The Spell Caster

Chapter 1

LAYLA

T he summoning room was darkening, the arched stone windows flooded with gold as the sun set. I hadn’t stood up to turn on the electric light. The scent of hot beeswax and herbs had faded in the hours since the candles burned down. I was freezing, curled small in the center of the imposing circular chamber.

My face had dried, and my hands were steady enough now to remove the evidence of my failed spell—the one last chance I had given myself.

My eyes ached as I drew myself up. It was time to face the truth—without a demon familiar, I could not be a spell caster.

I delayed, scraping the wax and buffing out the burn marks until the polished marble floor gleamed. Not a hint remained of the intricate spellwork I’d spent hours on my knees tracing.

Now all that was left was to deliver the news that would break the hearts of everyone I’d ever known. No witch of magical ability had ever failed at summoning before.

Numbly, I straightened my tea-colored skirt and smoothed a hand over my long dark hair. I cracked open the door of the summoning room and squinted into the hallway full of still-bright banks of windows. The council building was mostly empty this time of day, but I didn’t want anyone to see me.

Keeping quiet on the stairs, I hurried out into a warm evening full of salty sea air and the droning of late-summer insects. Other witches moved along the crushed-shell walkways, thankfully too far away to pay me any mind.

My heart squeezed as I took in a tall figure. Costi Blackthorn was waiting for me.

My best friend had the look of a witch, the same as me—dark hair, tawny complexion, light eyes. I was surprised to see him wearing the black tactical uniform of the guardians. He had trimmed his hair short on the sides, leaving longer, messy strands at the top. The new look both suited him and made him look a little dangerous. He leaned against a wooden railing lining the walkway, using one massive black combat boot to prop himself up. He looked up as he noticed me.

“Where have you been?” I blurted. And how had he found me? It wasn’t as if either of us hung out at the council building. At least, I never did until recently.

“Layla,” he said, taking in my face, which must have still carried hints of my crying jag earlier. He pushed off the rail and stalked toward me. “What—”

“I-I have to tell you something.” I swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in my throat.

“What’s wrong?” He leaned closer to me, stretching out a hand to my shoulder, but his expression became wary and he straightened, his eyes shifting to someone behind me.

“Oh, Layla, there you are.”

I froze at the sound of my mother’s voice. Her high heels ground the shells into the path as she stepped beside me. I should have been more careful. She was always lurking around the Council.

“Hello, Constantine,” she addressed Costi, who pulled his hand away from me slowly. “Do you have some business at the council building? It’s after hours.”

Costi’s gray eyes churned like the nearby ocean as they cut to my mother. “Just passing by,” he said, giving me a look that promised he’d talk to me later. I didn’t watch him as he left.

My mother gave me a tight-lipped smile. She was a taller and willowier version of me—but her dark hair was smooth where mine was wild, and her blue eyes were critical where mine were sad.

My stomach sank. “He was only saying hello.”

“I didn’t know you were still hanging around with him.”

“I’m not, really.” I wrapped my arms around myself despite the warm evening. I was sick of this. She’d never approved of Costi as my friend. She couldn’t see him as anything but Troubled .

My mother let her breath out in a sigh. “I’m trying to save you some heartache. You know that, right? Witches like him only become more unstable over time.”

I said nothing, fixing my eyes on a tangle of moonflowers in the grass beside the walkway. We’d done this for years—Mother picking away at me as I tried to appease her. If I engaged, it would go on and on until I dissolved into incoherent tears. Then her smile would turn nasty. Triumphant .

I swallowed back bitterness. I was about to devastate the entire witch community, but it was her unpredictable reaction that I dreaded the most.

“Layla, I know you need to choose a guardian, and you may feel some loyalty to Constantine since you knew him as a child”—she scowled at the thought—“but there are those among the Troubled who are… less troubled. Ash Vervain would make an excellent choice.”

“Maybe,” I said. Costi had always been my choice, ever since we figured out that he would finish his training at the same time as I graduated.

Mother glanced at the council building, and her expression brightened. “Well? Is there some good news you’d like to share?”

I opened my mouth to tell her. I had to tell her. But nothing came out.

