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“Selene!” Sybil calls out again. This time, however, her voice is gentle and worried.

I catch sight of my friend, her long hair cascading over her dress as she hurries over, eyeing Memnon with suspicion but not fear.

What did he do to her mind and everyone else’s here? No one is screaming at him, and though we’re drawing a few curious looks, it seems to be because Memnon and I are disheveled, and he’s holding me like I’m his war prize.

Which, unfortunately, I kind of am.

“Are you okay?” Sybil asks, her eyes landing on various parts of me where there must be some scrape or smudge.

No.I want to weep.I’m not okay at all.

“I’m…fine.” I force the words out. “I just…twisted my ankle.” I give a weak laugh, one that sends a bolt of pain shooting beneath my skull. “This is why I don’t wear heels.”

Sybil frowns, searching my face. When her gaze moves to Memnon, it snags on the bloody bit of shirt peeking out above my body. Her expression hardens with loathing.

“You’re Memnon, aren’t you?” she says. “I knew I’d be able to pick you out of the crowd.”

She said something earlier about this, hadn’t she? Something that made me laugh, but I can’t quite grasp it now…

“Go back to the dance.” Memnon gives the words a magical push, and Sybil backs up.

“If you’re sure you’re okay,” she says, her brows drawing together. She’s fighting Memnon’s magic, her eyes lingering on me.

“I am,” I rasp out, the lie tasting bitter as it leaves my lips.

She hesitates a few more seconds before finally turning around and rejoining a larger group of witches, as though nothing were amiss.

Almost everyone else is regaining their bearings.

“What the hell was in that witch’s brew?”

“What just happened?”

“Did I miss something?”

“Was that supposed to be part of the evening?”

There’s a smattering of laughter, and though I notice a few supernaturals look suspicious—I mean, wearewitches, so we know a thing or two about magical interference. But overall, people are eager to get back to enjoying themselves.

“What did you do to them?” I ask, staring at the crowd.

“I wiped their memories of the past ten minutes.”

He fought me, restrained and suffocated a room full of supernaturals, then partially removed their memories, and hestilllooks primed for battle.

The sheer quantity of power at this man’s disposal is terrifying.

“You can’t keep compelling people to do what you want,” I say, my voice weak with my fatigue.

“You keep forgetting,est amage. I hold the power, which means I get to do what I want,” Memnon says back, his eyes drinking me in.

My stomach dips at the look he gives me, and if I had more energy, I would snarl and rage that my own reaction to him hasn’t been blunted by his recent actions.

“Where are we going?” I ask as the sorcerer carries me out the main doors and into the night.

“Back to your room, where you and I will lift the curse. Wedoalso have a wedding to plan.”

Oh, how I loathe this fucker.