Текст книги "Bespelled"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Once we break through the tree line, the moaning noises grow more numerous.

“This sounds like our camp after a celebration,” he says, harkening back to his people.

The noise intensifies the closer we get to my residence hall. By the time we step up to the door of my house, it sounds like there’s an orgy happening on the other side of it.

Once we enter, it’s clear that there is an orgy happening in the library—RIP to any nearby books. Several other couples are scattered in the house’s den, and I can hear more in the spell kitchen and the dining room.

Somehow, even with my panty-less attire and my pussy juices all over Memnon, we’re still looking like the most modest couple here.

The sounds follow us up the stairs and down the hall.

It’s only once we enter my room and Memnon kicks the door shut that the sounds grow muffled. Sort of. I can still hear rhythmic thumping from a nearby room.

Memnon’s magic pours out of him and covers the walls, muffling the sound until it’s just us. Well, us and Nero.

The big cat is curled up in his bed, looking miserable at all the commotion. He gives me a betrayed look as Memnon finally sets me down.

“I’m sorry,” I say defensively. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this.”

His tail twitches with annoyance.

Apology apparently not accepted.

“The woods are full of more of the same stuff. You can go out there, but you’re still going to be annoyed.”

That’s all the permission he needs. My familiar gets up from his bed and lithely leaps onto the windowsill.

“Just be careful. There are ghosts and werewolves and at least one douchey fairy out there. If anyone tries to get close, protect yourself.”

Nero glances back at me and blinks his amber-green eyes. It’s the only indication that he heard my words at all. Then, with a final flick of his tail, he leaps onto the oak tree outside, and then he’s gone.

I turn my attention back to Memnon, who’s already gazing at me with naked longing in his eyes. My skin is becoming uncomfortably hot again. I don’t know when the brew will eventually let up, and now trapped in this room with Memnon, our past is reaching for me from the grave.

“Stay with me tonight,” I repeat. “That…is an order.”

The command feels wrong, yet Memnon looks at me like a man who’s been given a second chance at life.

“Don’t read into this too deeply,” I caution. “Tonight—this is all just empty sex,” I insist, driving home my earlier point.

Memnon gives me a husky laugh as he closes the space between us. I tilt my head back to look at him, reminded all over again just how huge he is.

He leans in and presses a kiss to the point where my jaw meets my ear. “A lie you’d like to be true,” he breathes against my skin. His magic tugs at our clothes, pulling my dress up and over my head. He moves away from me while it comes off, his indigo magic removing his own attire.

There’s a fire beneath my skin, one the witch’s brew ignited and Memnon has only stoked, and at the sight of him adorned in only his tattoos, my desire spikes so sharply it’s almost painful.

I only have a moment to admire him in all his glorious nudity before he wraps an arm around my waist and drags the two of us onto my bed.

We’ve barely hit the mattress when Memnon pulls away and flips me so that my ass is in the air.

“On your hands and knees,” he commands.

I hate bossy men—hate them, I think as I do as he says.

You’re lying again, Memnon says, clearly overhearing thoughts that were not meant for him.

His hands go to my hips, gripping me fast. With a brutal thrust, he’s inside me once more.

I cry out, nearly coming from that contact alone.

He must sense how close I already am because he leans in and says, “Not yet, little witch. We have barely started having fun.”

He then proceeds to fuck me slowly, only giving me these shallow, teasing thrusts until my orgasm moves out of reach.

“You bastard,” I murmur.

The devil laughs at my back. “You have no idea.”

Once he’s sure I won’t immediately climax, he drapes his chest over my back and wraps a hand around my neck, his pace picking up just a little. “I’m going to take care of you, est amage,” he vows, “until every last need of yours is met. But in return, you’re going to listen to me. If you’re a good little witch, I’ll reward you for it.”

I feel the heavy brush of his magic against my clit, dragging me rapidly toward an orgasm. But just as quickly as the magic comes, it’s gone.

“And if you’re a bad little witch, I’ll give this pretty neck of yours a squeeze.”

Lightly, he constricts my breathing, and for reasons I don’t fully understand, that too brings me closer to orgasm.

“Memnon,” I moan.

He squeezes my neck again. “Naughty witch. You’re going to call me husband or soul mate. Anything else gets punished.”

I’m the one with the power over him. I can stop this at any moment, yet I don’t stop it. I don’t even give it more than a passing thought.

The sorcerer’s hold loosens on my neck, but his thrusts slow again. Why is he slowing?

