The minute his hand connected with hers, she jolted. It was memories of his, in the same manner of Vi watching herself, and people she knew were her kin, but they felt as distant as strangers passing on the streets of London. It was all like the dreams, but different. These were blotted out on the edges, faded with time, but still crisp in the center. She could smell the fire, hear the music that haunted her, that she hummed constantly.
Back-alley dealing with someone who shared the same dark hair, waves instead of curls since it was cropped so much closer to his head than Vi's was, money changing hands with a rattle of coins, and the clank of glass on glass, a violet liquid inside, cloudy, syrupy. She watched Colin's cousin, her apparent unrequited love, tip one back with a gracious look that accompanied men troubled by the weight of the world on their shoulders suddenly relieved.
When Vi's eyes opened and she looked at him, her eyes were the odd clouded color of that potion, and she slid her hand slowly from beneath his. She'd wanted to know what he was looking for. And now she knew. "I don't know how to make that for you." The voices whispered faster then. All manner of words hissing at her ear. Symbols, languages she didn't know, but the words were all the same, and she could see in her own memory those cracking bones and lengthening jaws, ribcage expanding. "Ruv." Wolf.