Page 43 of Bedeviled

Memnon rubs his lower lip with his thumb, musing. “I don’t know how typical that is, though the fact that in all that time Eislyn hasn’t received a dagger through the back is a miracle in its own right.”

An unfortunate miracle.

Memnon, Nero, and I pass several partially renovated but mostly empty rooms.

“What are we looking for?” I finally ask.

“Anything that might tell us what Eislyn has up to these days and where to find her.”

We move toward the back of the palace, where more of the work is being done at the moment. Silently, we slip past workers, whose eyes move through us and past us but not on us.

When we come to the main bedroom, a full-body shiver runs through me. It lacks the jewel-toned details that were once present here, but there’s a bed in this room that looks eerily similar to the one that used to be here, right down to the bedposts carved to look like trees.

I remember sleeping here, mourning here. The memory is visceral. It’s awful to think that that whole time, the space was never really mine. Instead, my presence here was used to frame me for Eislyn’s betrayal.

Memnon places a hand on the back of my neck, massaging it softly. Are you alright? he asks down our bond.

I tear my gaze from the bed to look at him.

I’m fine, I say down our bond, still speaking silently to him so that we’re not overheard by nearby workers.

Memnon frowns, obviously unconvinced.

I move over to the bed, my familiar shadowing me. “May this bed always attract bed bugs,” I whisper.

The sorcerer’s eyebrows rise.

“What?” I say innocently. “She obviously deserves it.”

He folds his arms as he watches me. “I’m offended that you only inflicted Eislyn with bed bugs when you burned our house down.”

I bite my lower lip to stop myself from smiling. It doesn’t work.

“You underestimate my pettiness if you think I’m going to stop at bed bugs,” I say. “I’m just getting started.”

Is magically booby-trapping an enemy’s house a misuse of magic? Probably. Will the Law of Three bite me in the ass with this one?

Maybe.

Regardless, the perverse joy I get just by casting the spells is worth it.

I set up hexes everywhere. The furniture, the walls, the very air itself.

However, the floor, I’ve found, is the best place for them. You can see spells glittering in the air. Even the walls will hold the sheen of them. But the ground is more innocuous.

Some of spells I place are as benign as being plagued with dandruff and ingrown hairs or forgetting one’s train of thought, but some are more malignant, like making the walls structurally unstable. I even place an intense laxative spell on the threshold to the kitchen.

Let’s see how well Eislyn fares with that one.

I do, however, hold myself back from actual curses. As much as I made light of the Law of Three, I’ve dealt with the consequences of it once. I don’t want to again.

“There,” I say when I place the last hex.

“Very conniving, very evil,” Memnon teases.

I push him softly, and he catches my wrist, drawing me to him. I feel small in his arms, and I’m surprised by how much I enjoy that feeling of being totally enveloped by him. I stay there for a long moment, savoring this. Him.

You’re a really good hugger, I say down our bond.