She said nothing for several seconds. Then— “You can tell me if there is.” She cleared her throat. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “It must be hard, riding with me like this.”

I would have to kill her.

“Seriously, Reid.” Lowering her voice, she turned to look at me in the saddle. I exhaled harshly at the movement. “Do I need to move?” The sudden earnestness in her expression startled me. As did the flush in her cheeks. The dilation of her pupils. “I can sit behind you.”

Ahead of us, Beau glanced back at me before winking and whispering in Coco’s ear. She laughed. Feverish with rage or—or something else—I shook my head. Their sly behavior chafed. All of it. Though truthfully, one couldn’t call them sly at all. Each communicated openly if not clearly, which made it all the more infuriating. They were laughing at my expense.

I just didn’t know why.

And I wouldn’t be humiliated by a witch.

I jerked my chin behind me. “Move.”

She stood in the stirrups without hesitation. Or tried. She couldn’t reach both, instead standing on tiptoe atop each of my boots. She nearly lost her balance. I didn’t help her. Didn’t touch her. Not until she pivoted to face me, her breasts at eye level. I nearly choked. Though she shimmied to maneuver around, they still brushed my cheek, and I lurched backward. She smelled sweet. Too sweet. Swiftly, I wrapped an arm around her waist, propelling her behind me. She clutched my shoulders for balance. Her thighs cradled mine. I held back a groan.

At least her breasts weren’t in my face anymore—they were pressed into my back.

God was trying to kill me.

She slid her arms around my torso. “Is this better?”

“How do I restore my memories?” I asked instead. Hideous shame tightened my chest. This physical response—I’d never felt it with such intensity. Worse, the ache didn’t ease. It only strengthened with each passing moment. My body felt . . . unfulfilled. Like it knew what came next. Like it craved it. But that was nonsense. It didn’t know anything, didn’t crave anything, and it certainly didn’t recognize that sweet smell.

“It’ll be painful. I’ve only done it once.”

“And?”

“And I just sort of . . . focused on the holes in the tapestry. I followed the loose threads.”

I scoffed. “Riddles.”

“No.” She squeezed me tighter, her wrist dangerously close to one of my knives. I didn’t warn her. “It isn’t a riddle at all. Think of a specific gap in your memory. Focus. Remember everything around it—the colors, the scents, the sounds. Logically, your mind will try to fill in the missing pieces, but subconsciously, each explanation will feel wrong.” She paused. “That’s when you move on to the illogical ones. The magical ones.”