Page 226 of Bedeviled

“I’ll see you in a moment,” I tell Nero, magic already spilling from my palms.

My power wraps around the broomstick handle. “Ofkavak,” I incant.

Fly.

I lift up alongside my sisters, and oh dear Goddess, this hurts my crotch way more than it probably should, and my center of gravity is not what it used to be, and I’m pretty sure I resemble a flying bowling ball more than anything else. But I gamely loop the circle around the meadow, the wind rippling my robes and knocking my hat off. It falls alongside dozens of other hats as witches throw them off or let them tumble from their heads.

I watch all of those dark hats rain down like confetti, and I take a moment to appreciate that even after a couple rejections from Henbane, a slew of murders, an ancient sorcerer hellbent on murdering—then marrying—me, several demon attacks, a school closure, and the death of an age-old nemesis, I finally, finally managed to finish my courses and graduate from Henbane.

It’s been a long and windy road, one that even now I’m still navigating. Like the strange and sometimes anomalous ways my Otherworldly powers interact with regular, earthly magic. Or how, when the moon is dark and the night is very quiet, I sometimes hear the Hungering Ones beneath my feet, calling out to me in a language only Memnon and I still know. I sense them waiting, watching, and I’m aware that perhaps for as long as I live, I might have to hear their whispered words.

I try not to think of that part—my lifespan. Memnon and I have spoken with the Bargainer and his (much lovelier) wife on this, and it sounds like we might truly be as eternal as the fae are.

I glance at my stomach. I also do not know whether my child will live for as long as Memnon and I will. But…it seems like he or she might.

My feet touch down on the wild grass, and I set my broom aside.

My gaze meanders over the crowd, looking for my family. Instead, I see Sawyer, Sybil’s mate and fiancé, who stares up at the sky, his eyes tracking my friend. Next to him is Kane, whose eyes snag on mine. His gaze slips to my round stomach. I don’t think I was supposed to notice how his lips press together, but he gives a soft wave. I wave back. Kane and I are mostly friends, but every so often there are moments when a look or action of his reminds me that we were once almost something, and he has never fully forgotten.

I catch sight of my parents winding through the crowd, and I move to meet them.

“Sweetheart,” my mom says, when she gets close enough to drag me into a hug, “we are so proud of you.”

My mom has tears in her eyes when she pulls away. She gives me a tight smile, like she’s fighting back emotion, and she pats my cheek. “So proud,” she whispers.

“Congratulations, Booger,” my dad says, cutting in to give me a hug.

He holds me close, squeezing me extra tightly.

My parents still don’t know everything about what happened five years ago, but they do know enough to have taken an extra liking to Memnon who, in their minds, is terrifying but effective at keeping their daughter alive. And for all his rough edges, he treats me well.

Really, really well, I think as my Dad steps aside and Memnon comes into view. He prowls forward, Nero at his side. The tattoo he wears of the big cat peeks out from the open collar of his shirt.

My eyes drag up the column of his throat, past his sharp jaw and sensual lips; they skim up his scar before settling on his hypnotic eyes.

Even now my breath hitches at the sight of him.

Is my husband still absurdly wealthy? Yes. Has his sorcery ever returned? No. Is he still more villain than hero? The ghosts of every last trafficker on the Fortunas’ ledger would say so.

But to me, he has been and always will be Memnon, my Memnon. The boy who first spoke in my mind, who learned Latin to speak to me and who brought me back from the dead. The man who, even when he was convinced of my treachery, still only wanted to marry me.

When he reaches me, he dips down low and captures my mouth in his, one of his hands wandering to my belly.

Well done, my queen, he says in Sarmatian.

I smile against him, even as I feel a pang of sadness to be leaving Henbane, this time for good. Even with its dark memories, the coven was everything I could’ve hoped it would be.

Another cramp hits, and I break off the kiss to suck in a sharp breath, my hand going to my abdomen. This one is definitely more intense than the last two were, and it seems to draw itself out.

Memnon’s fingers tighten against my belly.

Est amage, he says, his brows pinched together. I don’t think that was a cramp. His eyes move from my abdomen to my face. I think it was a contraction.

Over a day later, I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of pain seizes me up.

“This is your fault,” I manage to gasp out.

“It is,” Memnon responds. He sounds apologetic.