Nothing stood between Newt and us now but a man, his purple robes reflecting hers in all but color. He was barefoot, and only now did I remember the flash of those robes coming between me and Ceri as he shoved the elf into the bubble to break it so he could get to Newt.

“Let me go, Minias,” Newt snarled, and my eyes widened at his thick-knuckled hand gripping her upper arm. “She has something of mine. I want it back.”

“What has she got of yours?” he asked calmly, his back to me. Newt was a head shorter than Minias, and it made her look vulnerable despite the scathing vehemence in her voice. His voice carried the intent sound of a more-than-casual question, and my eyes dropped to the grip he had on her staff, right above her hand. It never eased up, not even as his honey-amber voice spilled into the violated sanctuary like a balm. Soothing, yes, but holding tension, too.

Newt said nothing. I could see the hem of her robe past Minias tremble.

I scrambled up, Ceri finding her feet beside me. She didn’t bother to reinstate the circle. What was the point? Minias shifted to block Newt’s view. He was focused on her, but I was sure he was aware of us, and he looked like he knew what he was doing. I had yet to see his face, but his brown hair was short, the curls crushed by the same hat Newt wore.

“Breathe,” Minias said, as if trying to trigger something. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to remember,” she whispered. It was as if we weren’t even in the room anymore, so focused were they on each other, and only now did Minias’s grip become gentle.

“Then why do you—”

“Because it hurts,” she said, her bare feet shifting.

Leaning in as if concerned, he asked gently, “Why did you come here?”

She was silent, and then finally said, “I don’t remember.” It was agitated—soft and threatening—and the only reason I believed her was that she had clearly forgotten before Minias had shown up.

Minias lost the last of his anger. I felt as if we were witnessing a common but seldom-seen event, and I hoped he would hold to his promise that they wouldn’t take us when they were ready to leave. “Then let’s go,” he soothed, and I wondered how much of this was caretaker and how much was simply caring. Could demons care about each other?

“Maybe you’ll remember when we get back,” he said, turning Newt as if he were going to lead her away. “If you forget something, you should go to where you first thought it, and it will be waiting for you.”