Page 29 of Bedeviled

The hairs on my arms rise.

With that foreboding welcome, I slip into Ravensmeade. The house is filled with the comforting smells of homemade soup and warm, yeasty bread. It’s toasty and inviting, so much so that it takes me several extra seconds to notice that even here within the walls of our house, the atmosphere is subdued.

There’s a quiet conversation happening in the dining hall, but the spell kitchen to my left is silent and still, as is the small den to the left of the main staircase. Normally there’s at least one familiar besides my own in this space, as well as the sounds of shrieking and cackling, pots bubbling, magic billowing about, yet right now, all of it is absent.

Nero and I make our way up the stairs, the aged wood creaking and the lights softly flickering. When we step onto my floor, the first thing I notice are the items clustered outside my door. Crystals and flower bouquets sit alongside potions and amulets. It looks like a small shrine. Tucked between the items are cards.

My brows draw together as I step up to the pile. While Nero noses the flowers, I pick up an envelope and open it. Inside is a thick, cream card with two simple words—thank you.

I blink, still not fully understanding. I pick up another card. Like the first, inside it has a simple message.

Thank you for what you did.

Unsigned.

Many of the others end up being unsigned as well.

I glance up and down the hall, but whoever set these items here—and it looks like it was several someones—decided not to linger.

I glance back at the note, my throat tightening. This must be about stopping the Fortunas and their trafficking ring two nights ago. I feel a little sick when I think about all the supernaturals who fell victim to that family.

I wonder if my coven sisters would still be thanking me if they knew I married the man who took over the Fortunas’ wealth and holdings.

Opening my door, I let Nero push his way in and settle on my bed before I haul the gifts and cards inside. It’s foolish for me to bring these items in—any one of them might have a curse attached to it—Goddess knows I’ve made my share of enemies over the last two months—but I trust my intuition that these were given with good intentions.

I shut the door behind me, then settle against it, leaning my head back against the hard wood.

What a ride the last few days have been. From nearly dying at the hands of a demon to crossing paths with Eislyn, the millennia-old fairy who betrayed me and Memnon all those centuries ago. And of course all of those events climaxed with marrying my two-thousand-year-old soul mate.

Even now I can feel the weight of his ring on my finger, a weight I should mind but don’t. All Memnon had to do was fuck me sweetly half a dozen times and demand I keep eye contact, and now he has me thoroughly under his thrall.

I gently bang the back of my head against the door. Useless heart.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it out, distractedly tapping on a notification from Kane.

Kane Halloway

Looks like they caught the man who killed everyone in that warehouse.

Beneath Kane’s text is a link to an article written in The Grimm Guardian, one of the supernatural news sites.

Man Arrested in Connection with the Studio Street Massacre

I click on the link before I can think better of it and scroll down the article, skimming the details. It’s obviously a piece following up on the killings Memnon committed when he saved me from Lia.

There’s a mug shot of a man with black, shoulder-length hair and a tattoo climbing up his neck, one that looks an awful lot like a panther. But it’s not Memnon, and the article itself says that his name is Christopher Mendoza.

My heart nearly stops.

I reach across our bond.

Memnon? I ask, skimming over the rest of the article.

Wife, Memnon says with obvious relish. I can feel the warmth of his awareness.

I try and fail not to let it affect me.

Who is Christopher Mendoza, I ask, and why has he been framed for your killings?