“Harder,” I insist.

He begins to pick up speed. “If you want more, then address me properly.”

I whimper, my pussy throbbing.

“Don’t be cruel—” Don’t say it, Selene. Don’t say it. Don’t– “Husband.”

There’s a rush of magic against my clit, and I nearly collapse against the sensation. Only Memnon’s bracing hand on my neck keeps me in place.

“Do you like that?” he says. “Tell me that your husband understands your needs like no other, and I will give this to you until you come.”

“That’s so fucking manipulative,” I say, even as he hammers into me.

He squeezes my neck, presumably for disagreeing with him. Maybe for cursing.

I gasp reflexively, my pussy tightening around him.

“If you don’t like it, you can always come the good old-fashioned way,” he says.

I bow my head, wanting to sob because I’m so fucking turned on, and he’s so goddess-damned evil.

“You understand my needs like no other.” I gasp out the sentiment. It doesn’t sound like a lie because Memnon does, indeed, seem to know every trick of my body.

He leans in near my ear. “Who understands your needs?” he presses softly.

This monster.

I turn my head to meet his gaze, our faces inches apart.

“You, my husband,” I spit out.

He holds my gaze for a second longer before he remembers himself.

“Good woman,” he praises me, his lips curving into a smile. And then his magic is scouring my clit and sliding up my stomach and over my breasts, teasing my nipples as well.

My arms buckle, and Memnon releases my throat so that my upper body can collapse onto the mattress.

The sorcerer brushes my hair off the nape of my neck and presses a kiss there. Between that and the relentless rub of his magic, I shatter, arching back against him as I come and come and come.

His hips slam into me, pumping harder and faster, trying to give me everything I crave all at once.

“Fuck,” I hear him curse under his own breath, even as I feel his cock throb inside me. Then, with a roar, he comes, his own climax lengthening my own.

I press my ass against Memnon even as I place my forehead on my hands. My orgasm hasn’t even ended, but the pulsing ache from the cursed witch’s brew is back again.

I make a frustrated sound, wanting to weep. My body is tired, but it doesn’t seem to matter; it’s demanding release again.

“Memnon, I think…” I think I need more.

The sorcerer smooths a hand down my sweaty spine. “I know, est amage. I can feel it through our bond. As long as you need me, I will take care of you.”

And he does. Many, many times over.

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CHAPTER 19

I know I’ve done a bad thing before I even open my eyes.

A very, very bad thing named Memnon.

The room smells like sex, and my body is sore everywhere. My wicked soul mate lies asleep in my bed, holding me like I’m his own personal teddy bear. His leg is draped over mine, and his arm is wrapped around my chest, like in sleep he fears I might escape him.

If I could scream at drunk Selene, I would. My pussy feels swollen and bruised, and my body is sticky with sweat and come. I pinch my eyes shut, willing it all away. Especially the pretty things he said between bouts of sex. Those linger with me even now.

The man deserves my ire, not my interest.

I turn over in his arms so I can look at him. Memnon makes a noise low in his chest and pulls me tighter against him.

“Again?” he murmurs, his eyes still closed and his voice thick with sleep.

I want the earth to swallow me up. “No,” I say hoarsely, a blush creeping up my neck.

“Thank the gods.” He sounds legitimately relieved, which only makes me flush deeper. “Much as I want to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours, I think you broke my dick last ni⁠—”

I cover his mouth before he can finish the sentence.

Memnon’s eyes blink sleepily open, and I can feel his lazy, languid grin beneath my hand.

He reaches out and strokes my cheek. Aww, is my mate embarrassed?

“Last night never happened,” I say. Just sex. It was just some casual, highly erotic sex. That’s all.

Oh, it definitely happened. That memory is up there with finding you and marrying you the first time around.

I close my eyes and inwardly wince. I see he’s taking last night in the complete other direction.

He runs his knuckles over my bare flesh. “Are you sore?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

I open my eyes and shake my head, even as I feel the throb from between my thighs. “I’m fine.”

Memnon frowns, studying my features. “Fine,” he echoes, testing the word out. I think the sorcerer is coming face-to-face with this expression for the first time. “I don’t believe you. We fucked a lot—I wasn’t gentle.”

I remember. I asked him not to be.

I groan and bury my face against his chest. The things I said, the things we did…

Definitely hexing whoever made that batch of witch’s brew.

Memnon laughs softly, rubbing my back and pressing me in close against him. It’s strange that these types of touches are new yet also old and familiar.

