Since I don't have her phone number, I show up at Allegra Shaw's house unannounced.

It's tucked into the southeastern corner of Caldera Heights, where the houses aren't as massive and obnoxious. The Shaw house is still big, with three stories of pale stone with climbing ivy and arched windows, but it doesn't loom over the street like the Santos estate. No hedges tall enough to block out the sun, and no gate that requires a signed sigil to enter

My stomach twists as I pull up to the curb. The butterflies aren't just fluttering anymore. They're staging a riot. I cut the engine and sit there for a minute, gripping the steering wheel, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. I take my sweaty hands from the steering wheel and run them over my jeans.

I'm about to apologize to Allegra Shaw. The girl whose high school experience I ruined with a single TalkThat video by turning her into a meme.

Will she slam the door in my face? Or worse, tell me a truth I don't want to hear?

You can do this. You have to do this.

I get out of the car before I can talk myself out of it.

The front door is solid oak, stained dark with age. Above it, carved into the stone archway, is a single word in flowing script: Verity. Their family crest. Their dumb magic that makes them tell the truth whether they want to or not.

I knock. The sound echoes. I rub the back of my neck and wait, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.

The door swings open.

A little girl stands there. She's ten, maybe eleven, and has the same stringy dark hair as Allegra, and wide black eyes that seem to see straight through you. She tilts her head and studies me like I'm a creature with two heads.

"Who are you?" she asks.

"Hi. My name is Press. I'm a friend of Allegra's from school." I almost choke on the word friend.

The girl's eyebrows scrunch together. "You're lying."

"You must be Allegra's little sister," I say, chuckling, hoping the embarrassment isn't obvious on my face.

"I'm Minerva," she answers, nodding.

"Right. I forgot you have the same Verity Magic as your sister."

"I do," she says, a wide grin on her face. "But that's not why I know you're lying. You're lying because everybody knows Allegra doesn't have any friends."

Then she breaks into shrill laughter that echoes off walls. I don't know if it's appropriate to laugh with her, so I don't. She turns around and calls up into the darkness of the house, "Allegra! Somebody's here to see you! Some boy named Press! Whatever kind of name that is!"

She steps aside, waving me in like it's her personal castle.

The foyer is smaller than the Santos house but still impressive. Cream-colored walls and hardwood floors polished to a shine. No floating candles or humming protection wards that vibrate through the soles of your shoes. Instead, there are wind chimes hanging in the corners, made of thin silver rods that tinkle softly even though there's no breeze. I know what those are. Truth chimes. They ring whenever someone lies in the house.

A painting hangs on the wall of an old woman with the same sharp black eyes as Minerva and Allegra, her mouth set in a firm line. Beneath it, a bronze plaque reads: Speak truth, even when it destroys.

The Shaw family motto. Great.

I stand at the bottom of the staircase, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it's trying to escape my chest. What will Allegra say when she sees me? I know she hates me. I know she's wondering why the hell I'm standing in her house uninvited.

After what feels like forever, footsteps thud down the stairs.

Allegra appears, her stringy black hair hanging limply around her face, her oversized sweater swallowing her frame. The second she sees me, her face crunches up like she just bit into something rotten.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

I hold my hands up like I'm surrendering. "I know. I know this is random and crazy, but...I need your help."

"He's being blackmailed," Minerva says suddenly.

I whip around and face her, my pulse spiking. If a ten-year-old can see it written all over me, who else can? "Your Verity told you that, too?"

She nods, gleefully playing with a strand of her hair. "It's easy for me to see."

Allegra sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and says, "You're also being cursed. Someone's using mentalism on you."

My head snaps back and forth between them. The room tilts slightly. Cursed. Someone is actively using magic on me, and I didn't even know it. "That's...that's what I need your help with."

"You're just having a bad day all around," Allegra snorts, her eyes looking upstairs like she'd rather be back in her room than talking to me. "I read the blogs today. They're not being very nice to you."

"I need to know who's doing this to me. And I need to remember what happened at that garden party three months ago. You were there!"

Allegra laughs. It's bitter and sharp and sounds nothing like what a  laugh should sound like. But instead of answering, she turns and walks into the living room. I follow because I don't know what else to do.

The room is cozy. A worn couch with a sagging middle, bookshelves crammed with old texts on magical theory, a fireplace with framed photos on the mantel. Allegra doesn't sit. She stands by the window, arms still crossed, her back to me.

"Press, you encouraged thousands of people who didn't know me to bully me online," she says quietly.

"I didn't encourage them," I say in a rush. "I was trying to make a joke about what happened at my birthday party. Do you think it was easy for me to hear that my mom wishes I was never born? Those words came right out of your mouth."

"You already knew that, though."

"No, I didn't!" I cry.

From the foyer, the truth chimes ring sharply. I freeze. Even the house knows I'm lying. My mom never outright told me she regretted my existence. She didn't have to because I felt it every time she looked through me instead of at me. Every time Dad left and she'd drink so much she'd forget to go grocery shopping. That's how I ended up with Dad eventually. I chose the parent who at least pretended I existed.

"You know I can't help the things I say," Allegra says, ignoring the truth chimes.

"Then don't be mad at me for trying to cope with it."

She turns to face me, her eyes blazing. "You didn't cope, Press. You weaponized it. You turned my curse into content. Do you know what it's like to walk into school and have people whisper 'Allegra, the Downer' every time they see me? They got that title from your little video."

My throat tightens. "I didn't think--"

"No. You didn't." Her voice cracks. "You didn't think about me at all. You just thought about your likes and your followers. About how funny it would be to humiliate the weird girl who can't lie."

"I was sixteen," I say, but it sounds pathetic even to me.

"So was I." Tears well in her eyes. "You made my high school years hell with that video. People still send me screenshots of it. They still tag me in remixes."

She composes herself, using her fist to wipe away the tears, heads to the door and points at it. "I'm not helping you with anything," she says. "Get out of my house and don't bother me anymore."

I want to say something sharp in return. Something cutting and mean that will make her feel as small as I feel right now. But my head is swimming with though I didn't mean to hurt her, I understand that my actions did. She also confirmed I'm being cursed. All of it makes me feel like shit.

Turning to face her, I utter one last, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

The truth chimes ring. The sound cuts through me like a blade because even I know that's not true. I didn't think about whether it would hurt her. Honestly, I didn't think about her at all. I just wanted the likes and comments. I needed the validation that I was funny and clever. That I was worth paying attention to. 

I leave her house with my head hanging low, the truth chimes still ringing softly behind me.

Three days left. And I just lost my only chance at getting my memories back.