Chapter 10
That night, I stay alone in my room at my residence hall. It was my idea. I hate that as I settle into my tiny bed, it now feels noticeably empty without Memnon in it.
I’m coming to a crossroads, one I don’t really want to deal with. I want both my life as it was—Selene who was a carefree college student who knew nothing of curses and lost loves—and my new one—Selene who remembers a previous lifetime and is married to her ancient soul mate.
I feel split in two, and I don’t really know what to do about it.
The feeling only increases the next morning, when I notice a set of car keys resting on my desk, an indigo blue bow tied to them. Next to them is a note, one that causes a sharp inhalation as I pick it up.
The letters are Latin, but they’ve been carefully arranged into Sarmatian words—words I transcribed during my first life. Memnon had encouraged me then, and clearly he hasn’t forgotten my effort. My eyes flit over the brief message.
An iron horse for my queen.
I lower the note, my attention returning to the keys.
After a moment, I pick them up and grip them tightly, my heart hammering fast. Even a few weeks ago I would’ve rejected such a gift unless I absolutely needed it.
Now, rather than feeling like I’m getting entangled in a web of Memnon’s making, I feel… light.
You were here, I breathe down our bond.
I feel the warmth of his happiness. I swear there is also a touch of giddiness. I think…I think that’s because of me.
I was, he says.
But you didn’t stay.
You hadn’t asked me to, he responds.
I didn’t realize you were suddenly a gentleman.
Those were the wrong words.
I feel Memnon’s smile, but it’s not a kind one. Gentleman? he says, I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining the skepticism in his voice.
Do you want me to come over there now and fuck that pussy of yours just the way you like over and over again?
Until you cannot walk and your voice is hoarse from screaming?
Until your sheets are drenched with my cum and your tits are raw from my kisses and your sweet cunt forgets what it’s like to be empty?
I will make Samhain look like a joke—I am happy to do so. Just give the order.
But do not mistake me for a gentleman. I respect you and your wishes—the ones you speak of and the ones you imply—but I am still the same cold king I’ve always been.
I don’t think I breathe through his entire monologue. But I feel heat along my cheeks. Worse, my core has clenched in a decidedly inappropriate way, given what he’s threatened.
Would you? I say quietly. If I asked for that, would you?
Ask me, and you’ll find out.
I nearly do. But then I hear cackling drift up from the floors below mine, and it seems to break whatever spell he’s put me under.
Rain check, I say. I have class soon.
I feel his amusement. Of course, wife. There will be countless days in the future to reacquaint ourselves with one another.
Again, I feel my face flush.
I glance down at the keys still in my hand.
Thank you for the gift.
I feel something sweet across our bond. My queen, this is but the beginning.
He wasn’t kidding.
The next day a pair of carnelian earrings and a matching necklace wait for me in the same place, the set matching my wedding ring. The pieces are eerily similar to the set Memnon gave me two thousand years ago as a wedding gift.
The day after that I find a wax tablet and a bottle of wine spiced with anise and clove on my desk.
Each gift is accompanied by a love note, all of them written in Sarmatian with the exception of yesterday’s, which was written in Latin. Memnon previously mentioned that I used to slip into Latin when I was angry.
He must’ve been thinking about my anger considering the gift—a pair of gold hilted daggers, the tops of which were decorated with snarling wild cat heads. The note was simple:
For my terrifying wife who has made even the most battle-hardened warriors quake. Even your violence and anger are delicious.
Naturally, he’d enjoy that, the psycho.
I finger the hilts of those daggers.
I think I’m ready to see Memnon again.
But first, there’s one thing I need to do.
Among witches, getting on birth control is a lot easier than it is for regular folk.
If a witch is brave enough, she can simply brew her own potion to prevent pregnancy.
But to me, that feels too much like playing Russian Roulette, at least at my skill level, which leaves me one other option: procure birth control from the health clinic on campus.
