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Memnon steps in close. “I took you as my bride.” He brushes my lower lip with his thumb, just like he did when we last parted ways. He’s gazing at me like he’s remembering what it felt like to hold me.

I mean, Roxilana.

“I made you my queen, gave you riches and an ever-expanding empire.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve been over this many times,” I say. “And yet you expect me to believe Roxilana screwed you over.”

I mean, if someone volunteered to be my sugar daddy and he was this pretty, I don’t think I’d bury him alive.

Then again, Memnon is a douche.

I might bury a douche.

Maybe this Roxilana chick was on to something.

Memnon frowns, his previous good humor long gone. “You promised me answers,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “I want them.”

Answers…it takes me a moment to remember I did agree to that and a moment longer to realize Memnon doesn’t actually know any of the details surrounding what happened last night. He just saved my ass and then patched me up.

As I gather my thoughts, the sorcerer peers beyond me at the web page open on my computer, catching an eyeful of the sorry state of my bank account.

I reach out and close my laptop.

“Money trouble?” he asks, his face unreadable.

“How do you even know about online banking?” I ask him suspiciously. “And modern currency for that matter?”

My gaze flicks over his shirt and jeans and down to his leather boots. Now Idowonder how the sorcerer is getting by.

“Do you really want to have that talk right now,est amage? I’m not sure you’d like my answers.”

I stare up at him warily. I know he can riffle through a person’s mind—I remember him doing it to my own—so I know he has ways of seeing the modern world through others’ eyes. I don’t know why that would worry me…

Before I can help it, I rub my face. “It’s fine. Everything will be fine.” It’s less an answer and more a pep talk.

Memnon doesn’t say anything to that, and somehow, his silence makes my money situation feel all the more hopeless.

“The people last night—they were going to pay me,” I say. It’s a decent enough place to start. “It was some magical gig I agreed to so I could help pay for Nero’s food.”

Memnon frowns, his attention moving to my panther, who is sprawled out on my bed. “It costs a lot to feed him,” the sorcerer agrees, approaching the bed to pet the big cat. “I remember.”

Nero leans his head into the touch, eating up Memnon’s attention.

“It’s fine,” I repeat, though my voice cracks.

It’s not fine, and I’m trying not to think about the very real possibility of being unable to feed Nero.

Memnon glances over at me, and he has a look in his eye like he’s scheming.

He moves away from my familiar. “Tell me the rest of what happened last night,” he demands. “Leave nothing out.”

* * *

It doesn’t take long to tell Memnon the whole story. He leans against one of my walls, arms folded, as he listens to the entire thing, a menacing look on his face.

“…And that’s where you found me,” I finish.

It feels good to share this with him. I haven’t had a chance to tell Sybil, nor have I dared to write the event down—not when there are incriminating details and the Politia is interested in my notebooks.