Memnon leans his forearms against the table, his eyes glinting. “I can read minds, lift information stored in them, and manipulate thoughts and memories.”

The lycanthropes, Kane included, go preternaturally still.

“Have you read ours?” the beta finally asks.

Memnon cocks his head, and he has that look in his eye, like he’s a cat toying with his prey. “What does it matter?”

A growl starts up across the table.

“He hasn’t,” I say to stop the fight before it can begin. I would’ve seen Memnon’s magic at work if he had.

The sorcerer eases back in his seat, a carefree grin on his face. I think he enjoys unsettling these shifters.

The freak.

“His ability to manipulate minds means that he’s been able to gain access to their thoughts and make them misremember events or forget them entirely,” I say. “That’s why he hasn’t been caught.” Yet. I hate that the word tacks itself on in my head.

“Do you know why or how these supernaturals are being killed?” Irene asks.

“No. That’s what Selene and I are trying to figure out,” Memnon says.

“It must be a supernatural who has access to dark magic,” I say. “A sorcerer, a witch, a necromancer—someone who can perform these sorts of spells.”

Memnon stands. “That is all I know and all I have to share.”

“We have more questions,” Vincent insists.

Rather than looking at Vincent, Memnon glances down at me, waiting for me to choose—let him leave or make him answer more of the shifter’s questions.

I rise, my chair scraping back. “That’s it for now,” I say. “I’ll reach out to Kane if anything else comes up.”

The lycans must hear how my heart pounds, defending Memnon, standing with him. I cannot decide if I’m being supremely loyal or supremely foolish.

Likely both.

The shifters watch us leave, all of them still seated. I sense that the moment the door shuts behind me and Memnon, they will have an entire second meeting to dissect what they’ve learned.

Memnon must sense this as well because as I reach for the door, his magic slips past me and holds it shut.

The sorcerer turns to the room. “What I have told you is confidential. The Fortunas have eyes and ears everywhere, and I’m certain there must be at least one pack mate who is compromised.”

I sense indignation from the group still seated, but before they can get a word in, Memnon continues.

“I know you trust your pack with your life, but you cannot trust them with this until we know more.”

“That is not our way,” Vincent says.

Magic sifts out of Memnon. “Then I will erase all that I’ve told you from each of your minds, and we will leave.”

Four growls start up. I see fur begin to sprout along Kane’s arms.

Packs, apparently, do not take kindly to threats.

“If you tell the wrong shifter, and they tell someone else involved with the Fortunas, then I will be exposed,” he says. “And if I’m exposed, a lot of people will die.” Memnon doesn’t clarify that he’s the one who will be doing the killing, but I’m aware of it. “That will be blood on your heads.”

The growls ratchet up at the accusation.

Memnon continues. “Selene wants to bring the murderers to justice, and I am oath bound to make sure that happens,” he says. “I believe that’s what you want too. So make an exception, and keep this information classified. Otherwise, you’re simply in my way.”

Vincent’s eyes move between me and the sorcerer, debating, debating.

Finally, he says, “If you keep us informed, we will keep this confidential.”

The sorcerer dips his head, and his magic moves from the door. “Then we have an arrangement.” He grabs the knob and pulls the door open for me. To the rest of the room, he says, “We’ll see you soon.”

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CHAPTER 32

Living with Memnon is going to prove to be my doom.

That’s all I can think the next day, after another raging night of sex. I’m pretty sure the sorcerer’s goal is to screw me into loving him, and it’s working. Or at least I think I’m developing an unhealthy addiction to it.

I don’t even try to leave his bed until he’s called away to meet with Juliana.

I shower, change, then I pack my messenger bag, eager to get some work done back on campus. Nero comes up to me, clearly interested in going wherever I’m going.

I kneel down in front of him and pet his head. “I can’t take you with me today,” I say, the words cleaving my heart in two.

Nero stares up at me, and for once, he doesn’t look like a panther annoyed with my very existence. He looks like a loyal friend who knows he’s getting left behind.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. I don’t want to leave him, but I haven’t worked up the courage to let the panther back into the Everwoods.

The way Nero nudges his head into my chest, as though he’s insistent on staying close to me, makes me want to cry.

“I know it’s supremely unfair,” I say, “but I can’t risk you getting hurt—not after what happened. At least here, you can wander and hunt in the woods without fear of someone attacking you.”

He doesn’t look like he cares about that, but he’s also done begging. Nero turns from me, whacking my cheek with a flick of his tail before heading toward an open window at the back of the living room.

Without giving me another glance, he hops through it and heads out for the woods beyond.

I stay kneeling there for another second, torn. I could just stay in Memnon’s empty house. It is the weekend after all. I could busy myself inspecting every corner of this place, then read the books he’s stocked his bookshelf with. I could wait—for Memnon to return, for Nero to come back, for the weekend to end and classes to start up again.

But I have assignments that require the use of my house’s spell kitchen, and perhaps more importantly, I need to work on that birth control potion or else find out if the house keeps any on hand. I haven’t taken anything since the day after Samhain, and we’ve had rounds of sex since then.

So even feeling like the world’s worst pet owner, I leave Memnon’s house, using his car to return to Henbane.

And then I get to work.

By the end of the day, my assignments are done and I’ve even brewed a contraceptive potion. Or at least, I tried.

I hold the beaker of potion up, worrying my lower lip. It’s a murky brownish purple, rather than the deep blue I remember from after Samhain.

To drink it or not to drink it?

Will it even work?

A group of witches pass by the spell kitchen, and I glance up, momentarily distracted as they pass the doorway. Part of me is still bracing to see Yasmin or the other girl I recognized the night they attacked Nero, but I haven’t seen them in the days since the attack, and I don’t see them now.

I return my attention to the potion I brewed. There’s no way I’m drinking this. I dump the thing down the sink.

I’ll try again tomorrow. Until then, I should find Sybil and see if she has any contraceptive potion I can use until I sort myself out.

Briskly, I clean up my things, then head out of the kitchen and up the stairs, ignoring the faint scents of dinner.

Outside, the sky is a luminous deep blue, and the lampposts speckling the campus flicker to life.

I hadn’t realized how long I’d been working. I pull my phone from my pocket.

6:44 p.m.

Shit.

It’s way past curfew.

You’ve broken curfew before, I reassure myself. What is one more day?

But when it happened before, I had my reasons. Now, I merely lost track of time.

Setting aside my worries about curfew for a moment, I send my mother a quick text—I’m still kicking!—then tuck my phone away and step off the second floor of the house, heading down the hall.

When I get to my best friend’s room, I open the door and step inside.