Bewitched (Bewitched, #1)(23)

That’s news to me.

“Did you help land it?” she asks. The witch has a look in her eye, one that makes me a little nervous. I’ve hated being overlooked, but between Nero and now this, I’m pretty sure I hate the spotlight even more.

“I can’t remember,” I say because it’s the truth. My memory of the event was wiped.

Still, her words linger with me.

The way the plane landed could’ve only been achieved by magic.

The witch’s gaze moves to Nero, and I can practically see her next question. Did you find your familiar while you were there?

Before she can voice it, Sybil grabs me by the wrist and begins dragging me away. “We’ll be back for more brew soon!” my friend calls.

I give a helpless wave and follow her. “Are you going to stop manhandling me any time tonight?” I ask.

“Don’t pretend like you wanted to stick around to answer Tara’s questions,” Sybil says.

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 is espiritus, 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 you woke something?”

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.”

“A tomb?” 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 fucking disturbed it.” 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.

“I don’t know.” How can I explain the effect his magic had on me? Even now I remember how it whispered in my ear, and tugged on my skin, and drew me ever closer to the tomb. I…couldn’t ignore it. I didn’t want to.

“Okay,” Sybil says, waving my explanation away. “So you went inside a crypt…” She waits for me to continue.

I take a deep breath. “The place was covered in spells, really arcane ones. I don’t know how long they’d been there, but they were still intact.”

Sybil nods. “That sometimes happens with old spells,” she says. “Age can strengthen well-placed magic.” This girl loves magical history.

I continue. “Beyond all the spells, there was a sarcophagus—and I, uh, opened it.”

Sybil pinches the bridge of her nose, then takes a large swallow of her drink. She shakes her head. “You’re never supposed to open shit like that. Tombs—especially old ones—are full of curses.”

About that…

“There was a man inside the sarcophagus, Sybil. He looked just as alive as you or me, except he was sleeping.” I lower my voice even further. “Somehow, he was the one who had been calling to me. I don’t know how he managed to use his magic when he couldn’t wake, but he did. And it looked like he’d been in that coffin for centuries.”