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When he pulls away, there’s something like regret in his eyes. “How intriguing you are like this. Thereissomething disarming and downright appealing to this side of you. But you are as much a panther as I am. It is time you remembered.”

My own power sparks to life at those last words. “Memnon,” I say in warning, “don’t make me your enemy in earnest.”

“Oh, it is too late for that, little witch. Much too late.” He leans in again and whispers, “I still have not had my vengeance. Not untilnow.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, not until the two notebooks on my desk lift into the air, his indigo magic twisting around them. Then I start to have an idea.

“I think it is poetically fitting that you be lost in this world,” he continues, “just as I have been lost.”

“Memnon,” I caution him.

“Gods, but how I have always enjoyed it when you turn my name into a threat,” he says. “But I don’t want your anger right now, Empress. I want your panic and your desperation. I want you to comegrovelingback to me. I want you to need me the way I have always needed you.” He backs up as he speaks.

“Memnon,” I say again, “give me back my notebooks.” I feel my own magic stirring to life.

“Maybe if you beg for mercy nicely,” he says, “I’ll spare you the worst of my wrath.”

“You motherfucker.”

“That’s not begging nicely,” he says, grinning, like this is all fun for him. Seven hells, I’m sure it is. Memnon is one part violence and one part vengeance. “Try again.”

“Memnon, I swear to the goddess—”

My two notebooks go up in flames. Right in the middle of my sentence, as the sorcerer’s eyes brighten with devilish delight,my notebooks go up in flames.

I suck in a breath.

My memories.

My magic lashes out of me, winding around the journals, desperate to smother the flames. I yank on my power, trying to bring them to the ground, but they continue to hover in midair, burning.

“Memnon!” I practically cry, scrambling onto my desk so I can try to snatch them out of the air myself. “I depend on those.”

“It’s a terrible thing to see your entire life’s work go up in flames, isn’t it?” As he speaks, the rows of notebooks that fill my bookshelf catch fire.

I scream, the sound mingling with his laughter.

Yearsof work is literally going up in smoke. But it’s not just my memories he’s burning.

“I need these notebooks for the Politia,” I say, trying another angle. “They’re my alibi.” And thus my ticket off the suspect list they have me on.

“You won’t need them once you have your memories back.”

Ignoring Memnon, I put a hand to my head as I search my mind for a spell strong enough to put out these flames. Desperation is making it hard to think.

I close my eyes and drop my hand. I don’t need a freaking spell. I have all the raw power right at my fingertips.

Memnon wraps his arms around me in some sick simulacrum of a hug, stopping my spell in its tracks. It’s not love, or care, or reassurance he has to offer.

His lips brush my ear. “Your efforts are wasted, Empress. You have felt my power. You know you will not be able to put out my fire. Not today.”

I open my eyes and turn my head to glare at him, a tear slipping out. “Fix this.Please.”

He wanted me to plead with him. I’m giving him exactly what he wants. Right now, I don’t care.

Memnon holds my gaze, his smoky amber eyes taking in my reaction. There’s a moment there where he looks almost perplexed, as though he’s not sure what he’s doing. The flames around us dim, and I think he will in fact fix this. But then his features turn resolute once more.

“No.”