Her pouty lips turned downward as she examined me, and her hands came to her waist. “You still haven’t done your summoning?”

“I… wasn’t quite ready—” A sea breeze carried the sound of rustling leaves from the trees along the walkway.

Mother’s frown deepened, emphasizing the line between her brows. She had sculpted her face with criticism. “You’re twenty years old, and you graduated months ago. It’s time to summon your familiar and join the coven of spell casters,” she said. “I don’t know what you think you’re trying to pull by stalling, but you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Embarrassing her . That was the real thing she cared about.

She gave a sharp sigh when I didn’t reply. “Fate help me, Layla. You need to stop acting like a child and take this seriously. Your future is at stake. Witches are starting to talk.”

She had something to prove, and she was trying to do it through me. I didn’t dare say it out loud, though.

With a frustrated sound, she turned to go. I trailed behind her as she strode along the walkways lined with cozy homes and gardens where solar path lights were beginning to blink on in the twilight. Since I hadn’t joined the coven yet, I still lived with my parents in the heart of the Northern Sea Circle, our tiny seaside witch community hidden from the rest of humanity.

This place was all I’d ever known.

In moments I was trapped again in the house I grew up in. Our cottage was a typical witch dwelling—a blend of old and modern, handmade wooden fixtures next to technology borrowed from the outside world.

“Hi, Dad,” I greeted my father, who responded by flicking his eyes to me for a moment. He was reclining in his usual chair in the living room. I looked him over, worried. The war had taken his peace from him years ago.

“Your father’s not feeling well tonight, so it’s just us for dinner,” Mother called from the kitchen as she retrieved the food. “How was your day, sweetheart?” she asked as if our previous argument had been resolved, placing a baked dish that looked like a potato casserole on the dining room table.

“Mother—” I began. On top of everything, Dad was getting worse, and she was in some sort of denial.

“What were you doing all day?” There it was—the criticism had crept back into her voice.

What was I doing all day? The same thing I had been doing for months, in secret, over and over. I woke up before dawn to sneak out and work the summoning spell that should have opened a portal to Hell and bonded me to a demon familiar, as it had every spell caster for millennia. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, from tracing the enormously complex magic circle again and again, six hours of my life gone each time.

I said nothing, blinking back tears. The worst part? I didn’t know whether my mother would write me off as a failure or whether it would please her that I couldn’t live up to the high expectations that had been with me from birth. She needed me to become a spell caster to prove her worthiness, but she also needed to be better than me. I didn’t know which would win and what it would make out of me.

“Layla, what in fate’s name is wrong with you lately?” Mother sighed.

I could never be what she wanted. I had tried and tried.

“Just go,” she said from the sink, not turning around.

I went as quietly as I could, trying not to make any noise as I closed the door.

***

I thought I would break down, finally allowing the tears I had been holding back, but none came. I lay quietly on my childhood bed, watching the wavering shadows on the ceiling as branches swayed in the night outside.

I had prepared my whole life to become a spell caster and fight in the war against the angels.

I was a blessing. My father was—or had been—a powerful spell caster, but my mother was an ordinary witch—able to feel magic but not use it. They’d gone against society to be together. Fate had gifted me with this inheritance, and I’d grown up steeped in the sense of duty that came with it.

All witches could detect magic; it came naturally to us. A smaller number of witches, the circlewrights, could channel magic through traced circle spells. It was a slow and laborious process that didn’t lend itself to battle.

But the ability to wield magic in high enough quantities to summon a familiar and become a caster was rare—I was one of only ten in the Northern Sea Circle. Together, a spell caster and their demon familiar could ignite magic strong enough to take down an angel—immediately and fatally.

It was the only weapon we had. My ability was vital .

The day after I graduated from school, I went into the summoning room at dawn, full of bright excitement for my rite of passage. With the completion of the circle spell, I would become a spell caster and finally, finally , have my own life.

I had stepped back from the huge, room-spanning circlework in satisfaction. I knew I had drawn every line and symbol perfectly. I felt it humming with resonance, ready to catch. I breathed magic into myself, swirling high and bright, and released it into the circle. The electric white blaze of it dazzled, my vision returning in flashing spots in the cool stone summoning room, my body languid with the relief of releasing so much power.

