Page 95 of Bedeviled

Frowning, I jot them down as best I can. They are unlike any human language I’ve ever seen.

And yet I have seen them before.

“Translate,” I incant.

The letters in my notebook jiggle, then shift, reforming into new letters, ones I can understand.

Judgment lies beneath the earth.

My brows draw together at the familiar statement. I remember reading this back at the Khuno River palace, carved onto one of the repurposed marble blocks. I should’ve thought it significant then that it hadn’t been removed from the stone’s surface.

Whatever importance this phrase has to Eislyn, it’s lost to me. A puzzle for another time.

“Ambroise Antier,” I whisper, my gaze returning to her face.

This is why I hadn’t been able to find much on Eislyn.

She’s been hiding in plain sight throughout the centuries under false names. Despite that, she clearly has a penchant for wealth and power.

“I wonder who else you’ve made miserable over the years.”

Now that I have at least two of her pseudonyms, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I find out.

CHAPTER 22

My breath mists in front of me as I leave the library, the full moon luminous in the dark night. The distant howls of wolves fill the night air. Somewhere out there, Nero hunts in the forest. I hope to the Goddess he stays clear of the shifters, especially on a night like tonight.

My stomach still turns at the thought of him wandering through the Everwoods. It’s not even the lycanthropes I worry about. The Everwoods have been rife with demons, fairies, witches, and other monsters. And while those threats to Nero’s safety have been handled, I think it’s going to take a long time before I trust Henbane with my panther’s safety again.

Pulling my coat tighter around me, I cut across the grass, heading back to my dorm. I left before I could research Eislyn’s pseudonyms. I will go back eventually to do so, but my eyes ache from reading in the dim light, and my stomach is growling for dinner.

And after dinner, I might just join in on the revelries happening on behalf of the full moon tonight. I think this one is called the Beaver Moon. I try not to smirk at all the bawdy shenanigans my coven sisters might get up to in honor of it.

Once I’ve cut across Henbane’s main lawn, I head up the pathway to my residence hall, giving one of the lamassu a cursory pet before reaching the front door.

The fanged Medusa knocker is usually quiet when I come and go from my house, but tonight as I reach for the doorhandle, the serpentine coils of her hair stir to life, and her mouth begins to move.

“A spell will be cast, a trap will be set. Those who are damned remain fettered to their debt. Run, little witch, you smell like a feast, this is no place to be food for a beast.”

The hairs along my arms stand on end. This knocker has never spoken to me quite like this.

That sounded like a premonition.

Run, little witch.

From those words alone, I feel compelled to.

My phone begins to vibrate in my bag. I startle at the interruption, my teeth on edge as I pull the device out.

Sybil’s name is splashed across the screen.

I haven’t chatted over the phone with her in far too long. Not since I told her about marrying Memnon. And now I feel like a fool, listening to the howls of shifters filling up the night air. My best friend has had one hell of a time over the last couple weeks, and I’ve been terrible at keeping up with her.

I answer the call and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hey—” I say breathlessly.

“Selene.” My name trembles on my friend’s lips.