“Sit.”
I don’t think the high priestess used any compulsion on me, but I swear my ass has crossed the room and lowered itself into the seat across from her before the echo of her voice has quieted.
She folds her hands under her chin, leaving only her index fingers out to tap ponderously against her mouth.
“You don’t seem like a murderess,” she says thoughtfully, “but then again, the guilty often don’t.”
What?
“What are you talking about?”
She gives me a knowing look. “You don’t think I’m so big a fool that I’m unaware the Politia suspects your involvement in the recent murders.”
The silence that follows those words is thick and ugly.
“I didn’t kill those women,” I say softly.
She leans back in her chair, her eyes moving to Nero, who sits next to me.
“I have long found comfort belowground,” she says, switching topics. “My own magic is particularly potent when drawn from deeper earth. Bedrock, in particular, is a very grounding, very powerful substance to draw from. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She levels those dark eyes on me, and it’s as though she can see me entering the subterranean rooms below the residence hall to join that spell circle. As though she can even see me entering Memnon’s forbidden crypt.
I twist my hands together. “I don’t think I follow…”
“Don’t play coy with me, Selene Bowers. You have lost your memory, not your wits. The oldest, most eternal parts of the universe call to you. Water, stone—even the moon.”
How does she know about my magical aptitudes? Even I can only vaguely remember them.
“Many people consider these cold, lifeless things,” the high priestess continues. She leans forward conspiratorially. “They call to me as well.”
She resettles in her seat, her white raven turning its head and inspecting me with one of its dark eyes.
“Supernaturals—even other witches—worry about those of us bewitched by such things because…well, we are more prone to dark enchantments and perverse magic.”
Ah. So that’s what this is about.
“I didn’t kill those women,” I say again, more forcefully this time. “Please, use a truth spell on me if that’s what it takes.”
“Your own mind hides itself from you, Selene. Such a spell would not fully prove your innocence. You must know this.”
I don’t know what this meeting is, but it’s clear that perhaps I now have to prove my innocence to two different institutions—the Politia and Henbane Coven.
I take a deep breath. “I spent over a year trying to get into this coven. Being here has been my dream since I Awoke as a witch. Even if you cannot trust me when I say I hold life to be sacred, you can at least trust that I would never want to jeopardize my spot here.”
The high priestess scrutinizes me, seeing entirely too much of me with those enthralling eyes of hers.
“Yes,” she agrees, “your Awakening profoundly shaped your life’s goals—just as it shapes all of us who come into our truest forms. But,” she continues, her tone changing, “you are not just a witch.”
I go still. So still.
She knows exactly what I’ve only just learned.
“You are a soul mate.” The high priestess tosses it out there as though it’s something almost mundane and not the earth-shattering revelation I find it to be.
“I wonder how that might affect your life’s goals,” she muses, “particularly depending on the soul mate…”
Where is she going with this?
Does she know about Memnon?
She stares at me for a long minute before turning her attention to papers sitting on the desk in front of her.
“The Politia officers aren’t the only ones who are interested in you. The lycanthropes have been barraging me with requests to speak with you. They say it’s urgent, but they will not tell me what it is.”
She gives me a sly look. “They forget that witches see much, and we perceive even more. They do not believe you a murderess. In fact, they seem to hold you in quite high esteem.”
For a moment, my unease and self-doubt disappears, and my worries diminish.
The high priestess holds my gaze. “Would you like to speak with the wolves?”
Do I have a choice?
“You always have a choice.”
Aw fuck, can this broad read minds?
I try to erase the rude thought, but obviously, it’s too late.
The high priestess stares at me, her face expressionless.