Charles spent the next few hours locked in his office.

He tried to get some work done—sifting through some of the memories he had collected earlier in the week, editing clips here and there—but it was impossible to keep his mind focused on the task in front of him.

That girl... he thought angrily, thinking of the way she had stared at him defiantly through the bars of the cage. The way she had mocked him and then willed herself into a stubborn silence. He had her in his grasp, and yet he was no closer to uncovering any of the mysteries surrounding this cult.

And now I don't even have the memory, he thought to himself bitterly. He had reviewed it several times the night before, after Juliette had gone to bed. But each time he saw the same images: the room of hooded figures—all faces hidden and all voices unidentifiable—the flickering candles, the pentagram of blood, the small drugged child... And then the awkward flash forward in time, flinging him to the moment where the thief had been discovered and was forced to flee. He had never seen a natural memory with a cut like that—only memories he had edited. Someone must have tampered with the thief's memory.

Or maybe she's right and the gaps are my fault, he thought miserably. I didn't know what I was doing when I took that memory from her—what if I damaged it beyond repair?

He pressed his forehead onto his desk and took a deep breath. Then he looked up at his collection of memories, eyeing a glowing green memory at the end of the row. He had acquired it a few weeks ago from a man in the next town who had won his political campaign. It was a powerful, intoxicating memory, filled with the overwhelming sensation of joy after besting an opponent. When Charles had gone to collect it, he had been surprised by the strength of emotion, and offered the man a decent sum for a copy. He had priced it high, knowing someone would pay well to feel that way. And yet, in this moment, Charles was tempted to take the vial, uncork it, and absorb the memory for himself, damn the loss of profit.

He had done this on a few occasions, dark times when he was hurting and had wanted to be someone else, just for a few moments. He would take a memory and absorb it for himself so he could bask in someone else's triumph. But the feeling never lasted long. Memories grew stale over time, slowly deteriorating until something that could once fill you with a rush became just an old thought in the back of your head.

Charles was still debating whether to uncork the vial when he heard a knock at the door.

Groaning, Charles got out of his chair, opened the door, and saw James standing at the threshold.

"What?" Charles asked shortly.

James was fiddling with a small wooden box, not quite making eye contact with his brother. "It's been three hours," he said.

"You better not have come in here to ask me to let that thief out."

"What about Juliette?" James insisted. "She's had to sit in the parlor all afternoon to keep that cage up. She told you her magicks only have a 10-foot radius. She's trapped in there."

"Juliette said she can keep the cage up for hours. She'll be fine. And if our thief insists on being stubborn for much longer, I'll go out and buy a normal iron cage."

James shook his head and said, "I gave her lunch."

Charles frowned. "Juliette?"

"No—I mean, yes, of course I fed Juliette, the poor child is stuck in there. But I gave it to the thief girl too."

"You did what?" Charles asked, his voice rising to match his anger. "James, what the hell is wrong with you? How are we going to get her to talk if you're just giving her food! She won't take us seriously if we go back on our word!" He rubbed his face with his hands. "Please tell me you at least slipped a truth potion into her meal."

James looked aghast. "First of all, have you ever tasted a truth potion? They're horrendous, worse than any healing potion, and I refuse to compromise any of my cooking with that slop. Secondly, she didn't actually eat anything. She stared at the bowl as if she could see toxic fumes curling in the smoke. And third..." And now James took a deep breath. "Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable?"

"I'm not being unreasonable," Charles bit back. "I'm being cautious. For all we know, she's a member of this cult. Maybe that's why her memory has holes in it! Or perhaps she can magick knives out of thin air and she's just waiting for us to slip up so she can slit our throats. Or maybe she has some psychic voodoo power that pits people against each other, which is why we're having this fight to begin with."

James frowned. "I don't think that's magick. I think that's just us."

Charles exhaled. "She has to stay put, and she has to help us."

"Why would she help us when she's being kept in a cage?"

Charles raised his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry, but I don't have a better plan."

"Well I do," James said, and now he opened the box he had been holding. Inside, atop of a velvet cushion, was a gold bracelet studded with rubies and turquoises.

Charles heart sunk. "That looks like—"

"I know," James said sadly. "Mom's bracelet. It's not though." Under the bracelet was a small piece of paper, which James fished out and passed to Charles. "I saw it in the market about a year ago. It looked so much like hers that I had to buy it. But it's not the same one. This one's enchanted. If you slip it onto someone's wrist and say the incantation, you'll always be able to find them."

Charles stared at the bracelet, still having a hard time shaking the memory of a similar piece of jewelry that had lived on his mother's arm. When she passed, their father had sold the bangle, squandering most of the money it had brought in on ale. Charles knew that James sometimes paused at jewelry stalls, hoping that one day the bracelet would show up again. But per Charles' knowledge, he had been unsuccessful.

