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Please be okay. Please be ok?—

“Ugh, you heathen,” Sybil groggily croaks on the other end of the line. “Why are you calling me? And what time is it?”

I exhale, my entire body relaxing at her voice. She sounds grumpy but otherwise fine.

“It’s noon-ish, I think,” I say, “Where are you?”

“Um—”

I hear the low tones of a man’s voice in the background.

“Is that Sawyer?” I ask.

“What’s up, Selene?” I hear him call out.

“I didn’t know he knew my name.”

“You’re my best friend,” Sybil says. “Of course he knows your name.” She yawns. “And I’m at his place. Goddess, what was in that witch’s brew? It hit me like a freight train.” More to herself than to me, she adds, “I think I need to ice my vagina.”

I let out a small, semihysterical laugh at the reminder that I did a lot of bad things with a bad man and I am regret incarnate.

It was a one-time thing,I remind myself all over again.

“Did you know that was going to happen with the witch’s brew?” I ask, not quite accusing. Sybil had insinuated the celebrations were wild when she mentioned ripping through her last costume.

She gives an awful laugh. “Not tothatextent I didn’t.” After a moment, Sybil adds, “I’m sorry about last night. You were trying to tell me you didn’t want to be on shifter territory, and I didn’t listen and then…”

And then it was too late.

“We were all really drunk,” I say. It’s the closest I’ll come to accepting the apology.

After a moment, she says, “Did you and Kane…”

Goddess, she missed that part of the evening.

“No. No, I…uh…got together with someone else.”

Legs over my shoulders.

“Who?” she demands.

I stare at my feet, biting the inside of my cheek.

On your hands and knees.

“Who?” she presses.

You’re going to call mehusbandorsoul mate. Anything else gets punished.

“Who do you think?” I say hoarsely.

Now it’s Sybil’s turn to be quiet.

She doesn’t know about the binding spell forged between me and Memnon, I realize. Or how the sorcerer is helping me solvethe open mysteries on campus. All she knows is that he screwed me over and I hate his guts.

“Are you judging me?” I ask.

Another pause. “No.”