Page 156

I move over to my notebooks, reaching for the more intact ones. They’re still hot to the touch, but that doesn’t stop me from examining them to see what’s left.

The photos have melted away, and the paper is too charred to make out the writing and sketches that once covered the pages.

I swallow my rising emotion.

The ones that fared the best seem to be the oldest books, the ones least relevant to my life. The only mercy Memnon gave me was that he didn’t touch my photo albums.

So I guess that’s a win.

I sit heavily on my bed and put my head in my hands.

The oak tree outside rustles. Then Nero hops back into the room, as though he can sense my sadness.

Actually, now that I understand bonds, he probably can.

Nero comes up to me, rubbing his head against my shoulder.

“Fat lot of good you did there,” I say, wiping my eyes.

He rubs the rest of his body against my side, shameless about the fact he was a totaltraitor.

Need to write down what I can remember.

I cross over to my desk before pulling out one of the wooden drawers along its side. In it rests a stack of notebooks.

For all my faults, Iamorganized. And optimistic and kind and clever.

But now I’m also determined.

After grabbing a new notebook, I pull out a pen and begin writing.

First my name, my date of birth, and my parents’ names. Important phone numbers, addresses, and so on. Anything and everything I truly could not bear for my mind to lose.

Then I write down a warning.

Do not trust Memnon the Cursed.

You woke him from eternal sleep. He believes you’re his dead wife who betrayed him. He wants to make you pay.

He is your soul mate, but he is an ASSHOLE. He burned all your previous notebooks. He will fuck you over again if he gets the chance.

You hate him with every fiber of your being.

A tear hits the page. Then another and another. I can’t decide if I’m sad or angry.

Nothing to do about it now but move forward and plot my own revenge.

I write out the days of the week on the next blank page of my notebook, penning in the Samhain Ball under Saturday’s date. I circle the event in red and write a note next to it:

MEMNON WANTS YOU TO ATTEND.

I’m still not entirely sure whether Iwillattend or not. I hate the idea of agreeing to his demands, but he also woke in me a thirst for revenge that I had no idea existed until now. But every second I breathe in the smell of smoke, I grow more bloodthirsty and bitter.

He will pay for this.

That promise is the only thing warming my cold, dejected heart.

I’m still writing when there’s a knock on the door.