"Come again?" I blinked rapidly as if that might somehow help my hearing because certainly this little creature—while vicious looking—couldn't create an entire world.

Cian snorted. "Amaya is full of herself sometimes. Andarie existed when she arrived with her siblings. She merely contributed to its development."

"Semantics darling."

"You're one of the gods of old," I whispered, recalling Cian's story in the motel and scooting closer to him. My feelings toward Amaya shifted from neutral to distaste quickly. How could she have done such terrible things to innocent people?

Cian stiffened when he felt me lean into him, but then his arm curled around my waist, his fingers settling on the front of my hip and creating a comforting warmth. "Amaya is not like the others, Bria. It's why she's trapped over here with us."

She spat on the floor. "My siblings grew tired of doing things the old-fashioned way. They felt their powers were growing stagnant, and they were disappointed in their offspring." Amaya grimaced. "That's on them for choosing weak partners and having no imagination. I chose only the boldest and bravest demons and erosi and vampyrs to breed with. The children of the night know no equals because of me."

I looked up and caught Cian studying me. Seeing the question in my expression, he said, "Amaya is our goddess of the Night."

"So you're one of her descendants?"

"He's my—" Amaya began, then bit off whatever she'd been about to say and nodded. "He's related to me somehow."

"Smooth," I replied, wishing I cared enough to pry further. No doubt there was a very interesting story there, but considering my primary concern were the dwindling hours between me and death, I focused on the matter at hand. "So you joined the rebellion and ended up here. Are you affected by our world the way the others are?"

"No," she admitted. "I have lived in many dimensions over many millennia, and I'm sure when Andarie fades to nothing like all the other worlds, I will move on, but for now, it is my home. I wish to return and punish whoever thought it was wise to lock that door behind us."

Revenge. I could get behind that motivation for returning to Andarie a lot faster than I could for Cian's reasons—whatever they were.

"So why won't you hide me?" I asked.

Amaya stretched her legs out in front of her and wiggled her toes, looking more like a toothy toddler than a goddess of the night. Lacing her fingers together, she rested them on her stomach and replied, "Because you can do it yourself."

"Beg your pardon?"

"What do you mean?"

Cian and I looked at each other with wide eyes. Only his narrowed in suspicion a second later. "What haven't you told me?"

Amaya saved me from answering. Tapping my knee to draw my attention, she whispered, "There's something strange about this house, at least to you. What have you noticed?"

I didn't see a way out of answering, but this was the only secret I had left. If I admitted this, Cian would know all my tricks, and I would have to accept there was no getting away from him. Not that I was sure it was going to come in handy any time soon, but I enjoyed believing it was an option.

"Bria." My name was a silken wrapped rumble from his lips.

"There are no... no echoes here." Amaya nodded, encouraging me to continue. "And there should be. This place is old. Like really old, not just made to look old. Even in this living space, there is nothing."

"Echoes..." Cian appeared confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Interesting." Amaya stood and went to the fireplace. Poking a log and sending sparks into the air, she didn't speak for nearly a minute. Finally, she turned to face us. "I've never seen it manifest this way before, but I'm sure there is something that triggered it."

"Amaya, if you don't fucking spit out whatever it is you're going on about," Cian snapped, rising and pacing the room.

The surrounding air was suddenly very cold, and as I wrapped my arms around my body to keep from shivering, I wondered why he was so fiercely angry. Like I'd betrayed him somehow. What I wouldn't do to punch him square in that pretty face for daring to be mad at me for keeping secrets?

"Bria here is a Cup."

"A what?" I asked as Cian froze mid-step.

"Not possible." He shook his head.

"There are a few on this side. The Fae—"

"She's not fucking Fae," Cian shouted. "I'd smell it on her."

I raised my hand tentatively as I sniffed my skin. "What does a Fae smell like?"

"Sickeningly sweet." Amaya licked her lips. "Like cotton candy."

"And what is a Cup?"

Cian crossed the room and braced his hands on the fireplace mantle. Amaya moved out of his way and took the seat he'd vacated. I stared at the male staring into the fire, brooding like a man in a romance novel. It wasn't nearly as attractive as the stories made it out to be. Instead of making me want to jump him—okay, instead of making me want to jump him anymore than I already wanted to jump him—it made me want to reach out and throttle him for answers.

Amaya was far too delighted by this turn of events, but at least she provided answers. She tapped her fingers on the couch because apparently she never stopped fidgeting, and said, "A Cup is a term we used to describe magic users like you."

"They're like vessels who fill themselves up with surrounding power, limited by only how much they can carry."

"Jay."

The Andarian spun around when I said the druid's name, his eyes wild as they scoured the room before settling on me. "What about the druid?"

"Before the fire, he was telling me about the types of magic users. They thought I might have retrocognition, but he said my ability didn't quite fit."

"And what exactly is your ability?" He asked so quietly I almost had to ask him to repeat it.

