Chapter Eight
“He did not try to use store-bought arnica.”
“He did. That’s why his nose looks like that.”
“You’re trying to tell me that Owen Wilson’s nose is the result of a messed-up spell.”
“Yup.”
“Why would he be trying to do old magic when he could just use a rune? It doesn’t make sense.”
Katherine leaned against the wall, trying to pay attention to Fiona and Tess’ conversation, but even celebrity gossip couldn’t keep her attention right now.
No, she was too focused on pointedly not looking for Lily in the crowded dining room, which was full of witches mingling ahead of the coven meeting.
She’s just going to get a soda, she reminded herself.
The refreshments table was only a few feet away. How much trouble could she get into?
Katherine turned.
And there was Lily, getting into trouble.
Katherine’s fist clenched. Byron Chambers was talking to Lily.
Katherine stormed over, stepping in between the two of them. “Byron. What are you doing here?”
He turned to her, his blue eyes crinkling in amusement. “At a meeting for the coven that I’m a member of? Who could say?”
Lily’s face twisted in confusion. “We were just talking. You said everyone here was safe.”
The girl inched away from Byron, and Katherine’s heart twinged in guilt. She didn’t trust Byron, but she also needed Lily to feel at home here.
“They are,” she said. “But why don’t you go hang out with Fiona for a sec?”
Lily nodded, her expression shuttered. She walked off.
Byron slipped his hands into the pockets of his tan pants.
He was wearing one of the top asshole-approved Halloween costumes, Leonardo DiCaprio in The Wolf of Wall Street, a look partially sold by the white polo and sunglasses but mostly sold by Katherine’s overwhelming desire to punch him in the face.
He smiled in a way that she was sure most people told him was charming, flicking a strand of ice-blond hair out of his eyes.
Katherine wondered if it was those same people assuring him that he hadn’t gone overboard on the cheek filler.
“I was just being friendly,” he said. “Aren’t you and Sylvia always talking about how we should welcome the unsettled witches in our ranks?”
Katherine’s fist tightened as he parroted back the words she said so genuinely with such derision in his voice.
She didn’t want Byron near unsettled witches at all.
He had bullied her relentlessly before and after she settled, reminding her constantly that she was different.
Other. As she and Sylvia started to bring in more unsettled witches, Byron was always waiting with a snide comment, a reminder that they would never fit in with the rest of the coven.
The abuse hadn’t stopped until Katherine had finally promised to beat him to hell if he didn’t shut up.
It wasn’t her proudest moment, but it had been enough to alert Sylvia to what Byron was saying behind her back.
She threatened him with sanctions if he didn’t change his behavior, and he agreed, but on the condition that Katherine also apologize to him.
That had been years ago, and he had actually stopped after the reprimand, but Katherine knew that those nasty prejudices were still there, lurking beneath the surface.
She knew how easily judgmental looks could cut an already fragile teen.
But with her suspicions about him selling altum, it was even more important that he keep his distance.
That was the real danger with the drug. If anyone with unsettled magic in their blood—even if it was such a small amount that they normally never would have even known they were a witch—took it, they’d instantly snap.
Unknowing ordinaries, just searching for a good time, finding their lives and the lives of so many others forever changed.
There was no way in hell Katherine was letting altum get in the hands of anyone else.
“Stay away from her,” she snarled.
Byron smiled, showing off his artificially white veneers. “You know, as Executrix, you’re supposed to be friendly and impartial to all members of the coven.”
Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something rude.
Objectively, he was right—her personal feelings for him, no matter how strong, had no place at a meeting like this.
But the subjective part of her, the part that went off gut instinct rather than evidence, knew that he was a bad guy.
Knew that he was involved in making and selling altum, even if his family’s prominence in the magical community meant he’d probably never face consequences for it.
“Just … please.”
She hated how broken she sounded, hated the twisted smile Byron gave her in return.
“Of course, Katherine. Whatever you want.”
He winked at her, then walked away, joining a group of friends chattering loudly about a Halloween party on Hollywood Boulevard that night.
Katherine shook herself out of her anger, then walked back to Fiona, Tess, and Lily.
Katherine stood in silence as she listened to the sounds of everyone having fun around her.
Two hours into the coven meeting, and the Noctis rep still hadn’t arrived.
By the time Sylvia called order, almost two hundred witches had crammed into the tight dining room, some sitting at the tables, others on the folding chairs that Katherine and Fiona had jammed in every free spot they could find.
Some were in Halloween costumes (and some were not-so-subtly sipping from flasks, preparing for the night out that would follow), others were still dressed for work, and a small handful hadn’t bothered to change out of their PJs.
Aestas was filled with witches from all walks of life, with most holding normal jobs.
(Although this was Los Angeles, so the definition of a normal job was fluid—Katherine had been shocked at her first coven meeting when she spotted a handful of recognizable actors and singers.) There were a few who worked for the coven on a part- or full-time basis, teaching kids witch history and culture at Aestas’ Sunday school, doing administrative tasks, and helping to manage Sunspot, which was run as a place for witches to gather together to socialize and work on spells.
Katherine sat to the right of Sylvia on the makeshift stage their house manager had erected along the back wall, Fiona on her other side in her official position as Recorder, the keeper of the coven’s magical records.
To the left of Sylvia, Katherine heard the heavy breathing of Henry Rodriguez, the coven’s Bookkeeper (in charge of accounting, something he would gladly talk your ear off about if given the opportunity), who had fallen asleep the second the meeting started.
As awkward as it was every time Sylvia’s speech was interrupted by one of Henry’s half snores, Katherine couldn’t exactly blame him.
Coven meetings were always boring affairs, and this one had been so rigidly set to all of Noctis’ specifications that it bordered on torture.
Noctis had a corporate handbook the size of a human child, with subsections upon subsections laying out proper procedure for every possible event under the sun.
Katherine had once tried to count how many times the handbook used the word heretofore, but she’d given up when she’d hit a hundred.
And Divakar hadn’t even bothered to show up for the fun. He would have been genuinely thrilled by this. He was so stuffy that Katherine wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he was actually descended from a long line of handbooks.
Fiona leaned over to Katherine, whispering as Sylvia continued to make her way through the long list of spell library requests. “Where do you think the Noctis guy is?” she asked.
Katherine shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe their private jet ran out of hot towels?”
“I pray they recover from this emergency without any further harm.”
Katherine stifled a laugh, forcing her attention back to the meeting.
“Any requests for spells above a Class 4 need to be filed through a Form 6-H,” Sylvia said, repeating the same thing she’d said five times now.
Normal lower-Class spellbook requests were submitted via a Google Form and approved by Sylvia by rote on the daily, allowing witches to stock up on spells to clean their car, hide zits, and do their laundry without everyone in the coven having to hear about it.
But anything above a certain level of power required a stack of Noctis forms and a public hearing with Sylvia, who would determine whether the witch’s reasoning for needing the spell was up to snuff.
Spellbooks could only hold so much power, which meant that the higher-Class spells could only be used by so many witches before they ran out, forcing the coven to go to Noctis and ask for another handout.
Considering how much Sylvia hated asking Noctis for anything, she was much more likely to deny a request than approve it—especially for a witch who couldn’t file their paperwork correctly.