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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.”

CHAPTER 4

By the timeNero 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 beensoworried.” 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.”

“Westillhate 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?