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True.

I bring my drink to my lips rather than answer. This batch of witch’s brew is smoky, and it tastes a bit like licorice. It doesn’t always taste this way; sometimes it’s floral, sometimes it’s citrusy, and sometimes it’s honeyed. The only consistent part of the alcohol’s flavor is the mildly bitter undertone that isespiritus, an ingredient that interacts with our magic.

Sybil pulls me in close. “I’m sorry to say that Kane is not here.”

I nearly choke on my drink.

“Oh my goddess, Sybil,” I say. “Please stop talking about him. I liked him a long time ago.”

She scoffs. “If a month ago is a long time.”

I narrow my eyes at her, unsure whether she’s remembering something I don’t or if she’s just playing me.

My empress…

The hairs on my arms stand on end.

Holy Mother.

My eyes dart to the trees encircling the clearing, looking for the man behind the voice.

Miss me, little witch?

My breath hitches.

This cannot be real. I left him in South America. He’d been naked and speaking in tongues, confused about where and when he was.

There’s no way he managed to make it back here.

“Selene?” Sybil says.

I’m coming for you.

I glance frantically around. Last time I heard his voice, his magic had been everywhere, the dark hue of it filling the crypt. Now, however, the air is saturated with all sorts of magic. If Memnon’s is among them all, it’s blending in with the others.

And when I find you, beloved, I intend to make you pay.

“Babe, are you okay?” Sybil says, cutting into my thoughts. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I wet my lips, then focus on her. My whole body is trembling. Nero leans against me, lending his support. I place my hand on his head, slipping my fingers through his fur.

I take a long drink of my brew. Then, lowering my voice, I admit, “When I was in South America, after my plane crashed, I think…” I look around to make sure no one else is listening in. I swallow. “I think I woke something,” I whisper.

“What?” Sybil gives me a skeptical look. “What do you mean youwokesomething?”

I remember Memnon’s eyes: dark and smoky on the outside, light like honey on the inside. I remember the way those eyes looked at me, as though I were everything Memnon loved and then everything he hated.

“I… After the plane crashed, there was a voice—and magic—that called to me.”

“Called to you?” she echoes, her eyebrows rising in disbelief.

I nod. “My memory of it is a little fuzzy. But that magic…it led back to a tomb.”

“Atomb?” She’s looking at me like I’ve lost it.

“Goddess be damned,” I whisper. “I’m not making this up. I found an undisturbed tomb while on my magic quest, and I fuckingdisturbedit.” I pause to take a deep breath. “Listen, I know it sounds hard to believe. I’m not Indiana Jones. Still, I followed a trail of magic that led to a crypt, and I entered it.”

“Why would you do that?” she whispers furiously. Now, finally, she seems to believe me.