Page 73 of Bedeviled

Memnon has the usual bathroom supplies—cotton balls and swabs, bandages, Vaseline. All things I marvel at since he must’ve only learned of these items within the last few months. The toothbrush slumps in my mouth as I take it all in.

Even amongst these surprising finds, there are other more curious things. A blow dryer, a straightener and a curling iron, pads, tampons. My eyebrows hike way up when I see that he’s even stocked his bathroom with pregnancy test strips.

Real wishful thinking on his part.

Like the women’s clothes in his closet, these are all new and unused. I don’t know why I’ve never really rummaged through our things before, but taking it all in now, my heart thumps strangely. Seeing that he’s trying. Just like the disaster meeting with my parents yesterday.

I finish freshening myself up and pause. Part of me wants nothing more than to hole myself up in this house’s hidden library. But…

My hand drifts to the skin above my heart.

An idea has taken root in me, and I need items for it—items I might only find at Henbane.

I grab my phone and purse and head to the front of the house, Nero at my heels. I’m about to search around for a broom when I spot a set of car keys resting on the entryway’s side table.

Memnon obviously left them there.

Cautiously I move over to them, extending my hand as if to grab them. Then I hesitate, remembering the demon that stood in the middle of the road and how my car veered when I jerked on the steering wheel—and the impact that left me concussed.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, I snatch the keys up. I have faced worse and lived to tell about it. One more measly car ride won’t end me.

“C’mon, Nero, let’s go ruin another one of Memnon’s pretty vehicles.”

Because of the Thanksgiving holiday, there’s no class today. Instead, I use the time to gather ingredients for today’s little project.

So far, from my house’s spell kitchen I’ve managed to get charcoal and the dried … errr, herb I need. I nearly cackle when I notice that next to the jar of cannabis buds someone has left a pile of rolling paper and another jar filled with pre-rolled blunts.

Bless my coven sisters and their considerate hearts.

I snag a couple of the joints and tuck them away as well.

The last item I need is a bone needle, and unfortunately, my spell kitchen does not have any of those. I’ll have to buy one. Luckily, Henbane’s apothecary should carry it.

I can feel myself growing excited as I return to my room and set the items on my desk. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way about an idea.

I grab my coat and slip out of my room, tugging it on as I head down the hallway. My daggers tap against my thighs as I move.

I’ve taken to wearing them since the demon attack. As silly as they look, they make me feel safer. I don’t know if there will ever be another demon attack, but I want to at least feel like I could defend myself against a creature like that without worrying about magic.

My thoughts return to the ingredients I’ve been gathering. If I manage to find all the items by nightfall, then tonight⁠—

“Selene!” a familiar voice calls as I head down the stairs. “Wait, Selene!”

I pause to glance up the winding staircase. Olga leans over the railing on the floor above me, her large vulture, Odessa, perched on her shoulder.

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” Olga says, rushing down the stairs now.

I tense.

Only a short while ago, Olga drugged my drink at a party, which resulted in me falling off a broom, breaking a fuck ton of bones, and getting captured by Juliana Fortuna, one of the key players behind the supernatural trafficking ring. And then being subsequently bound and tortured by said woman. And I mean, technically, Olga was forced to drug me against her own will, but also technically, I’m still kinda pissed off about the whole thing.

We’ve patched things up somewhat, but I’m not too eager to chat with her now.

She reaches me, huffing a little as she catches her breath. Her hair hangs down her back in frizzy waves, and her eyes are magnified by the lenses of her glasses. She’s considered a little odd, even among witches, mostly because of the book she carries at all times—even now.

My eyes drop to the infamous ledger tucked under her arm.

I turn to face her, trying and failing to not look put out. “What is it, Olga?”