To say that Jason was apprehensive about Selene entering his memories again was an understatement. The first time had felt like having his heart pulled out of his nostril, chewed up, and spit back into the opposite nostril. Silas had been right. The woman sitting cross-legged before him looked as sweet and gentle as an angel, but the power in those dainty, tapered fingers, those two hands adorned with ritualistic symbols, was as fierce and powerful as the goddess’s.

“You’re trembling again,” Selene said. “Are the withdrawal symptoms coming back?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m scared shitless. I don’t want to end up in bed for four days again.”

She took one of his hands in hers, and Jason had to suppress the temptation to pull her forward the extra inch and press his lips to hers. “Trust me, Jason. Last time I was rough with you. I had to be. You were fighting me at every turn. This time, it won’t be like that. You know why we’re doing this now. You’ve already come so far. Open yourself up to me.”

He nodded. What other choice did he have? Her hand on his might as well have been a steel binding. His heart would have skipped out of his chest and slid down his arm to be part of that coupling, the traitor.

“The only way to conquer a vice is to discover the need it’s trying to fill and fill it with something else. Today, I’m going to find a memory of something that once filled that need, before your vice took hold. One so bright and powerful it will become an anchor, holding you to your true need, keeping you from floating too far toward your vice.”

“Okay. Why can’t I remember it on my own?”

“Believe it or not, our minds have a way of shielding us from the good as well as the bad. I’ll be able to remind you of things you may not recall on your own.” Adjusting herself so that her knees touched his, she moved her hands to hover over his heart. “Ready?”

“Yes,” he said. He wasn’t ready. Not really. But he trusted her.

She closed her eyes and gently touched his chest.

* * *

At the moment her hands touched Jason’s chest, Selene felt the familiar shifting as if the rate of the earth revolving on its axis increased threefold. The great room melted away and she stood in the infinite web of pulsing strands that made up his memories. With a jolt, she noticed the dark tangle she’d visited before, the memory of Professor Matthews was lighter in color now, the strands still coiled tightly but not tied in knots like before. He’d accepted the events and was starting to heal emotionally. Good.

She scanned the web looking for the light. Bright green pulsed above her and she followed it toward a particularly bright spot in his consciousness.

But when she found the brightest, warmest spot in his memories, she had trouble reaching it. It was all tangled up and hidden by dark sections so that she almost couldn’t tell where the light began and the darkness ended. Reaching out, she folded her hand to navigate the knot until, with surgical precision, her fingers slid over the argent thread at its center. Blinding light surrounded her, transported her, and she found herself standing in a kitchen.

The smell of baking gingerbread cookies filled her nostrils and the laughter of three teenage siblings met her ears. She knew these kids. The royal family: Silas, Jason, and Laina. Which meant that the woman swaying and humming in front of the stove was their mother. A white candle inside a glass hurricane lamp burned brightly between them, surrounded by an arrangement of greens, red berries, and ribbon. Christmas, she thought.

“You should take French, Jason. The girls love a man who can speak French,” Silas said. He looked to be eighteen or nineteen and was wearing a Cornell T-shirt.

“Silas,” the dark-haired girl said, rolling her eyes. Laina. “Jason shouldn’t choose a language to study based on its ability to woo girls. He should be thinking about college and employment opportunities.” Laina rubbed the youngest boy’s shoulders. “Study Spanish or, better yet, Mandarin.”

Their mother left the stove to plant a kiss on the side of Jason’s head. “Choose what speaks to your heart. If you follow your passion, the universe will find the right place for you.” She ruffled his hair before crossing back to the stove to pull the tray of cookies from the oven.

“Mom, that’s terrible advice!” Laina said. “Who knows what stupid ideas his heart will come up with? He could end up wasting his time on something utterly useless, like… like Italian.”

A lanky man with glasses and a hint of gray in his hair strode in and spun Mrs. Flynn around. “Cosa c’è di sbagliato con l’italiano?”

Mrs. Flynn looked up into her husband’s eyes and adjusted her arms around his neck. She took a deep, contented breath. “Personally, I love Italian,” she whispered into her husband’s lips. The two parents danced between the oven and the kitchen island, drawn into each other as if they were the only two people on the planet.

Silas groaned. “Ugh! Get a room.” He cupped a hand over his eyes and exchanged awkward glances with his siblings.

“I have a room,” Mr. Flynn said through a barely restrained smile. “I have an entire house. You just happen to live in it.” They broke into laughter as he spun Mrs. Flynn from his arms.

After a short peck on her husband’s cheek, she grabbed the tray of cookies and slid them onto the island. “Who’s ready for gingerbread?”

The three teens popped up and Jason pried a cookie from the tray with his bare fingers, tossing it between his hands to keep them from burning. His face… Selene couldn’t look away. He was so open, so innocent, so trusting. But the predominant feeling, as she stood in this memory, was love. Unconditional love. Familial love.

This was it. This was his anchor.

As the memory ended, Selene experienced the familiar rushing fall of her extraction from his consciousness with mixed emotions. She desperately wanted to stay in that kitchen, in that safe place of love and warmth, but it wasn’t her life or her memory. It was Jason’s. Her job was to share it with him, to remind him of the place of love that he came from, the thing he could cling to when the darkness was close at hand.

Opening her lungs, she took a gasping breath as she broke the surface of deep consciousness. Only after removing her hands from Jason’s chest did she remember she was the only thing holding him up. He slumped toward her. “Shoot. Sorry.” Catching him by the shoulders, she lowered him to the floor, noticing the thick cords of muscle in his arms. He’d gained weight during their time together. He was bigger. Heavier.

“Jason?”

He blinked up at her as if waking from a deep sleep. “Did you get it? Do I have… light?”

“Yes.” She laughed. “You have a strong anchor, a memory so perfect I didn’t want to leave it.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows.

“You should have something to eat and drink. Was it as bad as last time? Do you feel nauseous?”

Jason sat up the rest of the way and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not as bad. I’m groggy but I feel okay.”

“Come on, I’ll make you some tea.” She held out her hand to him but he rose without her help. Selene thought he looked stronger as he moved past her to the kitchen where he began filling the teapot.

“So, what was this memory?” he asked. He placed the teapot on the stove and lit the burner.

“You were fifteen, sitting at the table with Laina and Silas. Your mother was making gingerbread cookies.” Selene paused because Jason had gone ghost white. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I… I think… excuse me.” He strode from the room without another word, leaving Selene staring confusedly into an empty kitchen.