“My little witch is embarrassed,” Memnon says, sounding both surprised and delighted by it. He kisses the top of my head, the action oddly endearing. “I also don’t believe you’re fine.”

As he speaks, I feel warmth spread out beneath his palm and along my skin. It soaks into my flesh, and my various aches and pains vanish.

I lift my head and give him a grateful look. Now is when I push him away. Only…I don’t want to. And I know this is how all bad ideas begin when it comes to Memnon—giving the guy a chance—but right now, as I stare at the sorcerer’s scarred, inked torso, the past feels like it’s rising up from the depths.

On a whim, I run my hand over his skin, tracing his various tattoos. I had asked him not so long ago to tell me what they all meant.

Now I don’t need to.

“Your first hunt,” I say softly, tracing a ram with a twisted torso on his arm. “And your first animal kill,” I say, moving my fingers over a fallen deer. My hand moves to a horse whose body is decorated with swirls and stripes. “Your first battle,” I say. My fingers move to another fallen ram with designs on its body. Looming over it is a fanged predator. “Your first human kill,” I say. “And your first brush with death.” My touch moves up to his neck. “Here’s my familiar, and—” My fingers glide to his other shoulder. “These are the various tribes you unified, and here are more whom you defeated.”

My hand drifts to the skin above his heart. “Here’s your family crest,” I say, tracing the dragon, “and…” He was planning to add the tree of life around the dragon as a representation of me and the bond that ties us together, but he was cursed before he got the chance.

Memnon watches me like he’s hanging on to my every word. I realize how truly lonely it must be for him, living in this modern world where no one understands who he is or where he came from or what his life was like. His people are hardly more than a shadowy smudge in history books.

“It’s still surreal that we had an entire life together,” I murmur.

Memnon’s eyes turn sorrowful, and his hand slips down my torso, his index finger tracing a design over my abdomen, right where, long ago, I carried his child, and right where, long ago, Eislyn shoved a knife through me and ended that possibility.

“But we didn’t have an entire life together, little witch,” he says softly. “Look at me. I may have been in my prime by ancient standards, but by yours, I am young. We were young when things ended. You and I were robbed of our life before we could fully live it.”

I have to breathe through my nose, just to alleviate a sudden tightness in my chest. Once the feeling abates, I exhale. That was then. This is now. He and I may have once shared something real and amazing, but things are different. I am different. And Memnon has been unforgivably cruel to me.

I pull away a little, gathering my blankets against my chest like a shield. I clear my throat. “We should talk about the witches who have been murdered,” I say, trying to get the focus off our relationship and on to something else.

Memnon raises an eyebrow. “Now? You’d like to discuss this now? When the taste of your pussy still coats my tongue and your thighs are still slick with my⁠—”

I cover his mouth again before he can finish the sentence, my cheeks heating. His eyes go right to my blush, and I feel him laugh beneath my palm.

“You will tell me about the murders,” I command him, removing my shaking hand. I don’t know what I’m thinking, insisting on this. I’m in no state to solve anything—not when I’m in my problem-making era, the man in my bed case in point. But last night keeps playing on loop in my mind, and if we don’t focus on the most sobering topic I can think of, I might just fixate on how good it felt to be fucked again and again by this man.

I need a distraction.

Memnon must feel the grip of my magic, because I see his throat work almost immediately.

All right, est amage. All right.

He pushes himself up in my bed, leaning against the headboard. I have been trying to establish myself in this city since I arrived.

With that admission comes something else down our bond, something that feels like maybe desire, only this isn’t a lust for flesh but for power. It unnerves me, especially because I’ve felt this sensation from him before, when I was Roxilana.

There are other supernaturals here—sorcerers like me, he says.

Okay, I respond, not sure where this is going.

A family of them—the Fortunas—hold most of the power in this area. On paper, their business, Ensanguine Enterprises, is an investment firm, but in reality, it’s…a shell company? Memnon sounds confused about this, like he’s still figuring out these concepts and terms. It’s a criminal organization masked as a corporate entity. Shortly after I arrived in the Bay Area, he continues, I began working for Ensanguine Enterprises. I don’t know if this is how they approach everyone looking for a job, but I was taken to a mage named Patrick, who works directly with the Fortunas. He tried to bind me.

My heart begins beating fast. He tried to bind you?

What is with everyone trying to bind others?

He believes he did bind me, Memnon says, rubbing his lower lip, his eyes distant. As do the other supernaturals who were in the room. I touched their minds, altered a few memories, and now when Patrick gives a command, I do it.

