Bewitched, page 31
“You made a mistake crossing me.” The words come from deep within me, my power swirling out of me as I speak.
The look Memnon gives me blazes with satisfaction. “There’s my queen.”
I grimace at him. “I would rather spend a thousand lifetimes forgetting my past than spend one remembering yours.”
I think I might’ve imagined it, but I swear I saw him flinch.
“You can rot, Memnon.”
He steps up to me, his eyes stormy. A muscle in his cheek clenches and unclenches. “Tough words, witch. Let’s see if you can stand by them.” He moves to the door, even as my notebooks continue to burn.
“I’ll see you at the Samhain Ball, Empress.”
And then he’s gone.
CHAPTER 38
It takes only a handful of minutes before the crackle of fire quiets.
Smoke drifts from the notebooks that now lie in scorched heaps on my shelves.
My levitating notebooks fall to the ground, disintegrating into ash when they hit the floorboards.
I make a small noise at the sight. I can still feel wetness on my cheeks, but I’m too determined to see what’s left of my journals to pay much attention to my emotions.
I move over to my notebooks, reaching for the more intact ones. They’re still hot to the touch, but that doesn’t stop me from examining them to see what’s left.
The photos have melted away, and the paper is too charred to make out the writing and sketches that once covered the pages.
I swallow my rising emotion.
The ones that fared the best seem to be the oldest books, the ones least relevant to my life. The only mercy Memnon gave me was that he didn’t touch my photo albums.
So I guess that’s a win.
I sit heavily on my bed and put my head in my hands.
The oak tree outside rustles. Then Nero hops back into the room, as though he can sense my sadness.
Actually, now that I understand bonds, he probably can.
Nero comes up to me, rubbing his head against my shoulder.
“Fat lot of good you did there,” I say, wiping my eyes.
He rubs the rest of his body against my side, shameless about the fact he was a total traitor.
Need to write down what I can remember.
I cross over to my desk before pulling out one of the wooden drawers along its side. In it rests a stack of notebooks.
For all my faults, I am organized. And optimistic and kind and clever.
But now I’m also determined.
After grabbing a new notebook, I pull out a pen and begin writing.
First my name, my date of birth, and my parents’ names. Important phone numbers, addresses, and so on. Anything and everything I truly could not bear for my mind to lose.
Then I write down a warning.
Do not trust Memnon the Cursed.
You woke him from eternal sleep. He believes you’re his dead wife who betrayed him. He wants to make you pay.
He is your soul mate, but he is an ASSHOLE. He burned all your previous notebooks. He will fuck you over again if he gets the chance.
You hate him with every fiber of your being.
A tear hits the page. Then another and another. I can’t decide if I’m sad or angry.
Nothing to do about it now but move forward and plot my own revenge.
I write out the days of the week on the next blank page of my notebook, penning in the Samhain Ball under Saturday’s date. I circle the event in red and write a note next to it:
MEMNON WANTS YOU TO ATTEND.
I’m still not entirely sure whether I will attend or not. I hate the idea of agreeing to his demands, but he also woke in me a thirst for revenge that I had no idea existed until now. But every second I breathe in the smell of smoke, I grow more bloodthirsty and bitter.
He will pay for this.
That promise is the only thing warming my cold, dejected heart.
I’m still writing when there’s a knock on the door.
“Yeah?” I call out, cringing when I hear the waver in my voice.
“Selene,” a witch says on the other side of the door, “there’s an officer at the front door who’s asking for you.”
I take a deep breath, a queasy wave of dread unsettling my stomach.
Goddess, it’s time to face the fallout of what just happened.
I stand inside my room, Nero at my side, while Officer Howahkan and his partner, Officer Mwangi, take in the smoldering remains of my notebooks.
Officer Howahkan is the first to speak. “Are those your…?”
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely.
It’s quiet for several seconds.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “You burned your journals?” He asks it like he’s not truly surprised, just disappointed. “You realize how this looks.”
Yeah, it looks like I’m fucking guilty.
“I didn’t burn them,” I snap.
The officer’s face remains impassive. “Who did?”
“Memnon.”
I see a flicker of recognition from Officer Mwangi. “Memnon—is that the same man who broke into this bedroom a few weeks ago?” she asks.
I nod.
“And he was here again?”
Another nod.
“How did he get in?” she asks. Because according to official records, last time this happened, he broke in through a window.
“I don’t know—with magic, I suspect. He was in my room when I got here.”
“And he’s the one who burned your books?” Officer Mwangi asks.
“Yes,” I say softly.
“Why would he do that?”
I hug my arms. “To be cruel.”
“And why would he want to be cruel?” Officer Mwangi asks. I can’t tell if she’s concerned or skeptical.
“Memnon is under the delusion that I betrayed him, and he wants revenge.”
Officer Howahkan pulls out a notepad and a pen and jots something down.
“Do you have his number? Or his address?” he asks, his dark eyes penetrating. “Some way for us to contact him and follow up on this?”
My throat tightens. “No.”
