Quinton shakes his head and makes a tsk sound. “Now, now. As I told you, I am an ally. You need not hide your identity from me.”

I swallow. “I’m Michael Blakeley,” I say, ignoring the fact that the witch is peering straight into my mind. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Quinton steps toward me, his brow creasing, lips pursed. I try to avert my gaze, hide from his penetrating attention, but it’s as if he’s rooting me in place with his eyes.

For what feels like minutes, I stand there, unable to move, breath shallow, heart pounding, sweat prickling my skin. His presence sifts through my mind, the lick of his spotlight illuminating dark corners that should be private. After an age, he releases me, and I have to grasp a cabinet to steady myself.

“No,” he says. “You really don’t know what I speak of, do you? She left you a letter, but her words to you were ruined. Even so, I think it best if we take precautions.” He stills, then glances behind him at the door. His expression tightens. “Deary me, we’re about to be disturbed. I thought I would have more time. Quickly now.” He steps closer and holds out his hands. “Give me your hands, Michael. Come quickly now.”

I’m still recovering from his mind assault. I blink and shake my head. No way am I giving him my hands.

Quinton’s voice takes on a deeper, echoing quality. “Michael, you will comply. Put your hands in mine.”

Without knowing why, I walk forward, and he clasps my wrists.

“Forgive me for this, my boy, but it must be done. Most witches in Blackriver will be able to read your mind, as well as others, and this puts you in grave danger. Look at me.”

I raise my eyes, unable to do otherwise, and I’m met by two green orbs—jade green, the same color as mine. They hold my attention with an iron grip, and everything else falls away. I’m absorbed into an ocean of sea-green fire.

“Michael, you will not remember any mention of the name Sabel. You will not remember it as your true name. You will not remember that piece of paper or the words written upon it. That paper never existed.”

No! My mind jerks away, bolting for a door, any door, to escape what I know he’s doing. He’s altering my memory the way Flanagan thought the vampires had. Panic grips my chest. The name, the parchment, it’s all I have. If I lose it, I lose everything. Any chance of knowing more about my parents and finding their killer will be gone.

His tone sharpens. “Keep your mind still.”

“No.” I growl, but not out loud. I can’t move or speak. My hands are fists inside his steel grip.

“This is necessary. Obey me.”