Charles found that his throat felt tight. It took him a moment to speak. "Why didn't you tell me you bought this?"

James looked away sheepishly. "It was expensive. And... I didn't know how you'd feel if you saw it. I know it must... bring up a lot of memories."

"And you want to give this to the thief?"

"Her name's Lillian."

Charles paused, taken aback. "She told you her name?"

"Not me. Juliette. She's a persistent ten-year-old; she's been trying to pass the time by talking to her. But I don't think she got much out of her besides her name."

"It might not even be her real name," Charles muttered, while thinking, Of course Juliette would try to befriend her.

When Charles paused, James pressed a little more. "We should give this bracelet a try. After all, you catch more flies with honey."

"Do those flies have a record of knocking you unconscious with one kick?" Still, Charles was at a loss, so he sighed, staring down at the small slip of paper with the tracking incantation. "Fine. We can try the bracelet. But—" He held up a finger. "I still don't trust her. I want all the knives locked up behind spelled glass. Anything valuable or dangerous needs to be hidden. And someone needs to keep an eye on her at all times."

"Understandable."

"And if she misbehaves, I'm blaming you."

"Point taken."

Charles sighed, looking at the bracelet. "Let's go see her then."

When they walked back into the parlor, Charles saw that Lillian was awake. She was seated upright on the floor, cross-legged, listening to Juliette who was reading to her. Charles couldn't believe his eyes.

When the little girl saw Charles and James walk in, she set the book down and waved. "Hi Mister Abbot. I was just reading to Lillian to help pass the time."

Charles looked at the thief. He swore—just for a second—that he saw a hint of softness in her eyes when she looked at Juliette. But it vanished once she locked eyes with him.

"I'm assuming you still don't want to talk to me," he said.

Lillian only stared at him.

Charles took a deep breath. "Okay. We got off on the wrong foot—I understand. You don't trust me. I don't trust you. But I think we found a solution that's better than leaving you in a cage."

James approached the cage carefully, knelt to the ground, and then passed the bracelet through the bars.

The thief stared at the bangle, confused. "What is this? A gift?" The tone of her voice was incredulous.

"Not exactly. It's an enchanted bracelet," James explained kindly. "We understand you don't trust us—I wouldn't trust someone who put me in a cage either. But we don't want you running off. We need your help." He pointed to the bracelet. "This bracelet has tracking magick in it. If you put it on, we'll let you out of the cage. And you can have free rein of our home."

"Within reason," Charles interjected, shooting his brother a look. "And if you try to run, we'll be able to find you."

Lillian turned the bracelet over in her hands. "So I'd be exchanging one cage for another."

"It's just until we can trust you," James said kindly. Then, added, "Trust each other."

She thought about it for a moment, but eventually she sighed and slid the bracelet onto her wrist. It glowed briefly when it made contact with her skin, and flared even more as Charles recited the incantation on the small piece of paper. Finally, the glow died away, and the bangle became nothing more than a bracelet once more.

"Normally I'd never be caught wearing something as gaudy as this," Lillian muttered. Then, brandishing her wrist, she looked over at Juliette. "Can I get out of this cage, please?"

Juliette looked to Charles, who nodded in approval, and then waved her hand. The lightning faded away with a quiet crackle.

"Oh no!" James said suddenly, rushing forward. Lillian flinched, holding her hand over her face, but James stopped short, knelt to the ground, and rubbed the floor with his hand. "It did scorch the hardwoods!"

The thief stared at James in shock before slowly getting to her feet. When she had regained her full height—tall, thin, lithe—she looked at Charles.

He cleared his throat. "So, do you have any information you want to share with us?"

Lillian raised an eyebrow at his request. "I don't feel like talking right now," she said, brusquely. Then, holding up her wrist so that the gold bangle glinted in the light, she added, "Maybe when I trust you more."

Her words made Charles' skin prickle with anger, but he kept his cool. He couldn't yell at her every time she got under his skin. He needed to stay calm if there was any chance of befriending her. He needed to find out what she knew.

Lillian suddenly turned towards Juliette. "Why don't you show me around? You said I get free rein of the house, right?" Her last word was directed, almost challengingly, at Charles.

Charles bit his tongue and nodded.

Juliette's eyes widened with glee and she reached for Lillian's hand. "I'd love to show you around! I know it doesn't look that big, but it's actually really nice! There's a reading room on the second floor..." And the next thing Charles knew, the young battle mage was dragging the thief out of the room and up the stairs.

And Charles, realizing that he couldn't leave them alone together, jogged after them, crying, "Wait up!"