Inwardly, I cringe. It was bad enough when I was the only person who was ordering Memnon around. To know someone else is demanding things from my mate… An angry, sick feeling stirs up in me.

Can’t this Patrick tell there’s no bond? If I focus hard enough, I can feel the forged bond I made with Memnon.

He hasn’t questioned it yet.

Lingering in the air between us is the possibility that one day this mage, Patrick, might. And despite all the resentment I still hold toward Memnon, a spark of fear blooms in my chest.

Just…be careful, I say.

Memnon’s eyes twinkle. My queen, are you concerned for my well-being?

Yes. I frown, disturbed by my own concern. Finish the rest of your story, I command.

Patrick is the head of security for the Fortuna family, Memnon says. The Fortuna empire is run by the patriarch of the family, Luca, and he’s who Patrick takes direct orders from. But Patrick’s staff runs security for Luca Fortuna as well as his wife, Annalee, a few mistresses, and Luca’s three children—Leonard, Juliana, and Sophia. There are also a few distant relations, though it seems Luca’s siblings and their children are either dead or on the other side of the world.

I barely notice Memnon’s magic unfurl around him. Its presence is so common in my memories—memories of talking in bed just as we’re doing now—that I barely bat an eye at the tendrils as they brush against my skin and weave through my hair.

Because Patrick believes he exerts total control over me through the bond, Memnon continues, he’s had me stand guard outside buildings and suites where Luca Fortuna and his son, Leonard, have illicit dealings. These aren’t normal meetings, Memnon says. People come out of them bloody—if they come out at all.

I feel myself pale. Is that where you found the murdered witches? I ask.

Memnon gives his head a shake. Those bodies come out of the Equinox Building in San Francisco. It’s one of Ensanguine Enterprises’ properties, and the Fortunas tightly control who goes in and who comes out. Patrick’s called in to dispose of those bodies, which he then has me and a few other men deal with. That’s how I’ve gained access to the murdered witches.

What were those witches doing there in the first place?

So you haven’t seen who murdered the witches or how it’s done? I ask.

Memnon shakes his head. The bodies are usually waiting for us in a car in the parking garage.

I try to hide my disappointment. I was hoping for more. I’d figured all-powerful Memnon would know more.

At least I now know the bodies are linked to that family, the Fortunas. That’s not nothing—especially since I have heard of them before. The Fortunas are an old San Francisco supernatural family. All I really know about them is they raise a lot of money for charities and civic causes.

Is there anything else you know about the murders? I ask.

Only that ultimately, the Fortuna family is behind them, Memnon says down our bond.

Somehow, in the course of our conversation, either Memnon has scooted toward me, or I have moved closer to him.

And now as Memnon speaks, his hand strokes up and down my spine, and I feel myself arching into that touch just a little, and my nipples have pebbled, and I’m fantasizing about what it would be like to just give in to the monster, once and for all. And this is all so supremely fucked up because we are discussing murders.

There’s something big going on in the Equinox Building, Memnon continues, but I’ve been unable to figure out what it is. Patrick doesn’t know, nor do the other members of his team. And I haven’t been able to get close enough to the Fortunas themselves. Luca in particular doesn’t let anyone get near him, not even his own security team.

My mate’s hand is still moving up and down my back. A residual flare of lust bubbles up at the touch. Those hands were all over me last night, drawing out my pleasure like it was magic.

I clear my throat. “Will you tell me if anything else comes up?”

With his free hand, Memnon reaches out and lightly rubs my lower lip. “Command it of me and I will.”

“And if I don’t?” I ask, trying my damnedest to ignore his hand.

He drops his hand. “You’ll be forced to trust me then. Are you ready for that?”

The two of us stare at each other, and my pulse begins to race.

“I don’t know,” I admit. The fact that he gets anything but a flat-out no is gracious of me.

Memnon is quiet, and I realize our little murder chat is over.

Now that there’s no longer the somber topic to distract either of us, I’m painfully aware once again of the fact that we’re naked in a tiny bed, the smell of sex thick around us, and Memnon’s hands are stroking me like I’m a cat.

I stiffen, not sure what to do or how to handle this.

I should get away from him. Put some distance between us. I can barely even think when he’s this close.

Memnon leans forward and presses a kiss to my ear. Before I can bolt like a skittish deer, he wraps his arms around me and drags me down to the bed, rolling us a little so that I’m caged in his arms.

