Page 65 of Bedeviled

“‘More’?” I echo softly, my heart beginning to race.

He glances over at the shelves of notebooks. “That is essentially what you’ve been doing all these years, is it not?”

I have said as much myself, and yet, how often have I actually considered them grimoires? They’d always been more like memory books. And yet now, as I think about those books along with the work I did as Roxilana to transcribe Sarmatian, I have a revelation. All those rigorous hours spent moving language and life into text, I hadn’t realized I’d been building a calling.

To be honest, I hadn’t thought much about what might come after Henbane. The coven had always been the goal. But it’s right here, right in front of me, the calling that stirs my blood and draws out my magic.

I move over to the desk, run my hand over it. I can remember other desks, other spaces Memnon gave me. Pressing a stylus into wax to form words, reading bawdy stories written in Demotic as I learned to speak and read ancient language after ancient language.

I turn to him. “You were my first teacher,” I say, remembering. “You were terrible at it, too.”

He smiles fondly, the past deep in his eyes. It falls away. “And you were overwhelmed by my gifts then as well.” He steps in close. “We also had enemies then, just as we do now.” He strokes my face.

“The world will never give you permission to be who you are or to do what you’re called for. You must take it for yourself.”

His words brush over my skin, sending a pleasant chill down my spine.

I place my hand over his. “I must take what I wish?” I say, quirking a brow. “When I wish it?”

His bourbon eyes heat with my insinuation. Memnon inclines his head. “You are a queen. You must.”

I hop onto the desk. “Fine, I’ll take it all.”

And with that, I drag him to me and finally accept Memnon’s gift.

CHAPTER 14

I need to talk to Memnon about last night’s demon attack. Somehow, in all the long hours that passed between when it happened and when the two of us finally went to sleep, we managed to say and do just about everything else.

Now, as I sit up in bed, Memnon’s spot noticeably empty, the events replay themselves in all their terrible, grisly glory. The demon dragging me from the car, trying and failing to kill the creature, his confession that someone directed him to torture and kill me, and then Memnon taking over and spelling me to sleep.

In the glaring light of a new day, it’s more alarming than ever.

But as I slip out of the bed and grab an outfit to wear—one of Memnon’s shirts and a soft set of his boxers—aromatic smells drift in from the kitchen, already distracting me from my thoughts.

And when I pad down the hall and the stairs, phone in hand, I’m further distracted by Memnon’s new house. If last night it appeared to be all dark, Gothic romance, then under the bright light of day, it’s full of an extravagant and a regal sort of whimsy, and I don’t know how I’m possibly going to focus on anything but enjoying myself. I even slide down the banister, just for the sheer delight of it.

When I step into the kitchen, I pause, stumbling back a little.

Spread out on the large central island are all manner of foods in various states of preparation. And amongst it all is Memnon, who, though shirtless, is still wearing an apron and loosely holding a wooden spoon in his hand. It would be comical if it wasn’t all so very disarming…and strangely alluring?

Goddess, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, lusting after a man who’s cosplaying as a chef.

“What is all this?” I ask.

Memnon takes a full few seconds to appraise me in his clothes, his expression full of want.

“Memnon?”

His gaze resharpens on mine. “I heard today was a holiday you modern people celebrate. One where you make lots of food and share it.”

My mouth parts.

Thanksgiving.

I’d forgotten. Somehow, amongst everything else, the holiday had slipped my mind.

“I wasn’t really going to share this food with anyone but you,” he continues, “but I have always loved to cook.”