Chapter 28
The conversation with Memnon haunts me as Nero and I make our way back across campus to my residence hall.
I didn’t think I was hidden away in the cemetery for very long, but the swarm of media personnel and Politia officers has greatly thinned out, leaving only a few lost-looking supernaturals lingering near the front of our school.
It’s quieter still when I approach Ravensmeade. The dark exterior has looked ominous and spooky in the past, but never desolate, as it appears now.
And yet, as I open the door and step inside, I smell brothy soup and yeasty bread, along with the scent of pumpkin pie.
There are the sounds of sobs, and I see the red-rimmed eyes of what look to be a witch’s family lingering in one of the common rooms, but with all the sadness, there is a liveliness to this space that was missing in the past few weeks.
Cautiously I creep into the kitchen, the smell of tasty things drawing me in. I’ve barely stepped into the space when I notice the thick knot of witches sitting at the tables.
One of them, a witch named Cora, looks up, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Selene,” she breathes.
At my name, other witches look over, and the conversations in the room fall silent.
She stands up from her seat, then so does another witch. Then another and another, until all of them have left their chairs. They move over to me as a group, and whatever has come over them, not even the sight of Nero at my side stops them from encircling me.
Thank you. I don’t know which witch says it first, but the words are repeated over and over again. Sometimes as whispers, sometimes as sobs. And one by one, my coven sisters hug me.
With many of the embraces come confessions.
“The man you were with, he healed me,” one of my sisters admits. “I was so close to death…”
Another holds me close. “You killed the demon who bit my friend.”
“You severed my bond weeks ago.” This confession is whispered by Yasmin, a witch who had at one point fought me.
“Told you, you are a hero,” Olga says when it’s her turn to give me a tight squeeze.
I know my eyes are wide, and I’m sure there are about a dozen more appropriate reactions than the one I’m giving my coven sisters, which is mainly my bewilderment. Until, of course, I taste the salt of my own tears.
I swallow down a thick lump of emotion that’s lodged itself in my throat. I’m so used to being cast as the bad guy, I don’t really know what to do with all this praise.
I’m dragged to a table, a bowl of soup and a roll of bread shoved at me. It’s quiet for a mere moment, and then conversation erupts, and I’m swept up into it for a long, long time.
I’m teary-eyed for most of it, even when the discussion moves to banal topics. This is the sisterhood I spent years yearning for. I can’t believe I’ve finally gotten it right when it’s all but over.
I also can’t help noticing how few of us there are left. I’m sure there are other coven sisters in rooms other than this one, but even still, we used to all barely fit into this expansive dining room. Now we fill no more than two of the rectangular tables.
And of the witches left, one is noticeably absent.
My mind moves back to my phone, where I’ve missed at least one call from Sybil.
I need to get back to her. I’ve been putting it off. I can’t bear to hear more bad news, and the state she was in when I last saw her…I don’t see how it couldn’t have been a rough night.
With that thought, I quietly slip away from the group, Nero slinking out after me.
“You didn’t have to stay with me, you know,” I whisper to the panther as we head down the hall, toward the foyer.
Nero gives me an unreadable look, one I’m tempted to think is snarky until he moves in a little closer, and I think my grumpy familiar might actually be protective of me right now.
I place a hand on his head, appreciating his closeness more than I can say.
With my other hand, I pull my phone out. I’ve already gotten in touch with my parents, who seem to have really warmed up to the thought of my sugar-daddy husband taking care of me when the alternative is getting eaten alive by soul-gobbling demons.
So I guess there’s that.
Reluctantly, I open Sybil’s messages.
Sybil Andalucia
Thanks for last night.
Holy baby imps, what the fuck happened on campus last night?!
Are you okay?
SELENE ARE YOU ALIVE?
ANSWER ME WENCH
OR OUR FRIENDSHIP IS OVER
UR DEAD TO ME
I’m sorry, you’re not, just please, please call me. This is stressing me out.
I wince as I read through all the texts. I need to talk to Sybil about all of last night—both what I went through and what she must’ve gone through with her shift. I’ve been putting it off all day because after the last twenty-four hours, I’ve had the emotional bandwidth of a goblin.
Now, however, I give her a call.
It rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail.
Because she’s still under the thrall of the Sacred Seven.
Instead, I text back a quick response.
