Uh-oh. This is why stilettos are a bad idea—especially when alcohol is involved.

I rush out of my room, passing other witches in various states of dress. Lying on the landing, her dress basically around her waist, is Sybil.

Another witch is already there, ready to help her, but she waves the girl away. “I’m good, I’m good.”

Despite her words, I head down to the landing and help pick my friend up as she smooths her hands over her dress.

“The shoes aren’t worth it,” I whisper.

“I didn’t just eat shit for nothing, Selene,” she says. With that, she pulls her hand away and staggers down the rest of the stairs, heading to her room.

I take the moment to visit my own room and grab my phone, which I tuck into my dress. Nero has been lounging next to my bed this entire time, but now, as though sensing I’m leaving the room for good, he follows me out.

We get to Sybil’s room just as she’s closing the door behind her, her owl familiar perched on her shoulder and a pair of open-toed stilettos in her hand.

“Here,” she says when she sees me, thrusting the heels at me.

I slip the shoes on, and then we make our way downstairs with our familiars before heading out of the house alongside another group of witches—two of whom are wearing Chucks.

Meanwhile, I’m strapped into a pair of stilts.

Wait, this thought feels familiar. Did I have an entire exchange just like this one with Sybil on another night…?

I bet I did.

I exhale. I better be putting off killer-queen vibes, or I’m going to mutiny.

The group of us cuts across campus, following the stream of witches heading toward the conservatory. Nero prowls at my side, acting as my date.

Overhead, the full moon shines down, illuminating the darkness and limning our surroundings in a pale blue light. I draw in a breath at the sight of it, my magic tingling as it too feels the touch of that light. Full moons are for revelation and truth that not even the darkness can hide. And this one, the hunter’s moon, is particularly poignant.

It’s a good night for revenge and for forcing Memnon to face my true feelings of him.

Witches on broomsticks cut through the air, laughing with abandon, their skirts and hair waving in the wind behind them.

An old sense of longing comes over me, and I have to remind myself I’m in the coven and I’ll learn how to fly on brooms eventually. That’s one more thing I’ll get to accomplish during my time here. I just haven’t yet.

The conservatory glows in the distance, the all-glass structure lit from within and without by hundreds of levitating lanterns, the flickering candlelight creating a beautiful, almost-Gothic effect.

I’ve never actually been inside the coven’s massive greenhouse. Not until tonight. It’s clear as I get closer that I’ve been missing out. I can see all sorts of wild greenery growing inside, and in honor of Samhain, someone’s grown pumpkins the size of chairs outside the building. Many are still attached to their vines, and the plants themselves curl around the massive fruit.

I make my way up the marble steps leading to the door, Nero at my side. I glance at Sybil’s shoulder, noticing that Merlin has already flown off into the night. I pause, glancing around as the rest of the witches continue into the building. No one else’s familiar seems to be with them.

I chew on the corner of my lip as I take in Nero. “I don’t think you’re allowed inside as you are,” I say.

My panther looks at me for a long time with his golden-green eyes, as though he’s trying to silently communicate something. I slip down our bond and into his head for a moment, and I feel an emotion from him I’m not expecting—affection.

Slipping back into my own body, I kneel so I can place my forehead against my familiar’s.

“I love you too,” I whisper to him. I pull away and pet his face. “Stay safe in those woods tonight.” There are bound to be a lot of drunk, lusty witches making bad decisions out there.

Nero gives me another long look, as if to say, You stay safe too.

Or maybe that’s just me anthropomorphizing my familiar. I nod anyway.

With one final look, Nero turns from me and lopes toward the tree line. I stand, watching him go.

Empress…

My flesh puckers at Memnon’s call. I turn to face the conservatory once more, and I startle when I catch sight of him through the double doors.

He stands with his hands in the pockets of his tux, looking so much larger than the people moving around him.

I suck in my breath at how good he looks, his wildness caged in by the cut of his suit jacket and pants. Well, mostly caged in—he’s done away with a bow tie, his dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, and I can see that panther tattoo of his peeking out above the collar of his shirt. His hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it several times.

If I thought a tuxedo would make Memnon look any less dangerous, I was wildly wrong.

My heart trips on itself at the sight of him, and a light, fluttery feeling fills my stomach.

Revenge, I remind myself. Tonight is for revenge.

His smoky eyes glitter as he takes me in, from the tips of my toes, up along the slit of my dress to my bust, and then, finally, to my face. He looks like someone hit him upside the head.

I see him swallow, his eyes still fixed on me, and holy shit, is Memnon actually…thrown by this outfit?

Guess the revenge dress worked.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. All right, I can do this. Already, the fluttery feeling in my stomach is settling.

I head the rest of the way up the stairs and enter the conservatory, hearing some haunting melody fill the air. All around me, witches and mages stand around in formal wear, chatting and laughing and drinking witch’s brew from delicate coupe glasses like we’re high-society folk and not wild, enchanted things.

I turn to where Memnon stood a moment ago, but he’s gone. Unfortunately, somewhere in all the crowd, I’ve lost sight of Memnon. I glance around.

“Selene!”

I turn toward the voice, only to see Sybil slipping through the crowd toward me. Farther behind her, I catch sight of the group we came here with.

“I grabbed us a table!” my friend says, stepping in front of me. “Want to go sit down, or—?”

“I saw him,” I say to her.

“What? Where?” She glances around.

“I don’t know, I lost sight of him.” As I speak, I realize my hands are shaking. But it’s not from nerves; it’s from my coiling magic.

I’m ready to face the man.

Sybil’s face grows excited. “You know what this means?” she says. “It’s revenge time.”

Instead of returning to the table Sybil nabbed us, she leads me in the opposite direction, down one of the conservatory’s wings.

For a moment, as I take in our surroundings, I forget about Memnon and the vendettas between us.

I cannot believe I haven’t visited this place before.

Plants fill every level of the conservatory, growing from massive terra-cotta pots and patches of ground where the floor has been cut away. The only place not completely covered in growing foliage is the dance floor and its surrounding tables, though even that area is dotted with plants. And all of it is illuminated by the levitating lanterns above us.

At the end of the wing, beyond clusters of chatting supernaturals, a massive cauldron smokes. Next to it rests a pyramid of coupe glasses, all filled with the wafting brew.

Right, more booze to loosen my inhibitions and allow me to have a good time tonight. Maybe it’ll even make me forget that having a good time does nothing to quench my thirst for payback.

Sybil and I haven’t made it to the cauldron when I feel the brush of familiar magic on my bare back.

Empress…we have unfinished business…

I stop walking, and Sybil glances back at me.