Officer Howahkan presses his lips together. “Do you have a last name at least?”
“No,” I say softly.
“Ah.”
I’m suddenly tired, so tired. I know how this looks.
I rub my eyes as Nero leans his body against my leg. “Is there any way to fix my notebooks? Some spell that can return them to the way they were?” I ask.
The moment I voice the question, my hope flares to life.
A spell, of course.
Officer Howahkan gives me an inscrutable look. “Maybe,” he says, watching me carefully. “Magic is capable of lots of things.”
I exhale my relief.
“You can check my phone,” I say, eager to give these officers something. I grab it and hand it to the officer. “I use it for notes and scheduling all the time.” It’s just not the main thing I use.
“We have checked your phone,” Officer Howahkan says.
Oh.
He looks almost sorry as he adds, “If we’d found evidence on it that proved your innocence, we wouldn’t be sitting here now, having this conversation.”
“Are you planning on arresting me?” I say quietly.
The officer shares a look with his partner. “No,” he finally says. “Not today, Selene.”
CHAPTER 39
I don’t spook easily, but I nearly shit my pants after the officers’ visit.
Surely I can be placed somewhere away from the crimes during the time they were committed? I mean, I live in a house with a hundred other women. Someone somewhere should be able to vouch for me.
Officer Mwangi calls in a team to collect what they can of my notebooks’ delicate remains, and once they arrive, I leave the room so they can do their thing.
I have to believe they’ll be able to reverse the damage Memnon inflicted on them.
I descend the stairs to Sybil’s room, Nero following in my wake. I notice a few side-eyed glances from other witches in the halls, and I get the impression word has spread that I am a suspect in the recent string of murders.
The thought of my coven sisters turning on me is terrifying. If any group is good at refusing to persecute others, it’s witches. We’ve been on the receiving end of it too often. But even we witches have our limits. I wonder how close this coven is to reaching theirs.
There’s also the nagging possibility that some of the witches I live alongside could’ve participated in that spell circle. Another terrifying thought.
When I reach Sybil’s door, I can hear her on the other side of it, murmuring.
I knock. When she doesn’t answer, I grab the doorknob and push it open.
I mean, technically, it’s rude to barge into someone’s room, but also technically, Sybil does it to me all the time.
Also, the last time she saw me, I was fleeing her with a mojito in hand, trying to keep all my secrets to myself.
I can’t do it anymore.
When I step into her room, I see Sybil sitting inside a chalk circle she’s made, the soft lilac plumes of her magic swirling around her as she continues incanting a spell in low tones. Nestled along the edge of the circle are lit candles, their flames flickering in time to the rise and fall of Sybil’s voice.
The sight of it reminds me all over again of my burning books and Memnon’s glee. I draw in a deep breath, forcing myself to keep it together.
On the opposite side of the room, Sybil’s owl, Merlin, sits perched on a bust of the veiled maiden that’s nearly been overtaken by the vines growing rampant in her room.
I sit on her bed as Nero sniffs the air in the direction of her familiar.
“Don’t even think about it,” I whisper to him. “I will turn you into a newt if you do more than lick your lips in Merlin’s direction.”
Nero gives me a grumpy look but settles for flopping on the floor.
Not even that alarming exchange causes my friend to open her eyes. She spellcasts for several more minutes, while Nero and I and my anxiety all hang in her room. I move near her bookshelf, ignoring a Venus flytrap that literally snaps in my direction as I reach for a book.
“Don’t be naughty,” I say, tapping it on its head.
I grab a book on herbalism and flip through it while I wait, though I’m not really seeing anything when I look at the pages.
You’re in deep this time, Selene.
Memnon wanted me desperate, and already I’m feeling the first tendrils of that desperation.
Sybil’s magic thickens as she finishes her spell, the plumes of it nearly concealing her. I feel the energy in the room shift, and the candles go out all at once.
I hear her deep exhale as her power clears.
“Fuck, I love magic,” she says, opening her eyes.
She rubs out part of the chalk circle and begins to pick up the items she had spread out.
I close the book on herbalism. “What was that spell for?”
“I rolled my ankle this morning walking down the steps of Morgana Hall.”
I wince. “Did you have to walk all the way back here on it?”
“Actually, I borrowed a witch’s broom and flew back here, and honestly, Selene, we’ve got to do this together…” She takes me in. “What happened to you?”
“Is it really that obvious?” I say, touching my cheek. But it must be—even I can hear the broken notes of my voice.
“What’s wrong?” she says instead, her voice growing alarmed. “I can smell smoke on you.”
I reach a hand down for Nero, grounding myself with his presence. “There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” I admit. I take a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you is for your ears only.”
Sybil frowns. “Okay, now I’m really worried, Selene. What haven’t you told me?”
I share it all—everything from the spell circle gone awry to Memnon saving me. I tell her about him helping seal off the tunnel entrance—
“I didn’t even know there were tunnels,” she cuts in.
“I’ll show you it sometime,” I say softly before continuing.