It was hard to form the words. The last time I told a man I had feelings for... wait, no. I didn't have feelings for Cian. I couldn't have feelings for a brute who planned on murdering me. No, this was pure lust, and it was different. Jac hadn't known the supernatural world existed. Cian had no reason to not believe me.

"People and events leave impressions on objects around them. It clings to things, and if they're very intense, I can touch the object and I'm pulled back into that event. It's why I wear these gloves and keep my skin covered. I try to control it, but if it's very powerful, I can't stop it."

"That's how you knew about Molly."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded. "Yes. I saw how she died."

He closed his eyes, looking pained. It was strange how my hand jerked in my lap, almost as if it wanted to reach for him.

"But there are no echoes here. Nothing. It was the same at your place. I've never experienced that unless it was a new building, but even then, I can at least sense little vibrations. Nothing that will take me into an echo, but people are always touching things."

"That's because we cleanse our homes regularly," Amaya said. "Andarians are very aware of energy sources. Cups are not unusual in Andarie. We do it to help them keep a clear mind, and because there are those who would use those intense energies as you describe them to hurt others."

"So you think I can do other things than just see the past?"

"Oh for sure," Amaya said giddily. "I imagine you manifested that skill for some reason. Maybe you've always had an intense passion for history?"

Not for just any history. My history. Ever since I was old enough to understand I'd been abandoned, I'd been desperate to know why, and when I couldn't solve my mystery, I'd become a detective to help others.

Amaya continued to prattle on. "So, you see. I don't need to help. Bria can cleanse her own signature."

"I don't know how."

"It's easy." Amaya took my hands in hers while Cian watched us. I sneaked a peek at him, and she squeezed my hands hard enough to make me wince. "Focus on yourself the way you focus on these echoes."

"I usually have to touch an echo to use it."

"But do you touch it to sense it?"

"No."

"Then close your eyes and..." she cocked her head to the side as if searching for the right words. "Turn your vision inward. You need to alter your signature so the psychic can't find you, but let's start with finding it."

Doing as I was told, I closed my eyes. At first, nothing happened. I saw what I always saw when I closed my eyes—endless dark, but then the part of myself that turned on when I looked for echoes came awake and tiny glimmers appeared, silver and gold and pearlescent white spiraling in the black. There was a gasp somewhere outside of me, but I didn't open my eyes, too entranced by the vision before me.

I thought about getting closer to them, and just like that, they rushed toward me, the glimmers growing in size and brightness until there was nothing but light. And somewhere in the heart of it all beat another presence pulsed, each beat sending out sparks of violet and amber and...

I hesitated, waiting for another burst. Something was wrong. This didn't belong to me, but the presence itself didn't scare me. It was the oily stain swirling around the flickers of light. The stain spread when it contacted anything else, turning entire swaths of argent light to bruised green and gray.

"Bria."

Ignoring the speaker, I pushed against the intrusive blemish, forcing into unseen depths. It didn't go easily, swelling against every effort until I was almost certain it would overwhelm me. Now someone was roaring. The world outside of me trembled, and I carried on, fighting until at last the only thing left around me was starlight and softness. Perfect peace.

"Bria!"

"Shit," I said, eyes snapping open as pain blossomed across my cheekbone. Touching my face, I glared up at the seething Andarian whose lap I had somehow ended up in. "Did you slap me?"

"You..." He breathed harshly. "You..."

Amaya jumped in when Cian couldn't finish. "You lit up like a glowworm and stopped breathing."

"Is my signature different?"

The goddess stilled and then nodded. "Yes. It's lighter. Less burdened. I didn't notice that before now."

"There's something else inside of me—"

Cian stroked my face, and I didn't stop him. "You're carrying the Shard. I'm sure that's what you felt."

"No," I insisted, rubbing my chest. Maybe that's what the darkness had been, but the violet and amber... that didn't belong to me. "I don't think that's it."

"It doesn't matter," the Andarian said, pulling me in closer to him and not speaking again until his chest resumed rising and falling in a steady rhythm. "What matters is you're okay, and you are not about to try that shit again."

"Unless she gets caught by another psychic, she shouldn't have to," Amaya said. She took a seat. None of her earlier playfulness remained, and for the first time, I could see the power behind her eyes. "But this proves I was right. She's a Cup."

Reluctantly, I untangled myself from Cian's embrace and moved to the couch cushion beside him. He kept one hand on my neck, his fingers moving in aimless circles, but I wasn't sure if it was to soothe me or himself.

"So? You already guessed that."

"But it also means if you're not Fae—"

"Amaya."

The goddess glared at Cian. "What? You might not want to hear it because you think it will ruin your plans, but remaining silent doesn't make it any less true."

"What are you talking about?"

Amaya held Cian's gaze until he finally nodded. He withdrew his touch and stared across the living room as Amaya looked at me and said, "You're not part Fae. You're part Andarian."