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But he must be considering it. After all, he hasn’t been threatening me, and when I look in his eyes, I see bewilderment instead of malice.

He looks halfway convinced. If I can fully convince him, he may stop accosting me.

A terrible idea pops into my head.

I draw in a deep breath. “Your power allows you to draw information from people’s minds?” I ask.

Memnon gives me a long look, like he can’t make up his mind whether I’m being deceitful. Finally, he gives a slight nod.

I run a hand through my hair, my heart rate accelerating as I say, “Then I propose a deal: if you can answer a question of mine honestly…then I’ll let you use your power on my mind and see for yourself.”

I’m actually surprised Memnon hasn’t already done something this simple. But when I look at him now, he appears…unsettled by the prospect.

Maybe this man does have some ethics after all.

Or maybe he just really doesn’t want to answer my mystery question.

He searches my gaze, looking for who knows what. After a moment, he inclines his head. “Ask your question, little witch.”

He’s going for it. Great Goddess, he’s going for it.

Before I can chicken out, I raise my hand, my power sifting out of my palm. Memnon gazes at the peach-colored magic with something like fondness.

“Answer the following without deceit,” I incant.“Only the truth shall you speak.”

My power snakes across the space between us, slipping between the seam of his lips and up through his nostrils. He draws in a deep inhale, closing his eyes for a moment.

The corners of his mouth curve up. “Your spell has taken root.” He sounds disturbingly pleased by the sensation. His eyes open. “I’m ready.”

I can hear my heart thumping as I form the question. I’m so petrified of Memnon’s answer that part of me wants to choose another.

But if this man is going to keep showing up, the right answer would really settle part of my nerves.

“Are you murdering the witches found dead on campus?”

Memnon holds my gaze, his face impassive. I see his throat work, as though the answer is trying to wriggle its way free. He holds it back, curving his lips into a defiant smile.

I wait, feeling my spell at work.

Finally, his lips part. “No.”

My magic releases him all at once, and I sag with relief.

He’s not the killer.

He’s not the killer.

I want to sob. I didn’t realize what a weight that had been, thinking Memnon had hurt innocent witches.

His gaze flits over me. “I take it you’re relieved.”

I exhale.“Very.”

Memnon watches me silently. If he was offended I thought he was the murderer—or disappointed that now I don’t—he doesn’t say it or show it.

I run my hands through my hair, composing myself once more.

“Come here then, Empress.” He gestures me forward. “It’s my turn.”