Page 89 of Bedeviled

“Unfortunately, I cannot let this bond continue to exist. And by the terms you agreed to—terms your bondservant, this Irina, was forced into—you two are bound to death.”

It’s unsettlingly quiet in Memnon’s office.

“It’s your life or Irina’s,” my husband continues, “and between you and her, we both know who deserves to live more.”

Cole is shaking his head. “Please. There has to be some other way.”

Memnon stares at him pityingly. “There is one thing I can do,” the sorcerer finally says.

“Anything.”

“Lie down.”

The man’s eyebrows hike up.

Memnon settles himself deeper against the desk, his arms folded as he waits, letting the silence he’s supposed to fill drag on and on.

The man gives his head a shake, then lowers himself to the ground, straightening out his suit once he’s resting against the carpeted floor.

Only once he’s on the ground does Memnon push away from the desk and kneel next to the man.

“What are you doing?” Kincaide asks.

I cannot see Memnon’s face from this angle, but I hear his words clearly.

“I’ne,” he incants in Sarmatian.

Die.

I slip off the desk as Cole’s body recoils against the ground. The man clutches at his chest with one hand, trying to draw in a breath of air. With his other, he reaches weakly for my husband.

“Please, Memnon,” he gasps out, and the skin at the back of my neck pricks. Those were the exact words of another one of Memnon’s other victims.

Now I know for certain this is why Memnon’s name has been turning up in Olga’s ledger. He really has been killing wealthy traffickers.

It happens fast. I don’t know how long normal heart attacks—even widow makers—take, but this one seems to occur in seconds.

Cole is gasping and reaching, his legs jerking weakly, but even as I step up to the two of them, his eyelids flutter, then his eyes go glassy.

After several more seconds, Memnon leans back on his haunches.

My stomach turns over in horror, even as my feelings toward this man remain conflicted.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to kill him,” I say softly.

This was definitely the murder-y sort of special meeting.

“I never said I wasn’t going to kill him, est amage. But I don’t plan on letting him stay dead,” he says. As he speaks, he splays a hand on Kincaide’s chest.

“Lisnuswatavak,” he incants.

Revive.

Memnon’s magic sifts out of him, slipping between the dead man’s parted lips and up his nostrils and sinking into his skin.

I don’t breathe as I watch. Bringing back the dead isn’t always an easy thing. Sometimes it’s damn near impossible.

Cole’s body twitches, one of his buffed leather shoes moving back and forth like a pendulum for a few brief moments before resettling.