“That adds weight and interest,” Malik agreed with a nod.
“Location?” Luc asked.
“I’d prefer here. If there’s to be an engagement with Balthasar, I’d prefer it happen on our territory and our terms. But perhaps in a tent on the grounds, weather permitting, in order to keep him out of the House proper?”
I nodded, looked at Luc. “In the meantime, we’ll go back through Balthasar’s timeline again, back to the beginning. We didn’t know about the Circle the first time we looked. Maybe, with fresh eyes, something will pop.”
I hoped it would. Because no one else deserved the trauma he seemed hell-bent to put people through.
* * *
When Ethan and Malik had gone, Luc skimmed fingers over the controls in the tabletop, and the timeline appeared on-screen. Most of the events were now green, meaning they’d been verified. A couple were still black, meaning they needed corroborating. None were red.
“So he told the truth about his past,” I said.
Luc nodded. “The facts line up, except for the couple we haven’t yet verified.”
“Which are?”
Luc used a handheld tablet to zoom in on the chart. “Jeff’s algorithm didn’t pop any mention of Balthasar’s name in the Memento Mori ledgers, but Jeff’s not confident in the results. Thinks it could be due to the program, the inconsistency of the handwriting. The error rate’s too high. He’s going to keep looking.”
I nodded. “What else?”
He pointed to another black box. “The safe house in Switzerland. Chalet Rouge. It’s still operating, but I haven’t been able to reach anyone yet. That’s a phone tag issue.”
I considered, but shook my head. That wasn’t anything, either. “Go back to the beginning.”
“What?”
“The beginning of the timeline. Go back to the beginning.”
Luc zoomed out, resituated the timeline at the beginning. It began with Persephone’s death, Ethan’s departure, the attack on Balthasar by, as he’d put it, the “relative of some girl or other.”
I suddenly remembered the look on Balthasar’s face when he’d attacked me, the blankness when I’d mentioned her name. The utter lack of recognition.
The memory swamped me, raised a cold sweat down my back, a bubble of nausea in my throat. I closed my eyes, pursed my lips, forced myself to breathe in and out until the weight on my chest subsided.
“Sentinel?” Luc asked quietly.
I held up a hand, let my breaths come and go quietly until the panic passed. And felt dread settle low in my abdomen again, that I’d be living with terrifying and humiliating bouts of panic for the rest of my immortal life.
“Okay,” I said a moment later. “I’m okay.” I shook my head, accepted without argument the bottle of water Lindsey handed me, took a long drink.
“He didn’t know her name,” I said when I was done.
Luc looked confused. “Who?”
“Persephone. When he attacked me, I mentioned her name. Balthasar looked completely blank, like he had no idea who she was.”
Luc looked at the chart, contemplated. “He’d been tortured. Could have forgotten it.”
“Yeah, but that seems to be the only thing he doesn’t remember. He was attacked by a band of ‘some girl’s’ relatives, held by them for magical purposes for years, can tell us every place he’s been since then, but he doesn’t mention the girl’s name?” I looked at Luc. “If they show up at his house to punish him, to kill him, damn straight they’re going to mention her name, tell him they’re avenging her death, or his attack on her, or whatever. I’d sure remember it.”
“He didn’t say he didn’t know it,” Lindsey pointed out. “He just didn’t mention it. And we’re talking about Balthasar. He’s not gonna win Feminist of the Year.”
“And even if you’re right,” Luc said, “and he didn’t remember her name, why does it matter?”
Because her name mattered. To Balthasar, to Ethan, to the story. And maybe, I thought, dread beginning to rise thick in my chest, to all of us.