Memnon’s expression has shifted a little. Now he’s looking at me like he’s caught sight of salvation.

Tentatively, he reaches out, his knuckles a hairsbreadth from my cheeks.

“Don’t,” I say.

He swallows, his hand still extended. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough.

I want to tell him that his help changes nothing. That being bound to me changes nothing. That his remorse and even his friendliness and every other disarming part of him changes nothing.

Even if it does.

Instead, I step back from him. “I’m not going home with you.”

I know staying with him would be the safer option, but Memnon is still the man who nearly killed a room full of my friends to force me to marry him, and he’s still the man who made me release my memories against my will, and I’m still rabidly angry at him. I’d sooner stay with a pack of hungry wolves than with him.

Memnon nods pensively, not bothering to fight me on this. Gone is the victorious man from the night before.

His eyes drop to my stomach, and they linger there for several long seconds. The room is so quiet that I catch a single whispered word across our bond.

Child.

I place a hand on my lower abdomen, swallowing. I don’t know what to say about that. It’s one more tragedy between us.

“I cannot believe a child—our child—existed at all,” he says softly, “and that I must simultaneously celebrate and mourn their life.”

I draw in a shuddering breath. This feels so unresolved, and a deep, ancient part of me wants to close the distance between us and grieve this loss together. But while I might’ve lived and died as Roxilana, that’s not who I am anymore, and Memnon is no longer my husband. So I wait for the moment to pass and for the sorcerer to tuck away the pain in his eyes.

Eventually the moment does pass, and Memnon turns to leave. He pauses when his eyes catch on something.

I follow his gaze to the unzipped duffel bag I took from his house. My notebooks are spilling out from it.

“You didn’t truly burn them,” I say. I can’t decide if that’s an accusation or a question.

His look softens as it returns to me. “I know I can be heartless, but even when I thought the worst of you, I never sought to destroy all that you are just to get what I want.”

The silence in the room is so, so loud.

“You could’ve fooled me,” I eventually say.

“I did fool you,” he agrees. “You believed them gone.”

“That doesn’t make you any less cruel.” He still got what he wanted.

Now Memnon does reach out and touch me. He cups my jaw, tilting my head up to his. “What if I told you that I feared one of your enemies would come in here—just as they have—and look through those journals? What if I told you I worried they might find some piece of information they could use against you?”

I give my head a shake. “You did it to prevent the Politia from reading them and finding something that might eliminate me as a suspect,” I argue.

“I did,” he agrees. He searches my eyes, almost willing me to understand. “I also didn’t want them to read your journals.”

“Because it would prove my innocence.”

“Because the corruption in this city runs deep.”

I study him for a long moment. “You think the Politia is in on this?”

He releases my jaw. “Information can be bought from anyone, Selene. Even the authorities.”

I…I think I believe him.

“If that’s true, why didn’t you just tell me?” I could’ve easily hidden my notebooks.

“Because I also wanted vengeance on you,” Memnon says. “Gods forbid my vengeance look like protection.”

I frown, searching his face.

I hate that what he’s saying makes sense.

“Answer me truthfully,” I command him. “Was any of what you said a lie?”

He holds my gaze. “No.” Before I have a chance to respond to that, Memnon’s gaze returns to my stack of notebooks. “Burn those or ward them, but don’t leave any of them exposed here for others to pick through. Because I can assure you, if given the opportunity, they will.”

I walk over to the duffel bag. I don’t really know what I’m thinking when I shove the books back in, pick up the bag, and carry it to Memnon. He’s about as trustworthy as a hobgoblin—no offense to hobgoblins—but…I don’t know. Maybe the evening is getting to me, or maybe it’s feeling overly confident about this new bond of ours. Or maybe it’s simply the fact that even when he was seeking retribution against me, he was still trying to protect me and the things most sacred to me. Whatever the reason, I decide to trust my gut over all the bad blood between us.

“You want to earn back my forgiveness?” I ask. “Then you can start by taking these with you and protecting them like you intended to.” I hand the notebooks over.

Memnon watches me carefully with those smoky, calculating eyes as he takes the bag of journals from me, and I try not to think about what his own sleeping arrangements are. The last glimpse I had of his house was of it on fire. I press my lips together to avoid asking about the state of it or whether he’ll be okay. The sorcerer is nothing if not ruthlessly effective. If the house isn’t okay, he’ll simply find another. It’s everyone else around him who needs to be worried.

Memnon gives my lips a lingering look before backing up toward the door. “Stay safe, est amage. You are powerful and capable, but even that can be bested by treachery.”

I know both of us are thinking about Eislyn and Zosines.

I nod. “I’ll be careful.”

“Reach out to me when you want to discuss the murders—or if you need anything at all,” he says, his eyes lingering on mine. “I am yours to command.”

I frown, not liking how serious everything suddenly is or how my heart feels uncomfortably bereft now that he’s leaving. Ridiculous, foolish heart.

He waits for a moment for me to say something—anything—but I’m ensnared in my own mixed feelings.

“Um, okay…see you later then.” Not sure I could’ve made that any more awkward, but all right.

Memnon gives me one last penetrating look, and it feels like a promise. He raps his knuckles on my doorway. “Later, little witch.” He dips his head and leaves, a trace of his indigo magic lingering in the air after him before it dissipates away.

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CHAPTER 14

Memnon’s wards seem to do the trick. No one but me enters or exits my room, and two days later, as I sit in my Intro to Magic class, I’m beginning to think that maybe I’m safe for the time being.

I tap my pen against my notebook as I wait for Professor Huang to enter. I haven’t reached out to Memnon since he left my room. I still intend to discuss the murders and follow up on the weird clubhouse shit we stumbled on…but I chickened out yesterday, and today…well⁠—

I glance down at the skeleton catsuit I’m wearing. I’ve kept this costume around for years for this very day.

All Hallows’ Eve. Samhain. Halloween, for the uninitiated.

The night when the barriers between worlds are their thinnest. The Samhain Ball three days ago was in honor of the holiday, but tonight, the true celebration takes place.

Outside the lecture hall, witches in costumes are moving pumpkins and unlit lanterns across the back lawn and into the Everwoods. If they’re at all afraid of going into that shadowy forest, they don’t show it. But they must feel this oppressive tension that hangs over the coven.

Everyone is feeling the weight of the killings. From the rumors I’ve overheard in the last two days, Henbane’s administration is considering placing a campus-wide curfew. And if things get worse…there’s the possibility that Henbane will shut down, either temporarily or for good. Already there’s talk that the school is going to get sued by several of the victims’ families. This moment is precarious.