Remembering the hoops I had to jump through for prescriptions in the past, I put it off until now.
But as I enter Henbane’s apothecary, located at the back of Cauldron Hall, I feel like a fool for assuming this would be anything like its non-magical equivalent.
I step inside the large room, my eyes moving to the walls. Hundreds of glass jars and vials line floor-to-ceiling shelves, and racks holding all sorts of witchy paraphernalia dot the room.
I wind my way through the items, my eyes scouring the labels. Tinctures for brain fog, pills for pain. Balms to ease melancholy. There are a few wrapped candies for luck and a gum that helps improve memory.
There are little spelled sachets for yeast infections, a potion for UTIs, and then I see the birth control tonics.
I stare at the vials, chewing my inner lip. These ones state that a single vial will work for three months—but am I supposed to drink it all at once, or in separate doses?
“We have amulets too,” a voice calls out. I glance over my shoulder to see the witch behind the front counter indicate a nearby rack. She clearly knows what I’m looking for.
My cheeks heat. “Thanks.”
I wander over to where she indicated. On the rack are dozens upon dozens of different spelled jewelry items. Some rings, some bracelets, some necklaces. Many are gold and dainty while several others are roughhewn.
Like the potions, these have a little tag on them that states that they’re effective for anywhere from one month to six months.
Because I’m cheap, I pick one of the one dollar amulets at the bottom of the rack, which are both the ugliest and the shortest lasting.
But it’s cheap enough that I can overlook the fact that it will only prevent conception for a month, or that the amulet itself is nothing more than a small piece of fired clay stamped with a creepy, smiling face of the moon and strung up on a ribbon.
This is so easy I should’ve done this months ago, long before Memnon was actually a threat to my pussy.
I bring the crude piece of jewelry up to the counter along with a waded up dollar bill. The witch behind the counter takes the money from me and inputs the purchase into her register.
She nods to the necklace still clutched in my hand. “Make sure to exchange the amulet or get it re-charmed every month. Otherwise, the spell will wear off.”
I slip the necklace on and say something I could never have a few months ago:
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”
I’m cutting across the green lawn between Cauldron Hall and Ravensmeade when the hairs on the nape of my neck rise.
I glance around, my eyes drifting to the Everwoods that press in on all sides of campus.
Empresssss…
My gaze drops to the ground when I realize who’s addressing me. The Hungering Ones, the ancient entities that live beneath the earth, have made a habit of only speaking to me when my blood is spilled.
But now they’re calling to me.
They are sssspeaking of you…
I crouch down and place a hand to the earth, heedless of the fact that these beings nearly dragged me to my death a little over a week ago.
“Who?” I say softly. “Who are you talking about?”
Beware … they hunger… almost as much as we do…
“Who does?” I press. “Who’s hungering?” But already, I sense the Hungering Ones’ presence fading away.
“You know, you could spell it out. Then it would actually be helpful and not just ominous garbage.”
But even antagonizing them doesn’t draw them back.
With a sigh and a fresh sense of foreboding, I return to my residence hall.
When I step inside my room, yet another gift awaits me. I cross the room to my desk, where an innocuous silver key rests on its surface. Of course, with Memnon, nothing is ever really innocuous. My heart begins to speed up as I lift the accompanying note.
All that’s written on this one is an address—an unfamiliar one—and a simple message.
Come to me, my queen. I am yours forever.
I run my thumb over the command. It feels more like a plea, one that weakens my knees and coaxes me the same way Memnon’s magic first coaxed me to his tomb.
I’ve stayed away for too long.
I honestly don’t even know why when my heart now wants him. Maybe it’s simply that I don’t know how to want him and act on the urge when, before, I only—begrudgingly—needed him.
My eyes sweep over his previous presents, which I’ve lined up along the back of my desk. The daggers, the wax tablet, the spiced wine, the carnelian earrings and necklace, and finally, the car key.
Yes, it’s time I paid my villainous sorcerer a visit.