The last of my tension leaves me.
I’m holding you to that, est xsaya, I whisper down our bond.
Memnon stiffens at the title, then tightens his hold on me.
It must be incredibly difficult to carry both me and Nero, but Memnon doesn’t complain and doesn’t slow as he moves through the woods.
I stare into the darkness, wondering about the witches who attacked my familiar. Surely the wards activated at curfew would’ve caught their identities.
For a few seconds, I’m hopeful that the coven might be able to deal with these threats all on its own. But then I remember the persecution tunnels running beneath the campus. I doubt they were warded, and it’s likely the witches who attacked Nero used those to get to the woods unnoticed.
In the distance, a forlorn howl goes up, and I remember all over again how the evening started.
The wolves never came. I thought after I heard those earlier howls that they might. Instead, I had to fend off Nero’s attackers on my own, mere hours after the wolves pledged their loyalty. I don’t know why that wounds me. It really shouldn’t. At the end of the day, I am not a shifter, I am a witch, and no amount of friendship changes that.
Memnon enters Last Rites, Henbane’s cemetery. It still bears a few remnants of our Samhain gathering—a melted candle here and there, a few scattered flowers lovingly left on tombstones, an empty potion vial someone left behind.
The sorcerer moves between the headstones, making his way to a particularly large crypt with the phases of the moon carved into its façade.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
Memnon gives me a curious look. “I thought you would’ve remembered how we used to travel, est amage.”
“By horse?” I say, confounded.
He gives me a secretive smile. “By ley line.”
The dreaded ley line. I almost forgot.
Memnon steps up to the massive crypt and releases his power, forcing the stone doorway to open. The slab swings inward, scraping against the ground as it goes.
Of course the portal entrance onto a ley line couldn’t be out in the open. Of course we have to go inside a tomb to access it.
While ley lines stretch across the entire world, you can’t open these magical roads just anywhere. There are portals onto them, and almost all these portals are located in sacrosanct places like temples and churches, stone circles and cemeteries.
Memnon moves to enter the crypt.
“Wait,” I caution. “It might be warded.” Then again, it might be too late if Memnon already crossed it once to get here.
“There was a partially disintegrated ward when I arrived,” the sorcerer says, “but I broke what was left of it. There’s nothing else barring our way.”
With that, Memnon carries me and Nero inside. Once we enter, candles light, and they reveal a chamber bare of coffins and urns, bones and plaques. Aside from the candles themselves, there’s nothing in here at all except for a thin column of space that seems to bend the light a little differently. The ley line entrance.
“Have you traveled along one of these in this life?” Memnon asks.
I shake my head against him.
“Then hold on tight.”
I wrap my arms around Memnon’s neck, ignoring the way the movement tugs at my wounds.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
With that, he steps through.
I nearly vomit as my surroundings smear together. The tunnel bends and warps the dark forest around us, the outside world rushing past as Memnon walks along the ley line. These magical roads are little wrinkles in reality, areas where space and time don’t follow normal rules. It means you can cross the world—you can even cross into other worlds—in seconds. Unfortunately, you can also get lost on these roads.
Fae are masters at crossing them, humans not so much. I never truly learned how to travel them as Roxilana. Instead, I bargained with the magic of these ley lines, giving it gifts in exchange for its assistance. Memnon, on the other hand, did learn. Eislyn taught him.
I hold on tightly to Memnon, breathing slowly so I don’t retch.
He only takes a handful of steps before exiting the ley line. Our blurred surroundings sharpen into more shadowy forest that looks identical to the Everwoods.
“Where are we?”
“Nearly home,” Memnon says, striding through the woods.
“You mean to your house,” I correct him tiredly.
He’s quiet, contemplative, at that, and I don’t know what to make of the mood. I’m so used to Memnon being pushy and conniving and angry with me, it’s unsettling to see this side of him. It’s the side I remember from long ago, but even then, it was always offset by his thirst for war.
We step out of the forest and onto a street, and Memnon leads us down it.
Up ahead, lampposts partially illuminate a massive house. There looks to be tarps on the roof, and whole segments of the house are nothing more than exposed wood or bare drywall. Despite its half-finished state, a warm, inviting glow comes from within.
“Is this the house I burned down?” I ask as we approach it. Between the darkness and the fire damage, I hardly recognize it.
“It is.” Amusement drips from his voice.
I pull away a little and take him in. “You sound proud of that fact.”
“I am.” Memnon glances at me. A tendril of his magic slips out then, the strand of it curling against my cheek. “Your ferocity is attractive, Empress, even when it’s focused on me.”
“You are unhinged,” I say, but my words lack bite.
Memnon lets out a self-assured laugh. “We make a particularly terrifying pair,” he admits, heading up the driveway of the house.
My stomach flutters at the idea of us as a unit before pushing the thought away. My gaze goes to Nero—wounded, agonized Nero. My panther’s eyes are shut, and his body is still limp. One glance into his mind and it’s clear he’s temporarily unconscious.
Memnon has been so reassuring that Nero will be okay that I’ve let down my guard. But now my guard is back up, and my earlier panic has returned.
The sorcerer’s magic unfurls ahead of us, and the front door swings open, and the lights inside flick on. Memnon strides straight into the house, heading toward the living room as the door swings shut behind us.
I peer curiously at his house. The walls bear no signs that they were incinerated not so long ago, but there’s still a faint scent of smoke that clings to the space, as though it’s soaked into the very bones of this structure. A couple of the walls are bare panels of drywall, and the ceiling above us is partially gone, exposing wood beams and some electrical wiring. All in all, however, it could be much worse.
“How did you fix this place so quickly?” I ask. I don’t even see scorch marks on the remaining walls or the floor.
“Magic and money,” Memnon admits. “It’s still very much a work in progress.”
A plush dog bed lies in the living room, next to a couch that looks new. Memnon sets me down on the couch, then carefully lays Nero out onto the dog bed.
My familiar doesn’t so much as stir.
It’s that lack of reaction that breaks whatever was keeping me together. I move off the couch and toward my familiar. Immediately, my eyesight darkens, and my legs fold.