The conservatory glows in the distance, the all-glass structure lit from within and without by hundreds of levitating lanterns, the flickering candlelight creating a beautiful, almost-Gothic effect.
I’ve never actually been inside the coven’s massive greenhouse. Not until tonight. It’s clear as I get closer that I’ve been missing out. I can see all sorts of wild greenery growing inside, and in honor of Samhain, someone’s grown pumpkins the size of chairs outside the building. Many are still attached to their vines, and the plants themselves curl around the massive fruit.
I make my way up the marble steps leading to the door, Nero at my side. I glance at Sybil’s shoulder, noticing that Merlin has already flown off into the night. I pause, glancing around as the rest of the witches continue into the building. No one else’s familiar seems to be with them.
I chew on the corner of my lip as I take in Nero. “I don’t think you’re allowed inside as you are,” I say.
My panther looks at me for a long time with his golden-green eyes, as though he’s trying to silently communicate something. I slip down our bond and into his head for a moment, and I feel an emotion from him I’m not expecting—affection.
Slipping back into my own body, I kneel so I can place my forehead against my familiar’s.
“I love you too,” I whisper to him. I pull away and pet his face. “Stay safe in those woods tonight.” There are bound to be a lot of drunk, lusty witches making bad decisions out there.
Nero gives me another long look, as if to say, You stay safe too.
Or maybe that’s just me anthropomorphizing my familiar. I nod anyway.
With one final look, Nero turns from me and lopes toward the tree line. I stand, watching him go.
Empress…
My flesh puckers at Memnon’s call. I turn to face the conservatory once more, and I startle when I catch sight of him through the double doors.
He stands with his hands in the pockets of his tux, looking so much larger than the people moving around him.
I suck in my breath at how good he looks, his wildness caged in by the cut of his suit jacket and pants. Well, mostly caged in—he’s done away with a bow tie, his dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, and I can see that panther tattoo of his peeking out above the collar of his shirt. His hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it several times.
If I thought a tuxedo would make Memnon look any less dangerous, I was wildly wrong.
My heart trips on itself at the sight of him, and a light, fluttery feeling fills my stomach.
Revenge, I remind myself. Tonight is for revenge.
His smoky eyes glitter as he takes me in, from the tips of my toes, up along the slit of my dress to my bust, and then, finally, to my face. He looks like someone hit him upside the head.
I see him swallow, his eyes still fixed on me, and holy shit, is Memnon actually…thrown by this outfit?
Guess the revenge dress worked.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. All right, I can do this. Already, the fluttery feeling in my stomach is settling.
I head the rest of the way up the stairs and enter the conservatory, hearing some haunting melody fill the air. All around me, witches and mages stand around in formal wear, chatting and laughing and drinking witch’s brew from delicate coupe glasses like we’re high-society folk and not wild, enchanted things.
I turn to where Memnon stood a moment ago, but he’s gone. Unfortunately, somewhere in all the crowd, I’ve lost sight of Memnon. I glance around.
“Selene!”
I turn toward the voice, only to see Sybil slipping through the crowd toward me. Farther behind her, I catch sight of the group we came here with.
“I grabbed us a table!” my friend says, stepping in front of me. “Want to go sit down, or—？”
“I saw him,” I say to her.
“What? Where?” She glances around.
“I don’t know, I lost sight of him.” As I speak, I realize my hands are shaking. But it’s not from nerves; it’s from my coiling magic.
I’m ready to face the man.
Sybil’s face grows excited. “You know what this means?” she says. “It’s revenge time.”
Instead of returning to the table Sybil nabbed us, she leads me in the opposite direction, down one of the conservatory’s wings.
For a moment, as I take in our surroundings, I forget about Memnon and the vendettas between us.
I cannot believe I haven’t visited this place before.
Plants fill every level of the conservatory, growing from massive terra-cotta pots and patches of ground where the floor has been cut away. The only place not completely covered in growing foliage is the dance floor and its surrounding tables, though even that area is dotted with plants. And all of it is illuminated by the levitating lanterns above us.