A small sound escapes me, and I clutch my throat.

See, the thing is, that was technically not a lie. While I have always been able to understand Latin and Ancient Greek—and even read a bit of Ancient Egyptian—I’ve never spoken this language. At least, not that I remember.

Memnon stalks forward before grasping my upper arms. “I don’t know what game you are playing, but it will end.”

This close to Memnon’s staggering form, I feel particularly small and helpless.

“Let me go,” I say in that ancient language. Again, I don’t mean to speak it; it just flows from me. I’d marvel at it, but my fear is pushing out every other emotion.

“Not until you tell me what you’ve done to me,” he demands, furious.

I ache as I stare into those eyes. This feels so much like my dream, where confusion overlays reality.

“What are you talking about?” I say, not even flinching this time when the words come out in that other language.

He gives me a bit of a shake. “You dismantled my army. Destroyed our empire, ripped me from our lands, and thrust me into this twisted future where nothing makes sense!” He all but roars this last part.

“Let me go.” My voice rises with my pounding heart, and there’s steel in it. My power coils within me, gathering itself. The fear I felt only moments ago is giving way to anger.

Memnon’s lips curve into a smile. But his eyes are sharp as swords. “But haven’t you missed me, Roxilana?”

“Who the fuck is Roxilana?” Again, this strange language.

He gives me an odd look now. “What is this game you’re playing?”

“Why would I ever play a game with you? I don’t even know who you are!”

“You don’t know who I am?” His eyebrows lift in disbelief. Then he laughs, the sound chilling. “I have been inside you more times than there are stars to count. I am no more a stranger to you than your own skin is.”

I have been inside you more times than there are stars to count.

I stare at him for a long moment, cold terror washing over me. This creature lured me to his tomb and had me spring him from it. And then he followed me across an entire continent, and now he believes we’ve been together—like, together, together.

I am in deep shit.

“There’s been a mistake,” I say slowly.

My mind races furiously, trying to recall my memories from South America, several of which have long since washed away. I need to get to the root of this problem.

“Mistake?” Memnon growls. His eyes begin to glow like hot coals, and the air sizzles with power. I jolt, recognizing what supernatural’s magic presents like that.

Not a demon. Not a vampire or a fae.

A sorcerer.

They’re nearly as bad as demons. A sorcerer’s power eats away at their conscience. The stronger one is, the more heartless they’ll be.

And Memnon feels staggeringly strong.

Unaware of my thoughts, he continues. “After all you have done to me—after all the betrayal—”

“Listen,” I say, cutting him off, “whoever you think I am, I’m not her.” This Roxilana broad really fucked with the wrong dude. “Please, just let me go.”

Memnon’s eyes flare a bit brighter. “You dare to play ignorant. To call me a liar and what we are a mistake. You, the woman I gave everything to.”

“But I didn’t give you everything,” I insist. “You have me confused with someone else.”

He ignores my point. “You locked me away, denied me even the basic decency of death. I was never given funerary rites, never allowed to pass from this world to the next. You kept me from the afterlife, where I could ride the skies with my ancestors.”

I stare up at the man, who looks like some ancient deity.

“Instead, I lay caged for all this time. But I am caged no longer.” The last part comes out grave, ominous. “The world will know my wrath—you will know my wrath, my queen.

“I will put you at my mercy,” he vows. “And I will destroy your world bit by bit until all you have left is me.”

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CHAPTER 14

I stifle a yawn as I sit in Spellcasting 101, my first class of the semester. After my encounter with Memnon, I didn’t sleep much last night, instead using my time to scribble down what I could remember of the incident. Like the fact that he’s a sorcerer and that he happens to want to ruin my life.

I will put you at my mercy. I will destroy your world bit by bit until all you have left is me.

At least he let me go. I hadn’t been sure he would after all he had said, but Memnon did release me shortly after his threat, and he retreated into the darkened forest. Somehow, that was even more terrifying than him standing right in front of me. Knowing this vengeful sorcerer was lurking unseen in the Everwoods was partly what kept me up last night.

I rub my eyes, and my tired mind slips. For an instant I am back in my room, sprawled across my bed, my black tail…

Tail?

I snap out of Nero’s mind and back into my own, forcing myself to sit up straighter and actually listen to the lecture.

“As you all know, magic is steeped in everything,” my instructor says from the podium. Mistress Bellafonte is a middle-aged witch, her coppery locks shot through with white. “Most people barely sense it. Fewer still can access it. Only witches and a few other types of supernaturals can interact with and manipulate it.

“One of the oldest and most basic ways to do so is through invocation. That is, utterance,” Mistress Bellafonte says, touching her lips. “As we move through this course, we’re going to come back to this theme over and over. But for now, let’s dig into that.”

A thrill shoots down my spine because even though I’m tired and this topic is drier than the Sahara, I’m finally, finally a student at this coven.

“Certain elements of language can add to the potency of an invocation and thus a spell. The most obvious example of this is rhyme. But there are others. An element less commonly known is the use of ancient power words.” She gives the room a meaningful look.

“Why is this the case?” she says. “It’s the same reason why a witch’s power only increases with age—magic is attracted to old things.” She pauses again. “You will be more powerful in ten years than you are now. And more powerful ten years after that. Even when your bones are brittle and your muscles are twisted with age, magic will surge within you.”

The room has gone quiet.

“The world that values your pretty, youthful face knows nothing of your true power. Though in time, you will discover it.”

Mistress Bellafonte gives us a tight smile. “But I digress.”

She paces around the front of the room, her periwinkle magic curling lovingly around her ankles. “In the next several weeks, we shall learn some arcane words and phrases, and we will apply them to spells before we move on to common spellcasting ingredients, the use of writing, and the role grimoires play. We’ll discuss what effect seasons and the time of day play into casting, as well as lunar phases and astrological events.

“My hope is that by the end of the semester, you’ll have knowledge and some commonsense tools to work with as you come to understand your own power and gifts.

“For now, let’s start a basic introduction into the sounds of different dead languages.

“Crack your books open to page twenty-one.”

I open my textbook and turn to the requested page. On it is the image of a stone tablet, Egyptian hieroglyphs etched into the stone.

“This is stela found in Karnak. We’re not going to translate it all, but I want to recite a portion of it…”

She begins to read it, and no, that’s not right. I shake my head absently. She’s emphasizing the wrong consonants, and the vowels—