Bewitched (Bewitched, #1)(95)

I sigh, releasing him.

I pull out my phone and see several notifications. Two are texts from Sybil, asking me what’s going on and if I’m really okay. Another text is from my mother, who shared a picture from her and my father’s extended tour of Europe. In it, the two of them are drinking beer at Oktoberfest—cute. The last notification is an email from Peel Academy.

They got back to me about my Awakening records.

I open my messages and quickly text Sybil back that I’m fine and everything is okay and nothing at all is wrong (because why would anything be wrong?) and I’m 110 percent groovy like a movie.

I bite back my hysterical laugh.

Then I open my email.

There’s a response to my earlier inquiry about my Awakening results, but I don’t even bother reading it once I see they included an attachment labeled Bowers_Selene_results. I click on the PDF file, and my official Awakening record appears.

I scroll past the information at the top, which lists my name, date of birth, and date of Awakening. My actual results are near the bottom of the page.

The notes are brief.

Awoken Supernatural Categories:

Witch

Soul Mate





CHAPTER 36





Three years ago, I was given a draught of bittersweet, and my powers Awoke. I only remembered one of them—that I’m a witch.

But apparently, there was a secondary one I forgot.

That I’m a soul mate.

It’s right there, typed neatly onto the document bearing Peel Academy’s seal.

Soul mate.

I can all but hear Memnon’s voice in my ear.

Mate.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I press my hand to my forehead and push my hair back.

That swamp monster I revived from undying sleep was right this whole time? Memnon is really, truly my soul mate? And I mean, okay, he’s not a swamp monster—he’s devilishly handsome, and I think I might have fallen in love with him a little after I invited him into my bed, but he also believes we were lovers two thousand years ago.

And now I have to seriously entertain that idea.

Goddess, why me?

I blow out a breath. Let’s take it one step at a time, Selene.

I go to my shelf and glance down the line of magic-related books until I get to one on types of supernaturals. I pull it out and plop on my bed next to Nero, flipping to its glossary. Then I run my finger over page after page of definitions until I get to the one I’m looking for.

Soul mate

n. one of a pair or a group of amorous supernaturals who are bonded through an unbreakable magical connection





I grimace at the word amorous, and then my eyes reread the last bit of the definition.

An unbreakable magical connection.

No. No, no, no.

We’re in denial again, I see. Memnon’s earlier words float through my head like a taunt.

My panic is interrupted when my phone buzzes…then keeps buzzing.

Worst time ever for my friend to call.

I answer without looking. “Sybil, I promise you, I’m fine.”

I’m not fine at all. Not even a little bit.

A gruff voice clears their throat, and shit, this is not Sybil.

“Ms. Bowers?” a masculine voice says, one I vaguely recognize.

“Uh…yeah, sorry, hi there,” I say, trying to recover the pieces of my dignity.

“This is Officer Howahkan with the Politia. We spoke at the beginning of the week. Do you have a moment?”

My mind is screaming, I am a soul mate! I clear my throat. “Yeah, sure.” That sounded normal and not hysterical, right?

“We are trying to solidify your alibi”—that pulls me into the moment—“and I wanted to follow up with you on getting your notebooks so we can create a comprehensive timeline for you.”

This…sounds a lot like I’m a suspect.

And yet I feel a wave of relief. They want my notebooks. Even though Officer Howahkan couldn’t clear me based on what he saw in my planner, that doesn’t mean something in one of my other planners won’t cover my ass. I have two others I’m also using at the moment, and a few others might have some overlap.

As soon as the Politia gets a good look at all of them, it’ll be clear I have an ironclad alibi and a large paper trail. This is my chance to get myself off the suspect list.

“Of course,” I say, nibbling on a half-painted nail. “Anything you want to look at, you can see.” So long as it gets me cleared, I’m fine with it.

“Great,” the officer says. “Will you be home tomorrow afternoon?”

“I have class until two. But after that, I’ll be home for the rest of the day.”

“All right, then I’ll have one of my colleagues swing by sometime between then and five to collect them.”

Officer Howahkan and I end the call shortly after that, and I drop my phone and rub the heel of my hands into my eyes.

As much as I want to focus on what it means to be a suspect, my mind keeps going to that email. To the fact I really am a soul mate.

I’m going to have to save a copy of those results and write them down in a billion different places just so I don’t forget again. I should do that right now.

Instead, I roll onto my back, my shoulder bumping against Nero’s body. I place a hand over my heart and close my eyes.