Page 88 of Bedeviled

Mr. Cole seems pinned between the flattery and his desperate attempt to sway Memnon. He shakes his head. “I didn’t know,” he repeats.

“Mmm,” Memnon responds, rubbing his lower lip with a thumb.

“Please.” Mr. Cole’s gaze swings to me. “Please.”

“Don’t look at her.” Memnon’s eyes are beginning to glow, and his power snakes out of him, lashing the air.

Mr. Cole raises his hands placatingly. “I’m sorry.”

Memnon’s magic is still snapping around him, but the glow in his eyes dims a little.

“How many bonds do you have?” Memnon demands.

“One—but I didn’t know it was against Irina’s will,” Cole is quick to add. “I assumed she wanted this.”

I huff out a disbelieving laugh, though my stomach churns at the admission.

The nuance when it comes to forged bonds and forced bonds is tricky, and the Fortunas did make it even more obscure. Still, there’s a reason why even forged bonds—those agreed upon by both parties—are taboo. Cole could not have walked into that auction room and not been aware of this.

Memnon echoes my thoughts. “But you knew it was wrong.”

The man opens his mouth, as though to argue, and Memnon raises his eyebrows, his expression turning amused.

Cole’s mouth shuts.

Memnon reaches behind me and grabs a huge black leather book. I tense when I see it. It has to be a ledger of Luca Fortuna’s dealings, given the current discussion.

Memnon opens it and casually flips through the pages. As he does so, the tension mounts. Cole stares at the book like he wants to make it disappear.

I peer at the pages, then my breath catches in my throat.

Maiden, Mother, Crone.

I catch a glimpse of names, some of them clients who presumably bought forged and forced bonds, and some of them—well, those must be their victims.

“Ah, here it is,” Memnon says, setting the book down and pushing it across the desk so that Kincaide can see it.

Memnon leans forward and taps on a row. “Kincaide Cole,” he says, “forged a bond with Miss Irina Rusu on March eleventh of this year. It’s all there.”

Eight months that woman has been Kincaide’s prisoner. I try to tamp down my horror and my heartbreak. I can’t know what she endured during all that time, but I’m guessing at least some of it has been nightmarish. Decent people don’t buy other people, period.

Memnon makes a hissing noise through his teeth. “Looks like this bond was made unto death,” he adds. He shakes his head before closing the ledger and dragging it back to his side of the desk.

The sorcerer looks at Kincaide. “You must know what that means.”

Only death can break the bond.

Cole is starting to sweat. “Please.”

“Please what?” Memnon asks, genuinely curious.

“Spare me.”

“No,” Memnon says flatly.

Cole staggers back a half step, his expression gallows bound. “I’ll do anything.”

“I know you will,” Memnon says, leaning back and narrowing his eyes speculatively at the man. After a moment, he adds, “Many of the others who came before you flung magic at me. I do appreciate the fact that you could’ve but you haven’t—and I also appreciate the fact that you’re willing to tell me about those who plot against me, even if it demonstrates a weakness in your character. So I would like to work with you.