“I can hear some of your very loud thoughts, little witch,” he murmurs against my ear. “Let’s not make this awkward. If you want to keep me here, imprisoned in this room, so I can suck on your tits and play with your very abused pussy some more, I will gladly do so. We can even pretend you’re still under the thrall of that potion you drank.”

He nips my ear, and I make an outraged noise, both by his words and his bite.

“Or you’re going to send me away so you can get on with your day. But we’re not going to make this weird, okay?” he says, catching my eyes. “We did not fuck like animals last night to act like strangers today.”

I close my eyes. “Memnon,” I say, embarrassed all over again.

“And the gods know we didn’t survive the ages to be uncomfortable in each other’s presence.”

“Your point has been made,” I say, opening my eyes.

“Good.” He gives the tip of my nose a quick kiss, then releases me, moving off the bed.

I sit up, eyeing him like he’s some great predator. “I want you to leave,” I admit.

If he stays, I will probably cash in on those tit kisses, or worse, keep him in my bed and have my way with him until he’s fucked the forgiveness out of me.

Memnon rises out of my bed, gloriously naked. The dappled morning light lovingly showcases his powerful physique.

He’s mine. For the first time, that thought doesn’t taste so bitter. Instead, it takes my breath away.

The sorcerer’s hair is tousled from sleep and sex, which gives him an unguarded look. My fingers itch to thread themselves back in that hair so I might tug his head back and kiss his neck.

No, no, no, Selene. Lock those thoughts up. Last night was a one-time thing. That’s all.

I get out of bed and drag on a pair of stretchy shorts and a T-shirt. Across from me, Memnon pulls on his own shirt, and I wince a little when I see the massive stain at the bottom of it.

A one-time thing, I repeat like a mantra. Maybe if I say it enough, all the erotic highs and embarrassing lows that came with it will smooth away and I really will feel indifferent about the whole thing.

Once Memnon finishes dressing, he steps up to me and tilts my chin up. All thoughts of indifference vanish at that touch and the look in his eyes.

It’s impossible to be indifferent about Memnon.

“One last thing, Empress.”

“What?” I say, my gaze drifting down to his lips before I jerk my attention back to his eyes.

“Don’t share what we’ve been talking about with anyone else,” he says solemnly.

I think he’s not just referring to the murders but the spell circles too.

I stiffen. “I’m going to have to. I’m meeting with the lycanthropes tonight to discuss what I know.”

His eyebrows rise, the action tugging at his scar. “You have a meeting with them?”

The local pack offered me their friendship and protection after you framed me for murder.

Ah. Memnon has the grace to look a little uncomfortable.

Just be careful, he cautions, his expression growing hard. The Fortunas have eyes in a lot of places. If any of them discover that you are trying to pry their secrets free, I will have to butcher a lot more people to keep them from coming after you. I trust you don’t want all those…needless deaths.

I barely breathe. The sorcerer would do it too—he’s already killed entire armies. A few spies and criminals would be nothing to him, though they’d mean something to me. Those deaths would be on my head.

I could order you to not kill anyone, I say.

Memnon’s eyes begin to glow, a sure sign that I’ve touched a nerve. Do that and you’ll make me desperate to keep you safe. And, est amage, you don’t want me desperate, he warns.

I suppress a shiver. Beneath the surface of my soul mate lives a monster, one who loves me and little else. If Memnon believes he can’t kill those who are a threat to me, he might simply torture them endlessly or break their minds or bodies so completely death won’t matter. Or he might pick another tactic, one that forces my hand in some way.

I won’t leave you vulnerable, Memnon says, only driving his point home further. I cannot bear another Bosporus.

That final battle, he means. The one that began with a betrayal by his oldest friend and his closest aide.

The sorcerer leans in, then hesitates, waiting for me to command him to stop. When I don’t, I see a shadow of a smile a split second before his lips brush mine.

Last night will happen again, he vows. The words are spoken in Sarmatian, and I don’t think they were meant for me. They sound far too distant and quiet to be deliberate. Only next time, you’ll be mine in earnest.

His kiss deepens then, the action echoing his silent sentiment.

When Memnon pulls away, his eyes search my face. “Call to me whenever you need me next, Empress,” he says. “I’ll be around.”

He presses a final, chaste kiss to my lips, then leaves the room.

I sit down hard on my bed, just as the tree outside rustles. The next moment, Nero hops through the window, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“Hey, have you been out there this whole time?” Shoot, now I feel a little bad.