Selene Bowers
I love you. I promise I’m alive. I tried calling you but I’m guessing you have paws not fingers right now. Call me when you’re not furry and reassure me you’re okay. I hope your first shifts are going well!
I tuck my phone away, refusing to dwell on my best friend’s issues. I’ve got too many of my own at the moment.
I head upstairs, Nero at my side. I feel weary, worn from the inside out. It’s been a hell of a few weeks. A hell of a school year, actually. My body is tired. My spirit is tired. More than anything, I want to fall on my bed and sleep my reality away, just for a little while.
Only, right when I stop outside the door to my room, Nero growls.
My gaze drops to my panther. His hackles are up, and I can see his lips are pulled back, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth. His body is tense, as though he’s prepared to strike.
The hairs along my skin rise as I glance again at the door.
For an instant I slip down the connection I share with Nero.
When I blink, I’m staring through the eyes of my panther, my surroundings starker, the colors muted.
I breathe in, assuming I might smell something through the big cat’s nostrils.
And I do. But it’s not blood or sulfur, like I worried it might be.
Instead, there’s a scent that’s familiar to him, one that smells a bit like a pine forest with a floral hint to it. Nero may have scented this before, but it’s unfamiliar to me. For all I know, it’s simply the smell of the outdoors wafting in, probably through my open window.
Regardless, I place a hand on Nero’s head and one on my own chest.
“Protect us from all harm. Make impenetrable armor for our flesh so that no object or spell can injure us,” I incant.
And then I open the door.
I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but it is most definitely not the individual lounging in my chair, their legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on my desk.
“Roxilana.” My ancient name is spoken with the appropriate intonation. The voice that says it is melodic. Familiar. Hated.
My nemesis.
Pale blond hair like spun silk, porcelain skin. Chalcedony blue eyes and rosebud pink lips. Ears that taper into fine points and a bladelike gaze. Two thousand years has neither changed her form nor dimmed her fire.
“Eislyn.” I breathe.
Eislyn? Memnon’s voice is cold and hard. Where are you? Where is she?
In my room.
Guard yourself, est amage. I’m coming. Dark promise laces Memnon’s words. If I were of a more rational mind right now, I’d worry that his coming might mean my house gets leveled by the end of the day. But I’m not entirely of sound mind right now.
Blood is pounding through my veins, and power is already pouring down my arms and gathering in my palms. I shrug off my bag, letting it fall next to my closet.
Eislyn studies my power with detached interest, though I don’t miss the way her gaze touches on the pair of sheathed daggers that I now perpetually wear.
In her hand she holds a stemmed glass of lavender wine, the bottle and another empty glass resting on my desk. She swirls her drink as she takes me in.
She shouldn’t be here. Memnon and I have both draped this room with layers of wards. Even I, in all my caution, thought the protective spells were a bit overdone.
As I glance around, I see that the wards are still intact, and yet here my enemy sits, right in the middle of my room, drinking and twiddling her thumbs like she didn’t just pass through layers of spells unscathed.
Mortal, earthly magic is almost entirely ineffective on the fae, Mistress Wormwood had said.
“I sent you a welcome party last night,” Eislyn says. “From what I hear, you met them.” She takes a sip of her wine, watching me over the rim.
Across my bond, I sense Memnon’s rage. Clearly, he’s catching a few bits of this exchange.
I step deeper into the room, closing the door behind me. Nero presses in tight to my side. He’s begun growling again, making his dislike known.
My magic continues to leak out of my palms, twisting around me and Nero and rapidly filling the space.
Eislyn watches its movements. “Are you planning on hurting me?” she asks curiously.
Of course I am. I have long memories and old rage. But this is a millennia-old being. She knows human tricks and how to place words like strikes for maximum and predictable damage. I do not want to be predictable when dealing with her.
So instead of releasing my agitated magic, I force myself to casually walk forward.
“I see you brought wine—and an extra glass. Were you planning on having a drink with an old enemy?”
She smiles, settling in a bit deeper into my computer chair. If her eyes were sharp before, they’re nothing compared to the laser focus they have now.
“I thought we might share a rare vintage together—one you might be familiar with.” She says this with a slight emphasis, as though certain I’d recognize this particular wine.
I keep my expression as flat as possible, but the truth is that I have no idea what she might be referring to.