Page 1 of The Spell Caster

Chapter 1

LAYLA

The summoning room was darkening, the arched stone windows flooded with gold as the sun set. I hadn’t stood up to turn on the electric light. The scent of hot beeswax and herbs had faded in the hours since the candles burned down. I was freezing, curled small in the center of the imposing circular chamber.

My face had dried, and my hands were steady enough now to remove the evidence of my failed spell—the one last chance I had given myself.

My eyes ached as I drew myself up. It was time to face the truth—without a demon familiar, I could not be a spell caster.

I delayed, scraping the wax and buffing out the burn marks until the polished marble floor gleamed. Not a hint remained of the intricate spellwork I’d spent hours on my knees tracing.

Now all that was left was to deliver the news that would break the hearts of everyone I’d ever known. No witch of magical ability had ever failed at summoning before.

Numbly, I straightened my tea-colored skirt and smoothed a hand over my long dark hair. I cracked open the door of the summoning room and squinted into the hallway full of still-bright banks of windows. The council building was mostly empty this time of day, but I didn’t want anyone to see me.

Keeping quiet on the stairs, I hurried out into a warm evening full of salty sea air and the droning of late-summer insects. Other witches moved along the crushed-shell walkways, thankfully too far away to pay me any mind.

My heart squeezed as I took in a tall figure. Costi Blackthorn was waiting for me.

My best friend had the look of a witch, the same as me—dark hair, tawny complexion, light eyes. I was surprised to see him wearing the black tactical uniform of the guardians. He had trimmed his hair short on the sides, leaving longer, messy strands at the top. The new look both suited him and made him look a little dangerous. He leaned against a wooden railing lining the walkway, using one massive black combat boot to prop himself up. He looked up as he noticed me.

“Where have you been?” I blurted. And how had he found me? It wasn’t as if either of us hung out at the council building. At least, I never did until recently.

“Layla,” he said, taking in my face, which must have still carried hints of my crying jag earlier. He pushed off the rail and stalked toward me. “What—”

“I-I have to tell you something.” I swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in my throat.

“What’s wrong?” He leaned closer to me, stretching out a hand to my shoulder, but his expression became wary and he straightened, his eyes shifting to someone behind me.

“Oh, Layla, there you are.”

I froze at the sound of my mother’s voice. Her high heels ground the shells into the path as she stepped beside me. I should have been more careful. She was always lurking around the Council.

“Hello, Constantine,” she addressed Costi, who pulled his hand away from me slowly. “Do you have some business at the council building? It’s after hours.”

Costi’s gray eyes churned like the nearby ocean as they cut to my mother. “Just passing by,” he said, giving me a look that promised he’d talk to me later. I didn’t watch him as he left.

My mother gave me a tight-lipped smile. She was a taller and willowier version of me—but her dark hair was smooth where mine was wild, and her blue eyes were critical where mine were sad.

My stomach sank. “He was only saying hello.”

“I didn’t know you were still hanging around with him.”

“I’m not, really.” I wrapped my arms around myself despite the warm evening. I was sick of this. She’d never approved of Costi as my friend. She couldn’t see him as anything but Troubled.

My mother let her breath out in a sigh. “I’m trying to save you some heartache. You know that, right? Witches like him only become more unstable over time.”

I said nothing, fixing my eyes on a tangle of moonflowers in the grass beside the walkway. We’d done this for years—Mother picking away at me as I tried to appease her. If I engaged, it would go on and on until I dissolved into incoherent tears. Then her smile would turn nasty. Triumphant.

I swallowed back bitterness. I was about to devastate the entire witch community, but it was her unpredictable reaction that I dreaded the most.

“Layla, I know you need to choose a guardian, and you may feel some loyalty to Constantine since you knew him as a child”—she scowled at the thought—“but there are those among the Troubled who are… less troubled. Ash Vervain would make an excellent choice.”

“Maybe,” I said. Costi had always been my choice, ever since we figured out that he would finish his training at the same time as I graduated.

Mother glanced at the council building, and her expression brightened. “Well? Is there some good news you’d like to share?”

I opened my mouth to tell her. I had to tell her. But nothing came out.

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