His tail twitches as he leaps onto my bed.

“I wouldn’t lie there if I were you.” Those sheets are a biohazard at this point.

My familiar takes one whiff of them and dives back off the mattress. He stalks over to his own bed and plops down, giving me a mean look.

“What?” I say defensively. “I warned you that I would have boys over.”

His tail gives an agitated thump.

I open my mouth—why am I defending myself to an overgrown cat?—when my phone buzzes from where it must’ve fallen on the floor at some point last night.

I snatch it up, then groan when I see the caller ID—Mom.

I’m pretty uneager to talk to her so soon after I got railed within an inch of my life.

I answer anyway. “Hi Mo⁠—”

“Selene Imogen Bowers,” my mom says, her voice shrill, “how dare you not tell me what’s been going on! I heard you were arrested—” Her voice breaks. In the background, I hear my father soothing her.

The two of them are still overseas on their months’ long tour of Europe. I’d hoped the distance was enough to avoid this conversation altogether, but apparently not.

“Mom, it was a mistake,” I say, trying to placate her. “I was released literally hours later. I didn’t want to call and worry you.”

“Worry me? Worry me!” she says, and I can’t tell whether she’s outraged or panicked. “I am your mother, I carried you inside me for nine months, then lovingly raised you for eighteen years. I have earned the right to worry about you.” In a gentler, more hurt voice, she says, “I thought you knew you could tell me anything.”

“Mom, I was…confused. And someone framed me for murder.”

There’s a sickening silence on the other side of the line. Then, “Ben, book us the next available flight home.”

“Mom, I’m fine.” I really do feel fine. I just don’t know how to make her believe that.

“Fine?” She laughs disbelievingly. “Stop lying to me,” she says, sounding unnervingly like Memnon. “First the fucking plane crash, now arrested for murder? None of that’s fine. What the fuck is going on over there? This sounds like someone laid a big fucking curse on you.”

About that…

“Mom, stop saying fuck,” I say.

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do. I’m the mother here.” She breathes heavily for several seconds, then clears her throat. “I had to hear the news of your arrest from Donna, that insufferable witch. She called to check on me and see how I was doing now that my daughter was a convict.”

I make a face at the term. “Convict?” I echo. “That’s being a bit dramatic.”

“I get to be dramatic too! And cuss—and worry!”

In the background, “Liv, please, it’s all right.”

“Don’t fucking try to calm me down, Ben!”

It’s quiet for several seconds as my mom catches her breath. I can imagine her magenta-colored magic filling the space around her as it sometimes does when she’s upset.

“Mom…” Suddenly, my throat thickens, and I want to tell her everything that’s happened to me just as I used to in the past. There’s so much I don’t feel I can tell her over the phone—my strange relationship with Memnon, my recovered memories, my ancient past, and the fact that I’m trying to sleuth out what’s happening with the witches on campus.

But I can talk about the ongoing murders and my mistaken involvement, so a little reluctantly, I do. I let what I can of the truth pour out of me.

By the time I’m done, my mom is no longer panicked. Instead, a troubled silence stretches on.

“Selene,” she finally says, “it’s not safe there on campus. Come home. Your dad and I will book the next available flight and arrive there as soon as we can.”

Moving back in with my parents is honestly an even worse option than living with Memnon. I love them, I do, but to go from the coven I worked so hard to join to being back in my parents’ house without any sort of future plans sounds hellish.

“Mom, I’m not going home. You can cut your trip short and see that I’m fine, or you can stay and enjoy the rest of the trip that you and Dad planned for literal years and trust that I’ll be okay. But no matter what, I’m not leaving. I worked too hard to be here.”

The silence is long and drawn out. I think my mom is realizing she cannot actually strong-arm me into leaving Henbane.

“Text me—daily,” she says finally, her words hard. “Even if it’s just ‘I’m alive.’ If you can do that…I will trust your word.”

“I can do that,” I say solemnly.

I hear her swallow. “Okay. Okay.” I can picture her nodding to herself, her hand pressed to her forehead. “Then I will trust—” Her voice breaks. “I will trust you to be safe, but you must be safe, if not for yourself then for me. Please.”

“I’ll be safe,” I promise, my throat raspy as it wells with emotion.

“And if anything happens, anything at all, you let me know, and I’ll be there in an instant.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“Trust your instincts,” she continues. “If something doesn’t feel right, it likely isn’t right. I love you, sweet girl.”