Chapter 13
My head snapsto him so quickly. “What?” I must’ve misheard him. The possibility that merely hours after Memnon and I formed a bond, we run into a witch with a bond of her own…
“She answers to a woman who goes by the name of Lia. She has a weekly call with this Lia where she’s forced to divulge information she has about various witches.” Memnon’s eyes grow cold. “Lauren is a recruiter.”
My breath catches in my throat. “What do you mean by that?”
“She uses her position as an instructor here to scout for witches this Lia might like.” After a moment, he adds, “She was there the night of the spell circle. I watched”—his voice breaks off as he spits the word out like a curse—“her chase you in her memories. She tried to kill you several times.”
I can’t breathe. I must’ve misheard him. “She’s—she’s an instructor,” I try to argue. I don’t want to believe that the instructors here could be in on this.
Memnon continues. “When Lauren finds witches who are promising, she passes along their information to Lia, and in some cases, she arranges for them to either participate in a spell circle or be subjected to it.”
I stare at Memnon’s mouth. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says softly, “those women get bonded.”
I press my lips together.
“There’s another spell circle already planned for the upcoming new moon,” he says. “It didn’t look like they’d decided on a location, but they still mean to hold one.”
Suddenly, Memnon’s aggressive tactics don’t seem so overblown. Not in light of what he discovered.
“Selene,” he says, searching my face, “that’s not the worst part.”
There’s more?
His gaze is steady on mine. “This Lia woman is looking for you.”
The two of us step out of the teacher’s lounge and into the halls of Cauldron Hall. Dazedly, I note the doors of various classrooms and faculty offices on either side of us, but my mind is lingering on what we just learned.
These bindings are systemic things. I figured as much, but to hear it confirmed, and that an instructor here at Henbane Coven is involved in it? Suddenly, all the witches here feel marked. Me, Sybil, the witch speaking with her cardinal familiar down the hall, the group of women lurking in front of the massive bubbling cauldron that dominates the main entryway.
Memnon pulls out his phone and dials someone. He places the phone to his ear, but I can feel his eyes on me as we make our way out of the building. I can hear an automated voice placidly ask Memnon to leave a message.
The sorcerer curses and hangs up. “No one answered Lia’s number,” he says, tucking his phone in his pocket. “I’ll try to call it again later.”
But why bother? It’s likely no one will answer. Or maybe someone will. Then what? We threaten them over the phone? Tell them what they’re doing is bad and wrong? Continue to call them until they block us? It’s likely a burner phone or a temporary number or … or …
I am halfway down the marble steps outside Cauldron Hall when I decide to sit down there and then.
Memnon pauses ahead of me, then glances back.
“Selene?” he asks, concerned.
I shake my head, trying to catch my breath, though I haven’t been running. I don’t know why I’m so winded.
I hear his heavy, deliberate footfalls back up the steps. When he gets to my side, he pauses. Then he proceeds to step up next to me and sit down heavily. His leg bumps against mine.
“Please don’t.”
Don’t what?He asks down our bond.
Don’t act concerned. I press my palms to my eyes.
Despite the command, Memnon places a hand on my back. When I don’t immediately knock it off, he pulls me into his side.
I guess his concern is genuine. The realization sours my stomach, even as I lean against him, taking shameful comfort in the warm, solid feel of him.
Because of you, I have to clean up this mess.It’s such a blatant lie; Memnon might’ve taken part in moving the bodies of murdered witches, but he had nothing to do with this.
We’re going to clean it up together,he says, not bothering to call me out on the lie.
My annoyance spikes…along with a traitorous warmth that loosens the tightness in my chest.
Memnon glances out across the main lawn and toward the coven’s main entrance and the thick forest beyond.
You told me not to hurt Lauren,he says. If you lift the order, I can?—
If I lift the order,I finish for him, you’ll kill her.
He’s quiet. He knows as much.
After a moment, he says, If I don’t stop her, more witches will get bonded against their will.
I pinch my eyes shut. I know.
Killing her would be convenient, but I can’t just order her death. That takes a sort of coldness that I don’t have.
I shake my head. We need to find this Lia and stop her.
She’s the puppet master pulling the strings here. It doesn’t help that she’s apparently taken a keen interest in me.
We’ll find her,Memnon promises, I was able to get her number off Lauren’s phone. I’ll see what I can do with it. Memnon’s gaze flicks down to me. But be warned, whoever Lia is, if she is truly forcing bonds on these witches and making them recruit more victims, she is probably highly evil and very dangerous.
What he means is that eventually, he will likely have to kill her. I’m glad he doesn’t voice it, because I don’t think I would stop him, and I’m not ready to deal with that awful truth on top of everything else.
Instead, I say, There’s no one worse than you.
His eyes twinkle menacingly.
Est amage, I’m counting on that.
Eventually, we make it back to my room.
Nero has also returned and has ditched his cat bed to instead sleep sprawled on my comforter, letting out adorable little huffs that I think are cat snores.
At least one of us is at peace. I’m still turning over the fact that an instructor at Henbane is luring witches to the same spell circles I was lured to. That this instructor fought me as I tried to escape with Cara, the shifter girl.
I feel Memnon’s eyes on me, and I turn to look back at him. He lingers in the doorway, a lock of his black hair hanging over his eye. Gone is the aggressive, angry man I’ve gotten so used to over the last several weeks. I can still sense his violence—that’s as much a part of him as anything else—but it’s tucked away at the moment.
Instead, I sense the sharp ache of his love through our bond. Somewhere during our evening, his eyes lost their haunted look. But now the hollowness is back.
