“I remember,” I whisper hoarsely.

“You made a stew, and seasoned it with rare spices from the hold of the ship—the same precious cargo they had hoped to steal. It was I who guided your hand that day.”

“It seems my thanks is overdue.” I bow my head, more in shame than in gratitude.

“You are most welcome. And now that your memory has been rekindled, do you recall my name as well?”

I close my eyes once more and conjure the smell of the sea. “Oleander,” I whisper. “I remember now. But I called you Angel—because of the wings.”

“And I called you Weed.” His wings spread and arch upward. “Poor, straggly Weed. Because no one ever wanted you, no matter where you went or how many seeming ‘miracles’ you performed. How was I to know the name would stick?”

“Will you come to my aid again now?” My heart twists with a last, agonizing surge of hope. “I seek a cure for Jessamine Luxton. I have done all that was asked of me in exchange for it. Time is short—I beg of you—”

He ignores my pleading. He looks up at me, and I am again startled by the emerald color of his eyes, so similar to my own. “Poor Jessamine,” he murmurs. “She was truly quite lovely.”

“What do you mean?” I cry, stepping toward him. “Is it already too late?”

“Not yet. Not quite. Foolish, brave girl! She is so near death, on the precipice, really. And oh, how she suffers! Unlike your many victims, Jessamine still bears the full burden of life in the flesh. It is terrible, terrible. Most people would rather die than endure what she now endures.”

“Give me the cure,” I say thickly. “Please.”

“There is something we need to discuss first.” His wings rise and flex again, chilling me with their shadow. “Time and again you have entered my realm to bargain for a cure for your beloved. You have demanded it, begged for it, you have even killed for it. But you have never bothered to ask: What is it, exactly, that ails your sweet Jessamine?”

“To save her is all that matters to me.”

“But aren’t you the least bit curious? Is it the dropsy? The ague? A rare intestinal parasite, perhaps?”

“Enough!” It is all I can do to keep from throttling him. “She is near death, you said so yourself. There is no time left for talk—”

“I find your lack of curiosity … curious, that is all. Almost as if you would prefer not to know.” He looks at me intently. “Humor me. Ask me what ails her.”

This is a trick, I can feel it, yet once again I have no choice but to play along. “What ails her?” My voice is hollow.

“She is being poisoned.”