Page 135 of Bedeviled

“Now,” Memnon says, his tone growing harder, “it seems she came to you not just to gloat but to understand what sort of threat you pose to her.”

I nod. She did seem to be prodding me, trying to figure out who she was dealing with.

Which happened to be a silly little fool.

I’m sure the fairy left feeling assured that I wouldn’t pose much threat at all.

Memnon and I have already speculated that Eislyn had plans for him, plans that even two millennia later might still be important to her. And just as I was in the way then, I am in the way now. An inconvenience, but not a true obstacle.

And what could those plans of hers be? What terrible machinations are going on in that sick little shit’s mind?

I’m afraid my ambitions have always been bigger than offering counsel to mortals, Eislyn said.

Slowly I lift my gaze to Memnon’s.

A curious glint sparks in the sorcerer’s eyes. “What have you figured out, my cunning queen?”

I search his beloved face, swallowing.

Long ago, Memnon told me that Eislyn had aided his paternal family line for something like two hundred years. But of all the sorcerers in that family tree, it was Memnon that Eislyn fixated on, Memnon she built that terrible tomb for.

It was never Memnon’s power or his prestige alone that captivated her.

It was what all of it could offer her.

Over two thousand years ago, Eislyn tried to overthrow her father. She failed, and as punishment, she was banished to Earth, where she has been trapped ever since.

What does an ancient, banished princess desire?

“Eislyn wants her father’s throne, the one she never got,” I say. “And she wants you to help her get it.”

CHAPTER 31

The following day, I’m in our house, unpacking the books in my gifted library and sliding them onto shelves, achingly alone. Nero is somewhere in the forest beyond the back lawn of this estate, and Memnon is at work, hunting down anything he might find on Eislyn and the ever increasing threat she poses to us following last night’s revelation.

Eislyn wants Memnon to help seat her on her father’s throne.

I know next to nothing about fae kingdoms and politics, so technically, that’s what I should be spending my time researching right now.

Instead, I’m trying desperately hard not to panic about the fact that my shared bond with Memnon still feels muted, so that’s what I’m looking into.

Already I’ve paged through several promising books on potions and tonics, trying to find any explanation for what I drank. There have been plenty of possible candidates—potions to sicken the blood, elixirs that enhance one’s magical output, tonics for growing taller—all of them purple. The only problem is that none of them appear to be what I drank.

I need to get back to Henbane and make the most of the library there if I want to find more answers. I’ll eventually have to return to campus anyway to pack up my room. But I’m also acutely aware I have a target on my back. Returning to my residence hall might mean putting my coven sisters at risk of another demon attack. I don’t want that. Which is why I’m now sorting through these books Memnon bought to stock this library. Maybe one of them will contain something helpful.

I crouch and grab one such book from the box at my feet.

“Raising the Dead: A History of Necromancy,” I read the title aloud. “Should you go under Magical History or Magical Specialties? Or maybe you should go under Supernatural Entities…” Or maybe I need to make new categories entirely…

From my pocket, my phone buzzes, distracting me from my thoughts.

Wandering over to the shelves I’ve tentatively labeled Magical History, I pull out the phone.

Sybil’s name is splashed on my screen.

I pick up the call, bringing my phone to my ear. “You know, I was tempted to howl when I answered this.”

Immediately, that earns me a laugh. “Screw you, Selene.”