€œThank you for coming with me,” I said. “I know you don’t like it here.”
    Micah smiled and squeezed my fingers, but did notspeak. Only a fool would disparage the crone while standing on her front stoop. With that, we pushed open the door and sneezed.
    Somehow, I always managed to forget how filthy the apothecary was. It could be a dust museum based on how thick the stuff was. I really should have brought Shep, along with a Dustbuster or three. Once my sneezing fits had subsided, we found the crone seated in her usual spot behind the counter, drinking something out of a clay cup.
    â€œLord and Lady Silverstrand,” she croaked. “What good fortune has brought you both to my shop today?”
    Micah inclined his head toward the crone and murmured a greeting. Forgoing the niceties, I asked, “Do you know anything about spells that demand your memories as a price?”
    The crone raised a shaggy gray brow. “Those magics are powerful,” she replied, “far too powerful for a girl like you.”
    â€œI don’t want to use them,” I said. “I…know someone who has.” She stared at me, unmoving, until I elaborated. “My father. He had to use those spells.”
    The crone’s eye widened—I’d actually shocked her. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured. “A Corbeau would never sink to dabbling with such forces.”
    â€œHe had to. It was war,” I said. “Is there any way to restore his memories?”
    â€œThere is, but the price for restoring them is as dearas the memories themselves.” She leaned forward. “Do not forget, dearie, you already owe me. Careful you don’t amass more debts than you can pay.”
    Micah, who had been wandering about the crowded shop, was at my side in an instant. “Watch your tongue, old woman,” he growled. “Sara owes nothing.”
    â€œUm.” I touched Micah’s hand, and his furious gaze slid to meet mine. “I kind of do.”
    Micah’s eyes narrowed. “My wife’s debts are my own,” he proclaimed. “What does she owe?”
    The crone cackled. “Shall I tell him, dearie? Or would you like the pleasure?”
    I looked at the floor and wondered if I could dig a hole and hide in it, and if, once Micah heard my answer, he would want me to stay there. “Anything.”
    â€œWhat?” Micah slid a long finger along my jaw, and tilted my chin up. “Please, love, repeat that.”
    â€œAnything.” I took a deep breath, and continued, “I told her I would owe her anything.”
    Micah dropped his hand from my chin, his back straightening. “When are you planning to collect?” he asked the crone, his gaze never leaving me.
    â€œNot today, and probably not tomorrow,” she replied. “But I fully intend to do so.”
    At that, Micah bid her a good day, grabbed my elbow, and hauled me out of the apothecary. Others stared at the sight of the Lord of Silver dragging his wife down the village streets, but no one was foolishenough to get in his way. I was the only fool there.
    Once we reached the metal pathway, Micah threw us into the silver, I assumed so we could quickly return home. Instead of the smooth, straight ride to the manor I was used to, Micah took a hard turn, so hard that I had to grab onto his shirt or risk being flung from the metal. The rest of the journey was like driving down an unpaved road in a car without shocks, so rough I felt my teeth