But no familiar appeared.

When I emerged, shaken, it was much later than it was supposed to be, and the crowd of witches waiting to congratulate me had dispersed. I told my mother I’d gotten stage fright and couldn’t go through with it. I dodged concerned calls from my teachers and didn’t show up for graduation parties. I tried again and again, pulling in stronger amounts of magic until there was so much it could hurt me.

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 man y. 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.

“Come on,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. His warm hand circled my entire upper arm as he guided me inside, stepping on the switch for a standing lamp. He glanced outside, checking behind me before shutting off the porch light. “Hang on a second,” he said, then grabbed a handful of clothes from a drawer, disappearing into a bathroom.

So awkward . I put a chilled hand to my flaming face. Costi’s tiny apartment was immaculately clean and without any decoration. Only the rumpled navy comforter gave any indication that someone lived here. It was a far cry from when we were kids and his room was a permanent mess that left his foster mom throwing her hands up. There was nowhere to sit except the bed, so I remained standing, losing my nerve.

As a spell caster, even an initiate, I wasn’t supposed to be here. Spell casters were strictly off-limits to guardians. It wouldn’t matter that we were just friends. Costi would get in trouble if anyone caught me here in the middle of the night.

Just as I decided to flee, Costi emerged. He had thrown on black tactical pants and a gray T-shirt that stretched over those muscles, the edges of his ink peeking out from the neckline. He hadn’t even attempted to tame his wild hair.

“Sorry to wake you up,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Don’t be,” he said as he bent to lace up a pair of tall black boots with some seriously thick soles. “Didn’t think you’d come.” He tilted his head at the door. I nodded.

I walked along beside him as he led us through a path in the field behind the apartments to the seawall. A salty, humid breeze kicked up from the ocean below. A few beacons blinked far out at sea, and the lights of the Northern Sea Circle glowed softly in the distance across the open space. The pathway along the wall was lit only by the waxing moon but was bright enough to walk by.

“You wanna tell me what’s up?” Costi said after several silent minutes, pausing to turn and look at me. The sound of the sea hushed his voice.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” I braced my hands on the seawall’s protective metal railing, facing him.

He glanced away guiltily, and it struck me that he’d also been avoiding me . Why?

“How’s—” I cleared my throat. This was ridiculous. I’d never felt nervous around Costi in my life. “How’s guardian life?”

His expression lightened. “You saw my luxurious apartment.”

I breathed out a laugh, then hesitated a moment. “I heard you haven’t been assigned yet.”

“Not yet,” he said slowly, looking at me in a way I couldn’t decipher.

Spell casters could create powerful bursts of witch fire, but our familiars were child-sized demons, and concentrating on casting made us physically vulnerable. A trained guardian was a necessity—we needed someone to defend us if the enemy got within range.

With four years’ difference between us, he finished his guardian training at the same time I graduated from school. Ever since we realized the timing worked out perfectly, Costi and I had planned to pair up.

I was the only spell caster graduating in our Circle this year, but I hadn’t come forward, and I was certain the guardians didn’t appreciate him putting off his assignment for months like this. He was holding his career back, waiting for me, and hadn’t even once questioned what was taking me so long.

He propped his arms on the railing, looking out into the dark distance as he waited for me to continue.

“You should let them assign you. I can’t pair with you,” I blurted. My voice was barely louder than the rushing waves, but he heard me. An unfamiliar feeling pricked at my awareness, a subtle brushing of something like magic. I shook my head to clear it.

For a moment, Costi was quiet, his gray eyes shadowed. “You changed your mind.”

“No! Never.”

He looked at me. “Tell me.”

I took a steadying breath to tell him everything. “This morning—well, yesterday, at this point—I got up early and went to do my summoning circle.” I scuffed my foot over the sand-strewn cement of the walkway.

Costi’s solid presence drew the story from me.

“The spell worked perfectly, but—” I stopped in confusion as a wave of strange magic dumped over me, like being hit with a live wire. “What was that ?”

