Dozens of black robes hang inside. Reaching for one, I rub the fabric between my fingers and breathe the material in. It smells faintly of that cloying draught I was given at the spell circle. More incriminating still, there are a few nearly transparent white shifts hanging inside as well. Cara the shifter had worn something similar when she’d been brought to the circle…

I back away from the closet, my pulse pounding loudly in my ears. I mean, it could be a coincidence. There are probably similar robes and shifts stored somewhere in the residence hall as well. These are pretty basic ceremonial regalia.

I turn and take in the room again, my gaze sweeping over the space before settling on the chests.

I move over to one and attempt to open it. The lid doesn’t budge.

I wonder if stroking this one would work?

I try doing just that. When the lid still doesn’t budge and I feel faintly like I committed some sort of sex act against the chest, I focus my attention on the iron latch at its center. There’s a keyhole beneath it, one my iron room key would probably fit—though I left it back in my room.

“Open,” I command in Sarmatian.

My magic unfurls, a thin line of it flowing into the keyhole. I hear a latch tumble, and then my power is pushing the lid up against the wall.

What is the point of a lock if a spell can…

Hell’s spells.

Stacked inside the chest are many, many masks identical to those worn at the spell circle. On top of them all is the high priestess mask.

Well, this is no longer a coincidence. Whoever’s been involved in the spell circle is storing the items for it here.

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CHAPTER 12

I reach inside the chest and lift the high priestess mask out.

“Memnon!” I call.

When I don’t hear him, I lower the mask and glance down the chamber he exited through.

He’s been awfully quiet down our bond since he disappeared up the staircase.

Memnon? I reach for him through our connection.

I’ll be there soon, Empress. I’m almost finished.

Finished? I say, alarm bells going off in my head. With what?

The interrogation.

Oh, fuck.

Dropping the mask, I dash toward the wrought iron spiral staircase. I glance up it, hearing the low notes of Memnon’s voice from somewhere up above.

Bloody boils. I take the stairs two at a time, the structure shivering as I pound my way up it in my haste to get to Memnon.

The stairs lead to a narrow antechamber with an open archway out. On the other side of it, I can see what looks like some sort of teacher’s lounge, and on the far side of the room, Memnon is holding a woman by the throat, her feet flailing as she tries to rip away the sorcerer’s hand. Her pale green magic snaps at Memnon, but whatever spells she’s casting, they’re not deterring my mate in the slightest.

“Memnon!” I cannot leave this man alone for five fucking seconds. “Put the woman down,” I say in Sarmatian.

Memnon glances over his shoulder at me while he reluctantly lowers the woman back to the ground.

“Hello, my queen,” he says smoothly, like he wasn’t just choking a witch out. A witch he still holds by the throat.

I stride forward. “You cannot accost people and treat them like threats,” I say.

I don’t mean for that to be a direct order, but in response to it, Memnon’s hand opens, and he releases the witch, who then tries to bolt. Memnon blocks her escape with his body.

“You may want to qualify that command,” he says, sending his magic to the door the witch is rushing toward. When she gets to it, the handle won’t turn. Her own magic flares out to combat Memnon’s spell. “We might be stumbling on a lot of bad people.”

She knows things, est amage, he adds silently.

Aw man. I can feel a stress headache already brewing.

Fine, disregard my last command. Just be gentle with her.

As soon as I give the order, Memnon’s magic wraps around the witch’s midsection and gently drags her to a nearby couch.

“Stay,” he orders. His magic flows out of him at the command and restrains her against the seat.

Goddess, but I hate that spell of his. I’m also trying not to hyperventilate at the fact that I’m now allowing Memnon to manhandle people on my behalf. Considering we’re somewhere inside the Henbane Coven’s main buildings, this witch is likely an instructor.

My misgivings overwhelm me. I’m about to call the sorcerer off when he speaks again.

“I think you’ll be very interested to hear what Lauren here has to say.”

The woman, who looks to be in her midthirties, glances between each of us, her light brown hair disheveled and her eyes frightened. More of her magic sifts out of her as she fights Memnon’s hold. It’s an exercise in futility.

“Let me go,” she demands.

Memnon folds his arms and tilts his head. “Tell her”—he nods to me—“what you told me, then maybe I will.”

This is so wrong. This isn’t what I meant at all when I asked for Memnon’s help.

Is it not? he responds. I think you needed an excuse to be unleashed, and I’m it.

The witch in front of us interrupts our silent conversation. “I—I was just down in the tunnels restocking it with supplies.”

My brow furrows and I look from Memnon to her. “Why does that room need to be stocked with food?”

The witch, Lauren, shifts her attention to me, and there is a flicker of recognition. Unfortunately, even with my memories back, I don’t recognize her.

“We always keep the tunnels stocked with f-food. In c-case of emergencies.”

Memnon laughs low. “That’s not the reason you gave when I peered in your mind.”

She opens her mouth, but when she tries to speak, nothing comes out. Her shoulders curl inward a little. “I can’t talk about it.”

I frown. That doesn’t exactly scream innocent to me.

“Please,” she says to me, her eyes beseeching, “let me go. You know this is wrong.”

Yeah, this is definitely wrong, I say down my bond.

“Tell her why you cannot talk about it,” Memnon says.

“I c-cannot talk about that either.”

Memnon looks over at me.

Is that supposed to mean something?

Doesn’t that sound like a magical compulsion? he says. Because it is.

My eyebrows rise as Memnon says to Lauren, “Where’s your phone?”

The witch’s eyes dart briefly to a purse sitting nearby. Memnon walks over to it as the witch fights her restraints.

He withdraws her phone and holds it up to her. “Unlock the device.”

Before she can resist, her phone recognizes her face and unlocks on its own. The sorcerer glances down at it, then taps on a few buttons. He takes a picture of something, taps a few more buttons, then I hear the phone in his pocket buzz.

Tears begin to slip down the woman’s cheeks as Memnon returns her phone to her purse. She looks first to my mate, then to me. “You don’t understand,” she says softly. “Thank the Goddess you don’t.”

“But I do understand,” Memnon says dangerously, moving back over to her. “You were there that night Selene was attacked, weren’t you? You helped attack her.”

She shakes her head. “I had no choice.”

The sorcerer looks pityingly at her. “I doubt you did. And you leave me with no choice now either.”

Memnon steps into Lauren’s space and grasps the sides of her head. The woman begins struggling anew.

“Memnon,” I say, a note of alarm in my voice, “you will not hurt her.”

He inclines his head toward me, but that’s the only sign he gives that he’s heard my command.

To Lauren, he says, “You never saw us, and we are not here now. You are going to grab your things and go home.”

He releases the witch and backs up.