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My head snapsto him so quickly. “What?” I must’ve misheard him. The possibility that merely hours after Memnon and I formed a bond, we run into a witch with a bond of her own…

“She answers to a woman who goes by the name of Lia. She has a weekly call with this Lia where she’s forced to divulge information she has about various witches.” Memnon’s eyes grow cold. “Lauren is a recruiter.”

My breath catches in my throat. “What do you mean by that?”

“She uses her position as an instructor here to scout for witches this Lia might like.” After a moment, he adds, “She was there the night of the spell circle. Iwatched”—his voice breaks off as he spits the word out like a curse—“her chase you in her memories. She tried to kill you several times.”

I can’t breathe. I must’ve misheard him. “She’s—she’s an instructor,” I try to argue. I don’t want to believe that the instructors here could be in on this.

Memnon continues. “When Lauren finds witches who are promising, she passes along their information to Lia, and in some cases, she arranges for them to either participate in a spell circle or be subjected to it.”

I stare at Memnon’s mouth. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says softly, “those women get bonded.”

I press my lips together.

“There’s another spell circle already planned for the upcoming new moon,” he says. “It didn’t look like they’d decided on a location, but they still mean to hold one.”

Suddenly, Memnon’s aggressive tactics don’t seem so overblown. Not in light of what he discovered.

“Selene,” he says, searching my face, “that’s not the worst part.”

There’s more?

His gaze is steady on mine. “This Lia woman is looking for you.”

The two of us step out of the teacher’s lounge and into the halls of Cauldron Hall. Dazedly, I note the doors of various classrooms and faculty offices on either side of us, but my mind is lingering on what we just learned.

These bindings are systemic things. I figured as much, but to hear it confirmed, and that an instructor here at Henbane Coven is involved in it? Suddenly, all the witches here feel marked. Me, Sybil, the witch speaking with her cardinal familiar down the hall, the group of women lurking in front of the massive bubbling cauldron that dominates the main entryway.

Memnon pulls out his phone and dials someone. He places the phone to his ear, but I can feel his eyes on me as we make our way out of the building. I can hear an automated voice placidly ask Memnon to leave a message.

The sorcerer curses and hangs up. “No one answered Lia’s number,” he says, tucking his phone in his pocket. “I’ll try to call it again later.”

But why bother? It’s likely no one will answer. Or maybe someone will. Then what? We threaten them over the phone? Tell them what they’re doing is bad and wrong? Continue to call them until they block us? It’s likely a burner phone or a temporary number or … or …

I am halfway down the marble steps outside Cauldron Hall when I decide to sit down there and then.

Memnon pauses ahead of me, then glances back.

“Selene?” he asks, concerned.

I shake my head, trying to catch my breath, though I haven’t been running. I don’t know why I’m sowinded.

I hear his heavy, deliberate footfalls back up the steps. When he gets to my side, he pauses. Then he proceeds to step up next to me and sit down heavily. His leg bumps against mine.

“Please don’t.”

Don’t what?He asks down our bond.

Don’t act concerned.I press my palms to my eyes.

Despite the command, Memnon places a hand on my back. When I don’t immediately knock it off, he pulls me into his side.

I guess his concern is genuine. The realization sours my stomach, even as I lean against him, taking shameful comfort in the warm, solid feel of him.

Because of you, I have to clean up this mess.It’s such a blatant lie; Memnon might’ve taken part in moving the bodies of murdered witches, but he had nothing to do with this.