I open my mouth to agree but then hesitate. “I need that for class.” To be honest, I need it for everything. I have my life in there, and judging by how many memories I recently lost, I’m going to rely on it more than ever. “I can stay longer if you want to make photocopies of it or take pictures of my entries.”
Officer Howahkan nods. “We’ll do that. You said there were more of these?” he asks.
I nod.
“Would you be open to letting us see those if the need arises?”
If I become a major suspect, he means.
I chew my lower lip. “That’s fine.” I mean, sharing my notebooks is no small thing—the thought of officers handling them and reading them and possibly keeping them as evidence has my anxiety spiking, but I also don’t want to seem guilty.
Because I’m not. I’d know if I were.
I think.
CHAPTER 32
I’m sitting at my desk, the two paragraphs I’ve managed to write so far on the magical differences between dried lavender versus fresh all but forgotten as I stare at my bank account.
Overdrawn.
My insides curdle at my bank account details.
Empress…
I sense Memnon a second later. I don’t know how, but I feel him moving up the stairs of my house like this place is his own, and I swear the witches in the house go quiet in his wake. Guests aren’t supposed to freely come and go in this residence hall—but he’s not exactly the sort of guy who gives a fuck about the rules.
Less than a minute later, the door opens and Memnon strides in. I try not to notice how damn enticing he looks in a simple T-shirt and jeans. But on his staggering frame, with all his olive-toned skin and elaborate tattoos peeking out, he makes the simple attire look sexy and edgy.
“Knocking would be nice,” I say, gathering my legs up on my chair.
Assuming he knows what a knock is. I bet Memnon predates the invention of manners.
“Perhaps it would be if we didn’t already have a bond,” he says. “It’s better than a knock.”
“We’re not bonded,” I say.
Memnon idly kicks my door closed with one of his boots. “We’re in denial again, I see.”
“It’s only denial if it’s true,” I say, my gaze flicking over him. “And it’s not.”
He lifts an eyebrow as he crosses the room.
“You know, stalking is a crime,” I say.
“You think that would deter me? I have already hunted you once before,” he says, a lock of his dark hair slipping over one eye. He looks to be the very definition of a villain.
I shiver.
“What happened?” I ask. “When you hunted me?”
He looks pleased that I asked.
Memnon steps in close. “I took you as my bride.” He brushes my lower lip with his thumb, just like he did when we last parted ways. He’s gazing at me like he’s remembering what it felt like to hold me.
I mean, Roxilana.
“I made you my queen, gave you riches and an ever-expanding empire.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve been over this many times,” I say. “And yet you expect me to believe Roxilana screwed you over.”
I mean, if someone volunteered to be my sugar daddy and he was this pretty, I don’t think I’d bury him alive.
Then again, Memnon is a douche.
I might bury a douche.
Maybe this Roxilana chick was on to something.
Memnon frowns, his previous good humor long gone. “You promised me answers,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “I want them.”
Answers…it takes me a moment to remember I did agree to that and a moment longer to realize Memnon doesn’t actually know any of the details surrounding what happened last night. He just saved my ass and then patched me up.
As I gather my thoughts, the sorcerer peers beyond me at the web page open on my computer, catching an eyeful of the sorry state of my bank account.
I reach out and close my laptop.
“Money trouble?” he asks, his face unreadable.
“How do you even know about online banking?” I ask him suspiciously. “And modern currency for that matter?”
My gaze flicks over his shirt and jeans and down to his leather boots. Now I do wonder how the sorcerer is getting by.
“Do you really want to have that talk right now, est amage? I’m not sure you’d like my answers.”
I stare up at him warily. I know he can riffle through a person’s mind—I remember him doing it to my own—so I know he has ways of seeing the modern world through others’ eyes. I don’t know why that would worry me…
Before I can help it, I rub my face. “It’s fine. Everything will be fine.” It’s less an answer and more a pep talk.
Memnon doesn’t say anything to that, and somehow, his silence makes my money situation feel all the more hopeless.
“The people last night—they were going to pay me,” I say. It’s a decent enough place to start. “It was some magical gig I agreed to so I could help pay for Nero’s food.”
Memnon frowns, his attention moving to my panther, who is sprawled out on my bed. “It costs a lot to feed him,” the sorcerer agrees, approaching the bed to pet the big cat. “I remember.”
Nero leans his head into the touch, eating up Memnon’s attention.
“It’s fine,” I repeat, though my voice cracks.
It’s not fine, and I’m trying not to think about the very real possibility of being unable to feed Nero.
Memnon glances over at me, and he has a look in his eye like he’s scheming.
He moves away from my familiar. “Tell me the rest of what happened last night,” he demands. “Leave nothing out.”
It doesn’t take long to tell Memnon the whole story. He leans against one of my walls, arms folded, as he listens to the entire thing, a menacing look on his face.
“…And that’s where you found me,” I finish.
It feels good to share this with him. I haven’t had a chance to tell Sybil, nor have I dared to write the event down—not when there are incriminating details and the Politia is interested in my notebooks.
A muscle in Memnon’s jaw keeps jumping.
“The spell circle,” he finally says. “It took place in this house?”
I nod. The mention of it has my pulse speeding. I remember all over again how there’s a direct tunnel into our house, one those masked witches can easily use even now.
I’m not going to think about the fact they may even be fellow coven sisters. That thought is downright chilling. As it is, I have to live with the fact Kasey was one of them.
Kasey, whom I haven’t heard from since last night.
“Take me to where the spell circle happened,” Memnon commands.
I should be bristling at the order. Instead, the sorcerer feels like a rudder keeping me on course.
I leave my room and lead Memnon through the house. Several witches see us pass, and one by one, they fall silent as they take in the man at my back. He’s huge and ferociously beautiful, and I’m sure they can sense the danger rolling off him.
I catch sight of their expressions, and while some look a little nervous, they also seem…interested?
Immediately, my hackles rise, and a little bit of my magic sifts out of me, thickening in the air.
Shit, Selene, are you getting jealous over your wicked stalker?
An arm wraps around my chest, and I’m drawn back against Memnon.
A moment later his lips are at my ear. “Possessiveness looks good on you, mate,” he says, nipping my ear.