There is a huge part of me that wants to reach out and touch him just to remove that expression from his face.
Do you want to discuss the murders now?my mate asks.
I’m tired to my bones. And hungry.
“Another night.” I’ll pick Memnon’s brain on this when I’m sharp enough to ask the right questions.
Memnon’s expression has shifted a little. Now he’s looking at me like he’s caught sight of salvation.
Tentatively, he reaches out, his knuckles a hairsbreadth from my cheeks.
“Don’t,” I say.
He swallows, his hand still extended. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough.
I want to tell him that his help changes nothing. That being bound to me changes nothing. That his remorse and even his friendliness and every other disarming part of him changes nothing.
Even if it does.
Instead, I step back from him. “I’m not going home with you.”
I know staying with him would be the safer option, but Memnon is still the man who nearly killed a room full of my friends to force me to marry him, and he’s still the man who made me release my memories against my will, and I’m still rabidly angry at him. I’d sooner stay with a pack of hungry wolves than with him.
Memnon nods pensively, not bothering to fight me on this. Gone is the victorious man from the night before.
His eyes drop to my stomach, and they linger there for several long seconds. The room is so quiet that I catch a single whispered word across our bond.
Child.
I place a hand on my lower abdomen, swallowing. I don’t know what to say about that. It’s one more tragedy between us.
“I cannot believe a child—our child—existed at all,” he says softly, “and that I must simultaneously celebrate and mourn their life.”
I draw in a shuddering breath. This feels so unresolved, and a deep, ancient part of me wants to close the distance between us and grieve this loss together. But while I might’ve lived and died as Roxilana, that’s not who I am anymore, and Memnon is no longer my husband. So I wait for the moment to pass and for the sorcerer to tuck away the pain in his eyes.
Eventually the moment does pass, and Memnon turns to leave. He pauses when his eyes catch on something.
I follow his gaze to the unzipped duffel bag I took from his house. My notebooks are spilling out from it.
“You didn’t truly burn them,” I say. I can’t decide if that’s an accusation or a question.
His look softens as it returns to me. “I know I can be heartless, but even when I thought the worst of you, I never sought to destroy all that you are just to get what I want.”
The silence in the room is so, so loud.
“You could’ve fooled me,” I eventually say.
“I did fool you,” he agrees. “You believed them gone.”
“That doesn’t make you any less cruel.” He still got what he wanted.
Now Memnon does reach out and touch me. He cups my jaw, tilting my head up to his. “What if I told you that I feared one of your enemies would come in here—just as they have—and look through those journals? What if I told you I worried they might find some piece of information they could use against you?”
I give my head a shake. “You did it to prevent the Politia from reading them and finding something that might eliminate me as a suspect,” I argue.
“I did,” he agrees. He searches my eyes, almost willing me to understand. “I also didn’t want them to read your journals.”
“Because it would prove my innocence.”
“Because the corruption in this city runs deep.”
I study him for a long moment. “You think the Politia is in on this?”
He releases my jaw. “Information can be bought from anyone, Selene. Even the authorities.”
I…I think I believe him.
“If that’s true, why didn’t you just tell me?” I could’ve easily hidden my notebooks.
“Because I also wanted vengeance on you,” Memnon says. “Gods forbid my vengeance look like protection.”
I frown, searching his face.
I hate that what he’s saying makes sense.
“Answer me truthfully,” I command him. “Was any of what you said a lie?”
He holds my gaze. “No.” Before I have a chance to respond to that, Memnon’s gaze returns to my stack of notebooks. “Burn those or ward them, but don’t leave any of them exposed here for others to pick through. Because I can assure you, if given the opportunity, they will.”
I walk over to the duffel bag. I don’t really know what I’m thinking when I shove the books back in, pick up the bag, and carry it to Memnon. He’s about as trustworthy as a hobgoblin—no offense to hobgoblins—but…I don’t know. Maybe the evening is getting to me, or maybe it’s feeling overly confident about this new bond of ours. Or maybe it’s simply the fact that even when he was seeking retribution against me, he was still trying to protect me and the things most sacred to me. Whatever the reason, I decide to trust my gut over all the bad blood between us.
“You want to earn back my forgiveness?” I ask. “Then you can start by taking these with you and protecting them like you intended to.” I hand the notebooks over.
Memnon watches me carefully with those smoky, calculating eyes as he takes the bag of journals from me, and I try not to think about what his own sleeping arrangements are. The last glimpse I had of his house was of it on fire. I press my lips together to avoid asking about the state of it or whether he’ll be okay. The sorcerer is nothing if not ruthlessly effective. If the house isn’t okay, he’ll simply find another. It’s everyone else around him who needs to be worried.
Memnon gives my lips a lingering look before backing up toward the door. “Stay safe, est amage. You are powerful and capable, but even that can be bested by treachery.”
I know both of us are thinking about Eislyn and Zosines.
I nod. “I’ll be careful.”
“Reach out to me when you want to discuss the murders—or if you need anything at all,” he says, his eyes lingering on mine. “I am yours to command.”
I frown, not liking how serious everything suddenly is or how my heart feels uncomfortably bereft now that he’s leaving. Ridiculous, foolish heart.
He waits for a moment for me to say something—anything—but I’m ensnared in my own mixed feelings.
“Um, okay…see you later then.” Not sure I could’ve made that any more awkward, but all right.
Memnon gives me one last penetrating look, and it feels like a promise. He raps his knuckles on my doorway. “Later, little witch.” He dips his head and leaves, a trace of his indigo magic lingering in the air after him before it dissipates away.