Page 30 of The Spell Caster

I threw her hand off me again. “You care about me? You got a fucking messed-up way of showing it.” I grabbed my whiskey from the bar table, downing it in one swallow and slamming the tumbler back down.

I looked again. I couldn’t help myself. My body was a compass that always pointed to her. I stared through the crowd, and Layla’s blue eyes latched on to mine.

***

LAYLA

The harvest party was already humming when we arrived at a large community house with a wraparound porch, witches spilling out of the building into the warm twilight.

The house backed into the side of a hill, the front lifted up on stilts, accessed by a tall staircase that seemed like it would be a hazard after a few drinks. Glowing witch lights had been strung across the porch and inside, where partygoers talked and laughed above the thumping music.

The Mountain Circle, pieced together with the remnants of Northern Sea, had collectively decided we were not afraid tonight. We were celebrating Lughnasadh.

Sativa, Oliver, and Datura were dressed to the nines in coordinating black outfits. Sativa’s short dress showed off her golden legs, her long, straight hair gleaming. Oliver’s crop top showed a strip of toned stomach above his fitted pants, his hair styled artfully to look messy. Datura wore a flare-legged bodysuit that clung to her curves and had pinned her wild curls up around her head, garlanded with a woven crown of her namesake flower.

In keeping with our unofficial coven theme, I had also picked a black dress from the selection I had borrowed earlier in the day. The sleeves were short, with a sweetheart neck. The skirt flared out into an A-line, and black ribbon laced over panels of crimson on either side. I had left my hair down in its natural waves and made up my eyes with liner and mascara. A pair of black sandals that tied up my calves completed the look.

I was so ready for dancing and fun.

“Florin!” Sativa shrieked as soon as we walked in the door.

“Sa-ti-va! Happy harvest!” Florin, I presumed, twirled around and raised his glass at us, nearly spilling some of whatever was in it. One of his companions laughed and helped him hold it upright as they waved us inside.

“Hey, Mountain Thunder, looking good!” someone in the crowd boomed, causing whistles and cheers. “Layla Rosen, you’re a badass angel cooker!”

A stunned laugh bubbled out of me. Fate, everyone did know who I was. That was so weird. At least I felt… a little more welcome.

A mix of young witches filled the house, caught in the glow of dozens of sparkling witch lights dangling from the ceiling. There would have been a more solemn ritual for the holiday going on, but we would let the older witches enjoy that without us tonight.

“Come dance with us, Newbie,” Datura demanded.

Oliver twirled me around, and I grinned. “I’ve graduated from Screwup!”

“We have to celebrate by dancing!” Oliver declared.

“Wait, I have to find something first,” I told them as Oliver pulled Datura to the dance floor.

Sativa was occupied by Florin, who was gesturing his way through a story that had everyone around him howling.

I scanned the room with intent and saw exactly what I was looking for. At last! An entire sideboard filled with desserts. I snatched up a cookie in each hand. If we were about to get fried by angels, I wanted to eat sugar first.

There was a bar stocked with liquor bottles—some locally made and some popular outside brands. Beer, soda, and mixers were stuffed into a huge tub of ice next to a drink cooler labeled Harvest Punch that looked promising.

Stuffing the last of my baked goods—the first round, anyway—into my mouth, I filled a tall glass of ice with bubbly punch. Sweet fruit and alcohol fizzed on my tongue. Perfection.

I noticed Juni sitting nearby with a group of friends in a huddle of chairs and couches.

“Hey!” I waved, heading over. “You look amazing.” Juni was decked out in an adorable purple-sequined bodysuit that dipped under one arm and flared jeans.

“Hey, Layla! Love the dress. Thanks for finishing the weeding. This is my coven.” They gestured at the tangle of witches sprawled over the furniture, drinking away.

“Dark!” one of them cheered. Juni and the rest responded with “Water!” lifting their drinks in the air.

I laughed. “How’s it going?” I said, perching on the edge of an unused chair.

“It was going awesome, until Zac killed the vibe.” Juni leveled a not-entirely-serious glare at their covenmate, a lanky witch in black cargo pants with a silver chain.

“I did not!” Zac protested. “I’m just saying if the angels have weapons, something’s going on.”

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