Page 66 of The Spell Caster

“No! I can’t!” Fern crashed into Sativa again.

“I’ll grab the robes,” Datura said as she jogged to their rooms.

“I can’t do this,” Fern wailed. “I never wanted this.”

Datura tossed Sativa her spell caster robe, and my covenmates struggled into their formal wear. It was the only equipment we had—a bright red beacon to mark our locations in a skirmish so guardians could pick us out easily.

If the angels did have some intelligence after all, it would be a deadly liability.

Datura and Oliver both called up their familiars. The small demons glanced around warily, as if searching for the source of danger—did they understand that they’d been called at an odd hour? I tried to see if they looked like they’d been sleeping, but they gave no indication either way.

“Shit,” said Oliver. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Stay here with Layla,” Sativa told Fern. It was a given that I wasn’t going. “Take care of her,” she begged me.

I gave her a grim nod.

“Stay safe.” My voice sounded small.

I locked the door after my three covenmates left. Fern huddled miserably on the couch while I paced.

“I… I think we should—” I felt lightheaded, hugging my trembling arms to my chest. I took a series of deep, calming breaths. A shard of self-loathing pierced me. I’d prepared my whole life to be a spell caster, and here I was, terrified. Costi would never cower in fear. If I wanted to be anything to him, it was time to grow up.

I forced myself up straight and assessed the apartment. If I couldn’t help with the defense, at least I could make sure Fern and I were safe. I had no idea what we’d be facing, but it was probably best if the building looked unoccupied. I turned off the main lights and made sure the shades were closed in the main room and the bedrooms. In the dim glow of the single night-light, I moved items into the bathroom: a comforter, prepared food, bottles of water. From the kitchen, I took the fire extinguisher. It was heavy enough to bash at least one intruder.

“If we hear anything,” I said to Fern, trying to project confidence though my voice was shaking, “get in the bathroom. It’s the only room without windows.” I sat next to her on the couch.

“Okay,” she said weakly. “You’re not going with them either?”

I shook my head, though it was probably too dark to see. “I can’t. I don’t have a familiar.”

“Oh fate, I wish you could take mine. You seem really brave, like Sativa. I… I’m not cut out for this at all.”

“I’m not brave,” I murmured, thinking of how I’d panicked during the attack on Northern Sea. “Which coven are you from?”

“Brightstar. I’m one year ahead of you. My covenmates hate me because I haven’t gone on any missions with them.” Fern sighed. “I think after this, I’ll have to drop out or something.”

“You don’t want to be a spell caster?”

“Fate, no. Do you?”

“Yes,” I said, but then I thought about it for a moment. “I never really had a choice. It was just assumed.”

“Exactly. If your parents are casters, they just throw you in, too, whether you like it or not.”

I frowned. “Well, we’re so rare, I suppose they have to.”

Fern thumbed her phone on. In the dim light, I could see her with her knees drawn up, resting her head on them. “They don’t have to,” she said bitterly. “Other witches could learn to pull magic.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?”

Initiate casters pulled magic instinctively, but could anyone learn to do it?

“But… they probably wouldn’t have enough capacity for casting,” I reasoned. “It’s hereditary.”

Fern made a small sound. “All I know is, I don’t want any part of it anymore. I just want to be with Sativa. Our other lovers can give her children, and I’ll help raise them.” She checked her phone again, and I checked mine, even though I hadn’t gotten any notifications.

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