“That was you?” I stammered. “That was you I threw into the tree?”

With motions short and abrupt, he tugged his sleeve back down, hiding the scar. “I’ve never forgiven you for making me cry in front of my father.”

A childhood anger flared from coals I had thought long extinct. “It’s your own fault. I told you to stop teasing her!” I said, not caring that my voice was louder than the surrounding water. “Jasmin was sick. She cried herself to sleep for three weeks because of you.”

Trent jerked upright. “You know her name?” he exclaimed. “Write it down. Quick!”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Why do you care what her name was? She had a hard enough time without you picking on her.”

“Her name!” Trent said, patting his pockets until he found a pen. “What’s her name?”

Scowling, I tucked a curl behind an ear. “I’m not going to tell you,” I said, embarrassed that I had forgotten it again.

Trent pressed his lips together and put the pen away. “You forgot already, didn’t you?”

“Why do you care anyway? All you did was pester her.”

He looked cross as he tugged his hat lower over his eyes. “I was fourteen. A very awkward fourteen, Ms. Morgan. I teased her because I liked her. Next time you recall her name, I would appreciate it if you would write it down and send it to me. There were long-term memory blockers in the camp’s drinking water, and I would like to know if—”

His voice cut off, and I watched the emotion flicker behind his eyes. I was becoming good at reading them. “You want to know if she survived,” I finished for him, knowing I had guessed right when his gaze went elsewhere. “Why were you there?” I asked, almost afraid he’d tell me.

“My father owned the camp. Where else would I spend my summers?”

The cadence of his voice and the slight tightening of his brow told me it had been more than that. A thrill of satisfaction warmed me; I’d found his tell for when he lied. Now all I needed was the same for when he was speaking the truth, and he’d never be able to successfully lie to me again.

“You are as filthy as your father,” I said, disgusted, “blackmailing people by dangling a cure within their reach and making them your puppets. Your parents’ fortune was built on the misery of hundreds, maybe thousands, Mr. Kalamack. And you’re no different.”

Trent’s chin trembled almost imperceptibly, and I thought I saw a shimmer of sparkles about him, the memory of his aura playing tricks on me. Must be an elf thing. “I will not justify my actions to you,” he said. “And you have become very adept in the art of blackmail yourself. I’m not going to waste my time bickering like children over who hurt whose feelings over a decade ago. I want to hire your services.”

“Hire me?” I said, unable to keep my voice lowered as I put my hands on my hips in disbelief. “You tried to kill me in the rat fights, and you think I’m going to work for you? To help clear your name? You murdered those witches. I’m going to prove it.”