Light Dragons 01 - Love in the Time of Dragons

psychiatrist?”
    I stared at her in surprise. “Er . . . when?”
    She nodded, watching me with that same intent gaze.
    “Well, let me think . . . it was . . . um . . .” I stared at my fingers, trying to sort through my memories to find the one I wanted, but it wasn’t there. “I don’t seem to recall.”
    “A month ago? Two months ago? A year? Five years?” she asked.
    “I don’t . . . I’m not sure,” I said, feeling as lame as I sounded.
    “Let me ask you this, then—what is your earliest memory?”
    I really stared at her now. “Huh? Why would you want to know something unimportant like that?”
    She smiled, and I felt suddenly bathed in a warm, golden glow of caring. “Do my questions disturb you, child?”
    “No, not disturb, I just don’t see what this has to do with anything. I really have to go. My son—”
    “—will be all right for another few minutes.” She waited, and I glanced around the room. The other three dragons sat watching me silently, evidently quite happy to let Kaawa conduct this strange interview. I gave a mental sigh. “Let’s see . . . earliest memory. I assume you mean as a child.”
    “Yes. What is the first thing you remember? Your mother’s voice, perhaps? A favorite toy? Something that frightened you?”
    Supposing it wouldn’t hurt to humor her, I poked again at the black mass that was my memory. Nothing was forthcoming. “I’m afraid I have a really crappy memory. I can’t remember anything as a child.”
    She nodded again, just as if she expected that. “Your son is only nine, you said. You must remember the day you gave birth to him.”
    “Of course I do—” I stopped when, to my horror, I realized I didn’t. I could see his face in my mind’s eye, but it was his face now, not his face as an infant. Panic swamped me. “By the rood! I don’t remember it!”
    “By the rood?” May asked.
    I stared at her in confusion, my skin crawling with the realization that something was seriously wrong with me. “What?”
    “You said ‘by the rood.’ That’s an archaic term, isn’t it?”
    “How the hell do I know?” I said, my voice rising. “I’m having a mental breakdown, and you’re worried about some silly phrase? Don’t you understand?” I leaped to my feet, grabbing the collar of May’s shirt and shaking it. “I don’t remember Brom’s first word. I don’t remember the first time he walked, or even what he looked like as a baby. I don’t remember any of it!”
    “Do you remember marrying your husband?” Kaawa asked as May gently pried my hands from her shirt.
    Goose bumps prickled up my arms. I prodded, I poked, I mentally grabbed my memory with both hands and shook it like it was a brainy piñata, but nothing came out. “No,” I said, the word a whisper as fear replaced the panic. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything?”
    “It is as I thought,” Kaawa said, taking my chin between the tips of her fingers so she could search my eyes. “Your memory has been expunged.”
    “Why would someone do that?” I asked, the words a near wail as I fought the desire to race out of the house and onto the first plane to Spain. “Did you do this to me?”
    “No, child,” she said solemnly, releasing my chin. “I suspect you have been conditioned to forget.”
    “Conditioned to forget my own son? That doesn’t make any sense! Who would want me to forget him?”
    “It’s all right, Ysolde. Er . . . Tully,” May said in a soothing voice, gently guiding me back to the couch. “I know you’re scared by all this, but you talked to your son earlier, remember? You said he was all right.”
    I clung to that, fighting the rising fear that threatened to overwhelm me. “Yes, he was all right, although I really need to go home. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here any longer.”
    I made it all the way to the door before Kaawa’s voice reached me.
    “And what will you do if you have another fugue while your son is with you?”
    I froze at that, turning slowly to face the room of people. “I only have them once a year. I believe I mentioned that.”
    “You told your son that you didn’t know why you had it now. That was what you were referring to, wasn’t it?”
    I nodded, my shoulders slumping. “I shouldn’t have had it until the end of October.”
    “And yet you had it now.”
    “But, Kaawa, that was—” May started to say.
    The older woman raised her hand, and May stopped.
    “I’ve only ever had them