I glance down at Nero, who’s come to a stop at my side. “Memnon has a bad habit of locking us in places while I’m unconscious.”

The big cat blinks up at me, clearly bored.

I lay my palm on the door and simply wait. After a few seconds, deep blue tendrils of the ward peel themselves away from the door and crawl up my fingers. Like last time I did this, Memnon’s magic can’t seem to help but draw near. They wrap around my wrist like they’re desperate to hold on to me, and as they do so, the spell’s structure warps and melts until the whole thing slides off the door completely.

It lingers on my skin for several seconds, then dissipates.

When I try the door again, it gives, sunlight slicing through the opening.

In my pocket, my phone vibrates, and I know without looking that my ride is approaching. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

My gaze drops to Nero, and I run my teeth along my lower lip. He’s going to be a problem for whoever picks us up.

Lightly, I place a hand on the big cat’s head, causing his ears to twitch. “Do ulibad povekomsa pesagus diveksu kuppu mi'kanutgusa buvekatasava.”

Hide this great cat from all eyes but mine.

My power, which is still recovering from last night, sluggishly sifts out of me and pours down Nero’s body.

The spell is not accompanied by the usual prickling or throbbing in my head I’ve come to expect, the one that took memories from me.

My memory loss really is no more.

At the reminder, I feel the burn of betrayal all over again.

Yesterday might’ve been Memnon’s day, but today fucking isn’t.

I glance back at the foyer and living room. It really is a lovely house. Shame.

Closing my eyes, I focus on what little magic remains. It’s not much, yet I only need a spark.

Memnon made a mistake, leaving me and my wrath here in his inner sanctum.

I extend my arm palm up, and my eyes snap open. “Elements of old, feel my ire. Light this fucking house on fire.”

Down my arm, my magic trickles and gathers until a wisp of pale orange smoke rises from my extended hand, curling and transforming into flame.

I toss the ball of flame into the living room, where it lands on a fringed rug. In a matter of seconds, the fire smolders, then grows, consuming what it can of the rug and anything else nearby.

“C’mon, Nero,” I say. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

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CHAPTER 4

By the time Nero and I return to the coven, the sun has disappeared behind a thick layer of clouds, and I feel like I’ve been hit by a cauldron.

Memnon’s pain-numbing spells must’ve worn off, and my body is feeling all the aches of last night, as well as the deeper exhaustion that comes from overusing my magic.

Once I enter my house, I head toward the dining hall, lured in by the smell of soup and fresh bread. Halfway there, I feel a prickle at the back of my neck. I glance around and notice a couple of witches staring. And when I enter the dining room, a witch who had been playing a fiddle now stops, and the chatter in the room quiets as my coven sisters glance my way.

I’ve been distracted by my wicked fiancé, but for these women, my arrest must’ve been the drama of the night—especially since Memnon spelled them to forget their own brushes with death.

Ignoring the looks, I grab a bowl painted with vines from a stack at the front of the buffet line and fill it with steaming soup. Snagging a bread roll from a nearby basket, I beat a hasty retreat from the room, Nero at my heels.

All I really want to do is snuggle into my bed and binge-watch something on my laptop, but I haven’t spoken with my best friend Sybil since last night, and so much has happened since we parted that it feels wrong to hole up without at least stopping by her room first.

I don’t bother knocking when I get there, I just step inside, Nero trailing in after me, and I set my bread and soup down on her desk.

Sybil’s back is to me while she tends to her wall of plants, her lilac magic threading through the room. She’s lost in her own world, humming something under her breath that the leaves are swaying to. Merlin, her barn owl familiar, rests on a perch over her bed, his eyes hyper focused on Nero.

“Sybil,” I call out.

My friend startles, nearly dropping her watering pail.

“Goddess’s wrath,” she curses, turning. As soon as she sees me, she gasps. “Selene!” Now she chucks the pail aside, causing Merlin to flap his wings as water sprays him and his perch. She crosses the room and throws herself at me. “I’ve been so worried.” she says, holding me tightly. “I heard you were arrested, but when I called the station, they told me you’d already been released. But then you weren’t answering your calls, and you never showed up here.” She pauses to inhale a breath. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve been with Memnon,” I say tiredly. I shrug off the duffel bag I’ve been carrying, nearly clobbering my familiar in the process.

Nero gives me what can only be described as a dirty look.

“Sorry, bud,” I say to him.

His ears flick at the term. You just cannot please everyone.

“Memnon?” Sybil says, making a face. “Last I checked, we hated his guts.”

“We still hate his guts,” I confirm.

“Oh good. I mean bad.” Her brow furrows. “But last night when he was carrying you out of the dance, you guys seemed like you’d ironed things out. What happened?”

I let out a jaded laugh that ends as a sob.

Hell’s spells, where to begin?

I sit down heavily on the edge of her bed, Nero curling up at my feet. “If you have an hour, I’ll tell you everything.”

She nods, pulling her computer chair over to sit. “I’m listening.”

So I tell her the whole, sordid truth, from Memnon asphyxiating a room full of supernaturals then altering their minds, to framing me for the murders to forcing me to agree to his shitty demands.

Sybil keeps saying “What the fuck?” over and over again, her eyes glued to me.

Once I finish, she lets out a hysterical little laugh. “So let me get this straight: you’re no longer a suspect”—I nod—“but you’re engaged to a psycho”—another nod—“and you can now remember your past?”

I give her a sad smile. “Yeah, that’s about where the situation is.”

“I don’t believe it,” she says, staring at me intently.

I probably wouldn’t either, if roles were reversed.

“Ask me about a memory, one you know I’ve forgotten,” I say.

Sybil sits back in her seat. “Um…okay.” She drums her fingers on the armrest. “What did we do on the night of our high school graduation?”

Easy. “We got drunk off cheap booze and skinny-dipped in the Irish Sea. It was tit-chappingly cold too.”

Sybil’s mouth parts with her surprise. “Holy midnight,” she says softly. “You remember.” The lights in her room flicker, punctuating the statement. “And your magic won’t take any more memories the next time you cast a spell?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Sybil’s eyes well as they move over my features. “How do you feel about that?”

I sigh and get up, grabbing my bread roll before returning to her bed. Bread will help, right?

“Awful. Angry. A little hopeful and then guilty that I feel hope.” I rip the roll in half, then take a bite of it. “I don’t know. I’m so conflicted.”

Sybil moves next to me on the bed and rubs my back. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Now is probably not a good time to tell you what’s been happening here.”

I glance over at her, my brow creasing. “What are you talking about?”

“Another witch was murdered.”

It’s my turn to stare at her in disbelief.

“What? When?”

“I think someone discovered the body sometime in the middle of the night out in the Everwoods,” Sybil says.

A shudder runs through me when I realize this must’ve been Memnon’s doing. He’d moved the previous bodies into the Everwoods when he was framing me for murder. He must’ve spent the hours I was incarcerated unframing me for it. After all, he didn’t scheme to marry me just to leave me behind bars. No, he has far more carnal plans for the two of us.