Bewitched (Bewitched, #1)(102)

Nothing to do about it now but move forward and plot my own revenge.

I write out the days of the week on the next blank page of my notebook, penning in the Samhain Ball under Saturday’s date. I circle the event in red and write a note next to it:

MEMNON WANTS YOU TO ATTEND.





I’m still not entirely sure whether I will attend or not. I hate the idea of agreeing to his demands, but he also woke in me a thirst for revenge that I had no idea existed until now. But every second I breathe in the smell of smoke, I grow more bloodthirsty and bitter.

He will pay for this.

That promise is the only thing warming my cold, dejected heart.

I’m still writing when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” I call out, cringing when I hear the waver in my voice.

“Selene,” a witch says on the other side of the door, “there’s an officer at the front door who’s asking for you.”

I take a deep breath, a queasy wave of dread unsettling my stomach.

Goddess, it’s time to face the fallout of what just happened.





I stand inside my room, Nero at my side, while Officer Howahkan and his partner, Officer Mwangi, take in the smoldering remains of my notebooks.

Officer Howahkan is the first to speak. “Are those your…?”

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely.

It’s quiet for several seconds.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “You burned your journals?” He asks it like he’s not truly surprised, just disappointed. “You realize how this looks.”

Yeah, it looks like I’m fucking guilty.

“I didn’t burn them,” I snap.

The officer’s face remains impassive. “Who did?”

“Memnon.”

I see a flicker of recognition from Officer Mwangi. “Memnon—is that the same man who broke into this bedroom a few weeks ago?” she asks.

I nod.

“And he was here again?”

Another nod.

“How did he get in?” she asks. Because according to official records, last time this happened, he broke in through a window.

“I don’t know—with magic, I suspect. He was in my room when I got here.”

“And he’s the one who burned your books?” Officer Mwangi asks.

“Yes,” I say softly.

“Why would he do that?”

I hug my arms. “To be cruel.”

“And why would he want to be cruel?” Officer Mwangi asks. I can’t tell if she’s concerned or skeptical.

“Memnon is under the delusion that I betrayed him, and he wants revenge.”

Officer Howahkan pulls out a notepad and a pen and jots something down.

“Do you have his number? Or his address?” he asks, his dark eyes penetrating. “Some way for us to contact him and follow up on this?”

My throat tightens. “No.”

Officer Howahkan presses his lips together. “Do you have a last name at least?”

“No,” I say softly.

“Ah.”

I’m suddenly tired, so tired. I know how this looks.

I rub my eyes as Nero leans his body against my leg. “Is there any way to fix my notebooks? Some spell that can return them to the way they were?” I ask.

The moment I voice the question, my hope flares to life.

A spell, of course.

Officer Howahkan gives me an inscrutable look. “Maybe,” he says, watching me carefully. “Magic is capable of lots of things.”

I exhale my relief.

“You can check my phone,” I say, eager to give these officers something. I grab it and hand it to the officer. “I use it for notes and scheduling all the time.” It’s just not the main thing I use.

“We have checked your phone,” Officer Howahkan says.

Oh.

He looks almost sorry as he adds, “If we’d found evidence on it that proved your innocence, we wouldn’t be sitting here now, having this conversation.”

“Are you planning on arresting me?” I say quietly.

The officer shares a look with his partner. “No,” he finally says. “Not today, Selene.”





CHAPTER 39





I don’t spook easily, but I nearly shit my pants after the officers’ visit.

Surely I can be placed somewhere away from the crimes during the time they were committed? I mean, I live in a house with a hundred other women. Someone somewhere should be able to vouch for me.

Officer Mwangi calls in a team to collect what they can of my notebooks’ delicate remains, and once they arrive, I leave the room so they can do their thing.

I have to believe they’ll be able to reverse the damage Memnon inflicted on them.

I descend the stairs to Sybil’s room, Nero following in my wake. I notice a few side-eyed glances from other witches in the halls, and I get the impression word has spread that I am a suspect in the recent string of murders.

The thought of my coven sisters turning on me is terrifying. If any group is good at refusing to persecute others, it’s witches. We’ve been on the receiving end of it too often. But even we witches have our limits. I wonder how close this coven is to reaching theirs.