Page 127 of Bedeviled

I love you. I promise I’m alive. I tried calling you but I’m guessing you have paws not fingers right now. Call me when you’re not furry and reassure me you’re okay. I hope your first shifts are going well!

I tuck my phone away, refusing to dwell on my best friend’s issues. I’ve got too many of my own at the moment.

I head upstairs, Nero at my side. I feel weary, worn from the inside out. It’s been a hell of a few weeks. A hell of a school year, actually. My body is tired. My spirit is tired. More than anything, I want to fall on my bed and sleep my reality away, just for a little while.

Only, right when I stop outside the door to my room, Nero growls.

My gaze drops to my panther. His hackles are up, and I can see his lips are pulled back, revealing the sharp edges of his teeth. His body is tense, as though he’s prepared to strike.

The hairs along my skin rise as I glance again at the door. For an instant I slip down the connection I share with Nero. When I blink, I’m staring through the eyes of my panther, my surroundings starker, the colors muted. I breathe in, assuming I might smell something through the big cat’s nostrils. And I do. But it’s not blood or sulfur, like I worried it might be.

Instead, there’s a scent that’s familiar to him, one that smells a bit like a pine forest with a floral hint to it. Nero may have scented this before, but it’s unfamiliar to me. For all I know, it’s simply the smell of the outdoors wafting in, probably through my open window.

Regardless, I place a hand on Nero’s head and one on my own chest.

“Protect us from all harm. Make impenetrable armor for our flesh so that no object or spell can injure us,” I incant.

And then I open the door.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but it is most definitely not the individual lounging in my chair, their legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on my desk.

“Roxilana.” My ancient name is spoken with the appropriate intonation. The voice that says it is melodic. Familiar. Hated.

My nemesis.

Pale blond hair like spun silk, porcelain skin. Chalcedony blue eyes and rosebud pink lips. Ears that taper into fine points and a bladelike gaze. Two thousand years has neither changed her form nor dimmed her fire.

“Eislyn.” I breathe.

Eislyn? Memnon’s voice is cold and hard. Where are you? Where is she?

In my room.

Guard yourself, est amage. I’m coming. Dark promise laces Memnon’s words. If I were of a more rational mind right now, I’d worry that his coming might mean my house gets leveled by the end of the day. But I’m not entirely of sound mind right now.

Blood is pounding through my veins, and power is already pouring down my arms and gathering in my palms. I shrug off my bag, letting it fall next to my closet.

Eislyn studies my power with detached interest, though I don’t miss the way her gaze touches on the pair of sheathed daggers that I now perpetually wear.

In her hand she holds a stemmed glass of lavender wine, the bottle and another empty glass resting on my desk. She swirls her drink as she takes me in.

She shouldn’t be here. Memnon and I have both draped this room with layers of wards. Even I, in all my caution, thought the protective spells were a bit overdone.

As I glance around, I see that the wards are still intact, and yet here my enemy sits, right in the middle of my room, drinking and twiddling her thumbs like she didn’t just pass through layers of spells unscathed.

Mortal, earthly magic is almost entirely ineffective on the fae, Mistress Wormwood had said.

“I sent you a welcome party last night,” Eislyn says. “From what I hear, you met them.” She takes a sip of her wine, watching me over the rim.

Across my bond, I sense Memnon’s rage. Clearly, he’s catching a few bits of this exchange.

I step deeper into the room, closing the door behind me. Nero presses in tight to my side. He’s begun growling again, making his dislike known.

My magic continues to leak out of my palms, twisting around me and Nero and rapidly filling the space.

Eislyn watches its movements. “Are you planning on hurting me?” she asks curiously.

Of course I am. I have long memories and old rage. But this is a millennia-old being. She knows human tricks and how to place words like strikes for maximum and predictable damage. I do not want to be predictable when dealing with her.