Exasperated, and trying to ignore the guilt coming from a memory I didn’t entirely have, I closed the box and pushed it away. “The feeling is mutual,” I said, tugging on my socks. “Trent is a lying, manipulative brat, and always has been.”

She handed me the Nancy Drew, exhaling slowly. “So … you think this entire situation with the coven is one of his scams? That Trent told them about you?”

I looked at the cover and the furtive posture of Nancy as she held a tablet engraved with ley-line glyphs, treasure hunting. Oh, when it had looked that easy. “I don’t know,” I said, miserable with confusion as I handed the book back to her to keep.

Ivy held it possessively as I looked at the closed box of memories. I wanted to be pissed at Trent about the coven, but something in my gut said no. Seeing the stuff from camp … things had happened there that I couldn’t remember. Memory blockers were like that, clouding events but leaving emotions intact, and as the collective mementos touched on half memories, I couldn’t tell if my anger at Trent was because he was a camp brat or if he was truly bad.

“I just don’t know anymore,” I finally said. “He is in jeopardy, too, now, and there are easier ways for him to make my life miserable.”

Ivy made a soft sound and set the dog-eared Nancy Drew carefully beside her. Much as I’d like to believe he hadn’t told the coven I could invoke demon magic, I was done with being stupid. It was far easier to believe this was one of his elaborate schemes. Easier, yes, but smart? Because if Trent hadn’t told them, then someone else had, and I didn’t have a clue as to who. Logic said he had done it, but if I was logical, I’d have made the familiar bond active between us and forced him to be nice to me. Instead I had rescued him at great cost to myself because of a freaking gut feeling. And I still didn’t know why. My eyes strayed to the box, feeling as if the answer was in there somewhere.

“Why don’t you use the Pandora charm and find out?”

I stared at Ivy—I’d forgotten that I even had it. “You think it’s something from the camp?”

“He did say he might make you one if the memory you wanted was of camp or your dad. Well, he made you one.”

“You’re nuts!” I exclaimed, but she was shaking her head, smiling.

Her eyes touched on the closed box. “Whether you remember it or not, you and Trent go back a long way. I’d think it worth finding out if your gut feelings about him are based on something real or a childhood argument over a hoof pick. Don’t you?”