Page 3 of The Spell Caster

And still nothing.

An unread text from Costi displayed on my phone: Tell me what happened.

Pushing myself from my bed, I pulled a half-packed shoulder bag from a large antique wardrobe. My life rattled around inside—folded clothing, small jars of cosmetics, toiletries. A collection of crystals, stones, and shells that represented twenty years’ worth of memories.

At the bottom of the bag was an option I could only bear to touch lightly with my thoughts—a carefully hoarded bundle of paper money that was only useful among the non-magical. As a witch, I was only vaguely aware of the outside world. A frantic, competitive place full of strange beliefs, completely unaware of the angels that menaced them.

I didn’t have a real plan. Without joining the coven of spell casters, I had nowhere else to go. But I had to get out of here for a while.

When I crept out into the hallway, there was no light from under my parents’ bedroom door. Emboldened, I made my way silently down the stairs. The living room was lit dimly by the stove light from the kitchen.

“You’re going?” Dad’s quiet voice startled me. He was still in his recliner, awake despite the late hour. My mother had combed his long black hair, but the ends needed a trim.

“I’ll… be back later,” I said with a small smile for his benefit. I wasn’t sure if it was true or not.

My hand paused on the door handle when he said, “This war… we’re not going to win.” His words were determined, like an ill prophecy.

An eerie chill washed over me as I turned back to him.

No one won the war against the angels—it wasn’t even a real war. War was just an inspiring euphemism for a duty so timeless, it predated written records. Angels infested, witches destroyed them, and the rest of humanity continued on unaware. That was the way it was.

My thoughts moved quickly to deep concern. He’d never been prone to saying strange things like this before.

He didn’t elaborate. His pills were still sitting in their tray with an undrunk glass of water next to them on the side table.

“Don’t forget to take your meds,” I told him.

He sighed, but his fingers strayed toward the pills and moved them around. “You’re like me, Layla. You can see what others don’t want to see. You have to make them understand.”

My eyes pricked with tears even though I didn’t really understand the advice. “I’ll try,” I said.

He nodded again, slowly, and I eased out the door without another word.

***

Out in the humid night, I finally took a deep breath, trying to shake the feeling of unease around my dad. Maybe I could talk to his doctors personally.

Stepping out onto a path paved with charming cobblestones set down hundreds of years ago, I made my way through the Northern Sea Circle. The little cottages that made up the bulk of our community were tucked in for the night, the pathways empty.

One particular window was still glowing with warm lamplight, and my heart clenched. I still considered Holly my friend, but lately she’d been… different. We’d drifted apart, and I didn’t understand why. Just a year ago, I would have gone to her about this in a heartbeat. Now, though… I wasn’t sure she’d welcome a visit.

There were some witches who disliked spell casters, jealous that they couldn’t pull enough magic to summon a familiar. Holly had never been one of those. Two years older than me, she had graduated and gained a coveted position with the Council, working on administrative tasks. Her future was looking bright.

When I first noticed the shift, she had denied that anything was wrong. But it was never like it had been, and eventually we stopped talking altogether. Her childhood hadn’t been a nice one—maybe I reminded her of that. I’d seen her around with her new friends. She looked happy.

Just before the bridge from our island to the outside world was a row of identical apartments, flanked by the old stone building that was our security office.

I hadn’t visited Costi in his new place, but I knew which one it was. I pushed my bag into the branches of a short plum tree in front of the building. I hesitated, then knocked lightly, torn between not wanting to wake him, not wanting to face him, and needing to give him an explanation.

Before I could think better of this plan and escape, the door jerked open.

Costi stabbed at the porch light switch. “Layla.”

My mind tripped over itself and spilled onto the steps. Gray sleeping shorts did very little to cover a body honed by four years of intense physical training. The dusky skin of his upper arms and chest was covered in a tangle of all-black tattoos—flowers, vines, script, an intricately shaded flying owl. When in fate’s name had he gotten those? There were so many. His dark hair was messed up with sleep, long lashes sticking together over blinking storm-colored eyes, lips parted in surprise.

My words disappeared, and my cheeks flushed hot. Logically, I knew my childhood friend was a grown man. We’d been grown-ups for some time now. Adults. But this… this was…

We stared at each other until he glanced away, running a hand over the back of his neck.

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