I tell her about how I found out I was a soul mate. A tear drips down my cheek when I admit exactly who I’m bonded to.
“What!” Merlin flaps his wings at Sybil’s outburst, then flashes me an owlish glare, like it’s my fault I upset his witch.
I press on, mentioning how Memnon turned on me and burned my books, and I finish with my meeting with the high priestess and being on the Politia’s suspect list.
By the time I’m done, my cheeks are wet again.
For a long moment, Sybil is silent. Finally, she whispers, “I am so sorry, Selene.”
She pulls me into a hug then, and I lean into her, crying into her shoulder as she rubs my back.
“And to think my day sucked because I have a sprained ankle.”
“I’m sure the sprained ankle sucked,” I say, sniffling a little.
My friend laughs. “It did hurt like a bitch,” she says as she continues rubbing my back. “But then I got to ride a broomstick—I even cackled for the sheer hell of it.”
I let out a sad little laugh at that. “I’m pretty sure you have to cackle when you’re flying on a broomstick,” I say, pulling away to wipe at my tears. “It’s part of the rules.”
Sybil smiles at that, but it quickly disappears. “Honestly, Selene, I don’t even know where to start with this one, except that, babe, that was a crap ton of secrets.”
I laugh again, even though I know she’s saying this just to lighten the moment.
She reaches out and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I know you’re innocent.”
I pull away to look miserably at her. “I don’t think I can prove it,” I admit.
“I’ll help you,” she says. “I’ll ask the other coven sisters if they saw you at the times in question. We’ll make a new notebook for you and create a timeline, one that I am sure will clear your name.”
“You’d do that?” I’m so used to winging it on my own that I forgot I have people in my life willing to help me.
“You’re my best friend, Selene. Of course I will. Now,” she says, her tone changing, “forget about the Politia and that case for a minute. I want to chat about Memnon.” She says his name menacingly.
“Ugh.” I place my face in my hands, trying to wish away my life.
What hurts the most is that before he burned my notebooks, I had actually started to fall for him. I caught glimpses of what it would be to care and be cared for by a man like Memnon.
You and I, Empress, we are eternal.
But then he wanted me to hurt like him, to be lost and confused in this modern world just like him. His vengeance eclipsed whatever feelings he has for me.
Sybil rubs my back. “So you’re bonded to a fucking loser. If he wants to be enemies, let’s make him pay.”
I lift my head from my hands, my magic rising.
Yes.
“Listen,” she says, seeing my interest, “this bastard is your soul mate. He may be the dirtiest rim job out there, but he is fated to you, which means the guy is basically walking around with a hard-on every time he sees you.
“So you and I are going to find some killer dresses, we’re going to go to the ball, and you’re going to enjoy the fuck out of yourself in front of that bastard. Bonus points for flirting and dancing with every mage who’s up for it.
“He’ll see what he’s missing, and it will be him who comes groveling back to you.”
I stare at her.
And then I smile.
CHAPTER 40
Let’s make him pay.
That thought sticks to me like a barb through the weekend and into the following week.
It’s there when I forget I have a coffee date with one of the witches in my wards class, and it’s there when I miss turning in an assignment for spellcasting. I cling to the promise of vengeance every time I see Politia officers on campus, interviewing witches or examining cordoned-off sections of the woods. I reassure myself of it after each weird look a coven sister casts my way, and I bask in the thought of it when Sybil and I go shopping for dresses in San Francisco.
The problem is, the longer I muse on Sybil’s plan, the more I realize…it’s not settling my demons.
Not by half.
I think of all the burned books—years of life and work meticulously documented—and how the sorcerer relished destroying them. Then I think of how he attacked Kane in my room and how he’s repeatedly threatened me.
Despite Memnon’s wicked tongue and the budding thing we had between us, he has made it clear since the beginning that we are enemies. And what have I done to stop him?
Nothing.
And now my revenge is supposed to be wearing a sexy dress and giving other men attention in some bid to make Memnon jealous? It’s laughably pathetic, and I’m far too bloodthirsty to settle for that.
I need to make the man truly pay. But how?
Wednesday evening, I sit sprawled out in one of the wingback chairs in my house’s library, Nero at my feet, as I rub my lower lip and muse over my situation.
Right over my heart, I can sense my devilish bond thrum with life. Unfortunately, I’ve been noticing this bond more and more since I accepted that I’m Memnon’s soul mate. Just giving it this small amount of attention is enough for me to feel the sorcerer on the other side of it.
Whatever he’s doing, he’s some combination of pleased and impatient.
Smug bastard.
Little witch, are you poking around my mind? Memnon’s voice is soft like velvet in my head.
Crap, I forgot that he can sense me too.
I ignore him and the way his words stroke me from the inside out.
I can taste your frustration, he says. Are you desperate yet?
Screw you. I shove the words down our bond.
Is that a legitimate offer? Because if it is, I’ll have to think about it.
Goddess, but I hate him.
I feel his amusement as his presence retreats from our bond, and I’m alone once more—or as alone as I can be now that I’m connected to another.
