Little bits of knowledge come back to me, things I was never sure of before—like the fact I enjoy working out, despite all the bitching and moaning I do about it. And I’m a truly awful cook—my mind has unearthed so many disastrous attempts. I have been intimate with four men—Memnon included—and I’ve been on far more dates than I imagined. I’ve reread my favorite books half a dozen times each, and I really did get to relive the joy of them over and over.

My years at Peel Academy, the supernatural boarding school I attended, come back, then the memories I had of life before my power Awoke. Not even these memories were safe from the ravages of my magic.

As a child and a young teenager, I was happy, chaotic, wild. I played outside most of the day, alongside my powerful parents, who—with the help of a little magic—grew our backyard into a wild wonderland. When I wasn’t digging my hands and toes into the earth, I was painting or drawing. More shocking still, I was messy, disorganized. My room was absolute chaos, and my mom would have me recite a cleaning spell alongside her.

I remember my great-aunt Giselle, who smelled like baby powder and way too much perfume and had an opinion about literally everything, and how she passed away from cancer. My father cried for weeks after, and I thought maybe he’d never smile again, until he finally did.

Further and further back, my mind goes.

My dad taught me how to ride a bike, his meadow-green magic billowing around the wheels when I started to lose my balance. I baked and ate ginger cookies with my mom, the two of us making faces at the sharp sugary flavor.

Young, I was so young. Mom read me fairy tales, and they made me upset. Princesses don’t wear dresses—they wear trousers and shoot arrows from the backs of horses. I would know this because I’m a queen. But where’s my king? He should be here. He’s always here. Something’s wrong.

My memories grow indistinct and distorted.

I can see a tire swing. Bushes with strawberries on them, but someone said not to eat them. They looked really good, and I wanted to.

I got old words and new words confused. It was hard. My parents didn’t understand. I didn’t really either.

Long hallways. An old heavy book that seemed to make the air glitter around it. A checkered blanket, a fuzzy kitty.

I was rocked. Held. Warm arms…

The memories close, and Memnon comes into focus. His hands are no longer holding mine; instead they cup my face. When did that happen? I feel the press of his magic and mine.

The throbbing in my head has worsened.

“I remember,” I whisper.

He gives his head a shake. “No, you don’t,” he whispers. “Not everything. Not yet.”

His bloody hand presses against my cheek. And somewhere down below, the Politia hammers on the front door.

“Ready yourself, est amage—it’s coming.”

“What is—?” I choke on the last of my words.

My back arches, and my mouth parts as I stare up at the ceiling. I wrap my hands around Memnon’s wrists as my mind seems to crack, and a spell held for two thousand years dissolves.

In its wake, there is a single instant of peace. Then memories from another time, another place spill in.

It starts with fire, and blood, and screaming. These memories may be older, but they are far more terrifying than anything I have experienced.

I’m squeezing Memnon’s wrists, and I feel tears tracking down my cheeks.

He was right the whole time. I am Roxilana. She is me.

And it’s very clear that in my mind, the only true hero in this first life, the only person who loved me and fought for me, defended me and adored me, was Memnon.

Fearsome, powerful Memnon who really did kill entire armies. He loved me more than life itself, and I loved him just as fiercely.

Here in the present, his thumbs stroke my cheeks, and he murmurs reassurances. “It is all right, my love. It is all right. You are here, with me.”

But, somewhere along the way, things changed.

My life twisted and twisted, and the walls closed in on me just as the walls have closed in on me now.

And I did the unthinkable.

I betrayed my soul mate.

I shudder at the truth of it. The memories abruptly end. I gasp as the magic cuts off.

I’m vaguely aware of the Politia officers storming the stairs, their heavy footsteps thundering as they close in on my room, but I hardly care.

I can still feel the wetness of my tears and Memnon’s blood on my cheeks.

Memnon’s eyes are gentle and unguarded as he peers at me.

“Roxi?” he says softly.

The name causes a sob to slip from me. I am both old and new all at once. I have been reborn.

“You should’ve never given me those memories back,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I was better off…and so were you.”

The door bursts open, and Politia officers storm the room.

Neither Memnon nor I pay them much mind.

“Est amage,” he says, his expression growing fevered, “we will figure it out. Together. I vow to fix all my wrongs. Whatever you want, you shall have. I am yours forever.”

He tries to pull me to him then, but I’m ripped from his hold.

An officer spins me around and cuffs my wrists, even as Nero growls at the intruders.

“Selene Bowers, you are under arrest…” They keep talking, and Nero keeps growling, but I am no longer aware of anything but Memnon.

I search his eyes. “What have I done?” I whisper.

I never should’ve woken Memnon from his sleep.

I have set a monster upon the world.

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COMING SOON

Keep a lookout for the next novella in the Bewitched series:

A Curse that Binds

Coming Winter 2023

Keep a lookout for the next full-length book in the Bewitched series!

Coming Spring 2024

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Bewitched is the first time in four years that I’ve been able to share a new fictional world with you all, and I can’t tell you how exciting it is to get to introduce you to this one! Though, to be fair, Bewitched takes place in the same universe as my Bargainer and Unearthly series, so it’s more like returning to an old and beloved place, and discovering something new about it. I’ve been steadily working away on this series for years, and the magic of this world and Selene’s unfailing optimism and humor have been such a joy to write.

That being said, it took so much to get this idea out of my head and into your hands. A huge, huge shout out goes to two ladies in particular who really helped make that happen. My agent, Kimberly Brower, and my editor, Christa Désir, were the first two people to read my manuscript, and their support and guidance has made this such an incredible experience for me. I’ve been a lone wolf in publishing for so long, and both of these ladies have really shown me what it means to not go it all alone. Thank you both from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve done.

I want to also thank who has helped me clean up and polish Bewitched. Your feedback helped so much and I lived for the little asides you sprinkled throughout the manuscript.

To Pam, Katie, Madison, and the rest of the Bloom team, thank you all so much for all the love and enthusiasm you’ve put into this book. I’m honestly blown away that I get to work with all you amazing people.

K.D. Ritchie, thank you for the beautiful cover and all the associated art and graphics you’ve made for this book! I still remember seeing this cover, which had originally been made for one of the series’ novellas, and being adamant that this had to go on the cover of Bewitched. I’m still mesmerized by it.