He slammed a hand down over my mouth, staring into the sky behind me. His perfect stillness shot alarm through me, and I froze.

“Layla,” he breathed into my ear. “I’m gonna need you to invoke your familiar. There are angels above us. They’ve already seen us. You need to hit them quickly.”

What? Angels, here ? I shook my head vehemently, pulling his hand from my face. “ I can’t. ”

“I got you,” he said as he whipped a dagger I hadn’t noticed out of his boot, eyes on whatever was coming for us. He pushed me behind him. “I’ll defend you.”

“Costi, I don’t have a familiar!” I whispered frantically.

Costi jolted as he realized just how screwed we were. He regained himself, though, tearing his phone out of his pocket and shoving it in my hands.

“Whatever happens, stay behind me. Do not run. Call Ash, tell them to get the guardians. Now. ”

I couldn’t look, just punched the phone on with shaking fingers. Costi didn’t use a passcode.

Angels were here ? At the Circle? How were angels here?

I found Ash at the top of the contacts and waited in agony while it rang through. Please pick up .

“Costi, what? It’s late.”

“Ash?” I gasped.

“Who’s this?”

“Layla Rosen. Costi’s with me. We’re on the seawall. Get the other guardians right now. Angels are attacking us—”

“ What? ”

“Seven,” Costi said grimly.

“S-Seven,” I whispered into the phone.

There was a pause. Shock, I assumed.

“Stay where you are,” Ash said. “Keep the phone connected.”

Peeking behind Costi, I saw them. Human-shaped monsters of wing, claw, and sharp teeth silhouetted against the stars. Nothing like the adorable cherubs the non-magical painted in their cathedrals.

Costi moved viciously as the first angel spiraled close enough to hit. Feathers and talons tumbled through the air as the creature hissed and grabbed the metal railing, trying to haul itself up. Costi slammed his dagger into the angel’s neck and kicked through the gap in the rails, sending it hurtling down into the sea.

There was a moment where all was silent except for Costi’s heavy breathing.

In the distance, eerie sirens whirred to life, something I had never heard before. The guardians had sounded the alarm.

Background shouting came through the phone as Costi slashed at another incoming enemy, this one smart enough to dodge. Moonlight glinted off the eyes of the angels, hovering just out of reach.

“ Backup ETA five minutes, Layla. Hold tight, ” Ash said through the phone.

Five minutes? We wouldn’t survive that long. Without a spell caster, angels were unkillable. “Please hurry,” I begged.

Two of the angels swooped in tandem, and I yelped, ducking low. The phone flew from my hand and clattered to the pavement. Costi hit one wing with his dagger, severed feathers flying, but he roared as the other angel ripped into his arm with its talons.

I had no weapons, no experience fighting, nothing at all. Panicking, I began to breathe in magic, hauling in huge amounts of power until my bones ached with it. The magic was like the waves battering the seawall. Relentless. Without a way to channel it, it was only going to hurt me, but I couldn’t stop. I was designed for this.

The angels were swarming now, Costi whirling like a dancer to keep them from hitting us. Five minutes was an eternity. One of the sharp talons slipped past his guard, sending his dagger spinning, catching a flash from the moonlight as it careened off the wall.

I screamed, throwing my arms over my head to protect myself as one of the angels sliced the back of my shoulder with a wicked shriek. Costi’s voice carried over the fray as he continued to lash out with his boots and fists, but I couldn’t understand what he was yelling.

The magic I had gathered pulsed in me alarmingly, a dizzying force that threatened to shut down my consciousness. I wanted to push it back out. I needed to push it back out—this was going to kill me before the angels even got to me. But I couldn’t stop pulling, and there was nowhere for the energy to go—

Until there was.

The intricate, glowing lines of a spell curled together, burning my eyes even though they were clamped shut. My hands grew impossibly hot, and I flung them toward the sky.

The connection completed, as nature intended.

The magic burst from me, flowing into the spell and surging out, an ecstatic tsunami of power that brutalized the enemies in its path and left me starkly, blessedly empty.

I heard the roar of the ocean in the silence.