Page 27

Save for the soft hiss of the torches, the chamber is quiet. Quiet and gloomy.

I think he’s gone.

I look at the walls and the text that runs rampant across them. This was a place filled with spells meant to seal “Memnon the Cursed” in. And it had done a damn good job of it until I came along.

My gaze returns to the broken sarcophagus lid. I can still see the warning scrawled across it.

For the love of your gods, beware of me.

I press my palms into my eyes.

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no.

I released something better left buried. And now I have no idea where he is or why he thinks I’m…his.

My queen… A love like ours defieseverything… I am yours forever…

I rub my temples.

That alone would be problematic, butno, he’s also convinced I fucked him over.

Ugh.

All at once I have the pressing, claustrophobic need to flee this place. I stumble across the room, then down the long hallway. The magic that filled this space is mostly gone; I feel the hollow throb of its absence. All that’s left are the few tattered remains of spells. They may be enough to ward off people who venture close by, but it’s not nearly enough to put Memnon back in that box.

At least he’s not here.

Halfway down that curving hallway, I stop. Nero already rests at the foot of the staircase. But the sunlight that should be shining on the steps above him is gone.

Shit, shit, shit.

Is it nighttime already?

I rush over to the stairs, the decorated walls mocking me with one name that stands out over and over.

Memnon.

Memnon.

Memnon.

Goddess, but this guy sucks big time. I trip up the stairs, Nero following me. It’s only as I near the top that I notice it’s not actually nighttime at all. Or maybe it is—there’s no way of knowing for sure because our exit is now covered by a stone slab. In the dim light, I can just make out the spell that covers it, the magical threads a familiar midnight-blue color.

Just by the way the power coats the slab and oozes around its seams, I can tell it’s a containment spell.

“Fuck.”

I glance back at Nero. “Got any ideas on how to lift this thing?”

He gazes back at me, his tail twitching. I swear the big cat is giving me a look that says,You’re a fucking witch. Spellcraft that shit. But you know, I’m probably just reading into my cat’s expressions too much.

Regardless, I admit, “I’m afraid that if I use more magic, it’ll cost me too many memories.”

Nero stares at me for several long seconds, then turns around, descends the stairs, and flops down in the hallway, as though he expects to just…remain locked in here.

“Nice show of faith in me!” I call after him. To myself, I mutter, “You show a cat one ounce of vulnerability, and they assume you’re a chickenshit.”

Which, full disclosure, Iam. Still, I don’t need judgment like that from my familiar.