Page 22 of The Spell Caster

“Our elections are held at Imbolc next year,” Grey spoke up into the ringing quiet. “Until then, the currently elected Arcaenum of the Mountain Circle will continue to serve.”

“What of the Northern Sea?” a witch shouted from the front.

Grey narrowed his eyes, focusing on them. “The destroyed Circle is welcome to reform and return to their own land. Any witches who choose to take up residence with the Mountain Circle are expected to become part of this Circle.”

Voices picked up in anger as Grey strode from the stage in a flutter of robes into a knot of witches trying to get his attention. I saw our Northern Sea councilor—make that ex-councilor— Jenny Luna among the throng.

Around me, witches began standing to leave the amphitheater.

“Maybe we should head to Kentucky or the Carolinas,” a Northern Sea witch behind me said to their companion. “I have a couple of cousins in the Saltmarsh Circle.”

A wave of homesickness for a place that didn’t even exist washed over me.

Maybe I could go too—start over somewhere else, away from my mother and the people I grew up with. I wondered how Costi was getting along with the guardians here, if he’d want to come with me.

“Let’s try to get out of here quickly. Use your elbows,” Sativa said, demonstrating. “We need some practice space, and if we don’t grab ours first, it’s going to be chaos.”

“’Scuse us! Important coven business,” Oliver called out as we pushed past witches, using the seats as stairs to avoid the slow lines.

Humiliated, I followed with my face down, hoping no one I knew would see me.

I didn’t want to do this right now. I was exhausted and worried, and I just wanted to go somewhere quiet and try to make sense of all this. I needed to talk to Costi.

It turned out my coven’s assertive exit technique did win us a space in the rapidly filling practice arena.

The arena seemed to be one of the largest buildings in the Circle. It had the look of a warehouse. The high ceiling was lined with rows of electric lights currently turned off while natural sunlight poured in from skylights. Stark yellow lines were painted onto the floor, designating practice spaces.

The open space was a far cry from the private practice areas back home, a riot of noise and movement as casters and their familiars blasted off spells into targets along the walls while guardians tussled in the center area. The sulfuric, burned-firework smell of spell casting mixed nauseatingly with sweat and breath.

Our coven’s space was designed for spell casters—a long rectangle facing a reinforced wall with a target. We could cast small spells to practice our aim and control here. There was most likely an open space outside where casters could burn off larger spells safely.

“All right, whip them out,” Sativa said with a cheeky grin, closing her eyes briefly as she summoned her familiar. Her demon companion appeared beside her with a rush of flame. Like all familiars, it was about the height and build of a human child and starkly pale, with large black eyes that lacked an iris. Wispy white-blond hair clung to its head around its sharply pointed ears. Its small bud-shaped mouth was closed around a jaw full of pointed teeth.

The familiars wore no clothing, but they had no sex to conceal and didn’t seem to get cold or hot. They didn’t speak, but it was a mistake to think they weren’t intelligent and cunning. If they were displeased, their spell caster would know it.

Datura and Oliver followed suit, bringing out their familiars and leaving me standing awkwardly alone.

“This is Inky,” Sativa said, patting hers on the head with a fond smirk.

I glanced at the little demon in alarm. They famously hated to be condescended to.

“I’m a natural summoner,” Sativa continued. “Inky came to me when I was fourteen.”

“Wow.” That was surprising. I’d never met a natural summoner before; there weren’t any in Northern Sea. Maybe it explained why Inky was so tolerant.

Most spell casters got their familiars by working a summoning circle when they graduated, but occasionally, an initiate would summon one early, without a circle. The reason and mechanism for this was completely unknown, but the leading theory was that demons were attracted to witches who could pull a lot of magic.

It didn’t happen to every powerful witch, though, my case in point. I squelched a spark of envy for Sativa—she really was blessed in every area. This was hardly the screwup coven, as Datura had suggested.

“Our familiars don’t have names, because we’re normal.” Oliver gestured between himself and Datura, who rolled her eyes. “We got them the normal way. A very normal summoning circle.”

Sativa stuck her tongue out at him.

Datura shrugged. “We can still burn the fate out of things.”

The conversation stalled. I rubbed my shoe along the sealed floor of the arena. “Are your guardians joining us? I should probably meet them.”

The three covenmates glanced between themselves in a silent conversation.

---