Thief of Lies by Brenda Drake

light on Arik’s palm while we were in the gateway came to me again. I kept replaying his actions in my mind with the hopes of discovering the secret to creating the light. I’d seen the same light in my hand before, when I was younger. It had freaked me out at first, but then I struggled to find it again.
    I replaced the jar, held up my palm, and tried to remember what I’d done to make it appear. The first time was when I was four. Even though I was so young then, the memory was still vivid.
    The globe had appeared out of nowhere. I’d been alone in my room, playing with a ball of light, when my mother came to tuck me into bed. She dropped her dishtowel, rushed over, and slapped the ball from my hand. Sparks flickered around me. She begged me to never do it again, warning me that if the bad people saw it, they’d hurt me.
    The bad people scared me. I’d buried my face in my teddy and shuddered. She’d picked me up, sat on the bed, placing me on her lap, and chanted something.
    “I bind you to our secret.” That was what she’d said. Oh hell, she’d spelled me. That’s why I couldn’t tell anyone about the magic.
    I strangled my covers, trying to stop my hands from shaking. Why had she hidden this from Pop? He could have helped me. Prepared me. By not telling him, she left me vulnerable.
    An image of her kissing the top of my head and smoothing my hair away from my face came to me. I begged her to tell me the bedtime story. My favorite one.
    Oh my God. The story. She had tried to prepare me.
    She’d always started it the same way. I glanced at Cleo and muttered, “In a faraway land, a mighty knight…” Cleo yawned and began bathing herself. I was losing my audience.
    “It was a girl knight, Cleo.” Old dreams ran through my head. They were a little girl’s dreams full of vivid colors and a magnificent castle. “She fought horrible creatures to protect humans…” I swallowed hard. Protect humans. Reality colliding with make-believe.
    The story never changed. The young woman fled to protect her baby from an evil that could destroy the entire world. But because the baby was hidden, the world stayed safe. The memory warmed me, yet it ached at the same time. I longed for what could’ve been. A life with my mother in it.
    Would she have told me, as I got older? I’d never know. She died shortly after that memory. There was a connection between her tales and what the Sentinels had said in Paris, though; I was sure of it. I just had to figure it out, starting with the ball of light.
    I sighed and turned on the bedside lamp. Arik had spoken one word to create the light. The second time the light had appeared on my palm, I was ten and practicing my Italian, so it made sense the word was in Italian.
    My eyes burned as I stared at the brightness coming from my lamp, just as I’d stared at Nana’s lamp when I was ten. “Light. Illuminare. ” I rattled off the words I had been practicing that day. “ Lampada. Lume . Luce—”
    The flesh on my palm warmed. Little flickers of light zapped across it and then disappeared just as quickly as they’d appeared. I bounced a little on my bed with excitement, and I tried again. “ Luce .”
    Nothing happened.
    I tried several more times.
    Still nothing.
    Frustrated, I turned off the lamp and flung myself back against the pillows. The hot, humid night thickened the room, making my skin clammy. I kicked the covers off and rolled to my side.
    Curling up under my covers, I was vaguely aware of every noise around me: the tick tock of my alarm, the rustle of leaves on the tree outside, the clanky sway of the fire escape. Through my slotted eyelids, the black pitch of Saturday night turned into the gray light of Sunday morning. A shadow moved across the grayness and I bolted up from my pillows.
    A firm hand landed on my mouth, quieting my scream. “Hush,” Arik said.
    Relieved it was him and not some crazed killer, I exhaled. My breath punching through his fingers sounded