Chapter 8
LAYLA
T he next morning, I woke up determined. I needed to fix my problems myself and stop dragging everyone down.
I dressed to impress in a burgundy skirt and scoop-neck top and took the time to put on some makeup. After forcing a proper breakfast down my throat, I marched myself to the library.
The tall ceiling was dotted with skylights that let natural light into a cozy reading area in the middle, branching off to other rooms with rows of bookshelves.
“Good morning,” I said to the witch behind the counter, who was bent over a ledger of some sort, writing by hand.
“Oh, good morning,” she said. Around my age, she had the look of an outsider, with pale skin and long red hair. From time to time, outsiders were found who could sense magic. We tended to adopt them into the community.
“I’m looking for some books,” I told her, immediately cringing. I was at the library—of course I was looking for books. “I’d like to read about the history of familiars. Anything about familiars, really.”
She tilted her head, looking me over. “You’re Layla.”
“That’s me.” I grimaced through a smile. This reputation thing was getting really weird.
She glanced away. “I’ve been helping Calamus research some circle spells for you.”
“Really? Thanks, that’s amazing,” I said genuinely. “You don’t have to do everything, though. I can do some research.”
She brightened. “I like looking through the historical records.”
I chuckled. “You and Calamus must make a great pair, then.”
Her face flushed a bright red. Oops. I wondered if Calamus knew. He seemed like the type not to notice.
Not that I had any room to talk.
“I can show you where the history books are,” she said, changing the subject.
The history section turned out to be larger and less dusty than I had imagined. Bright witch lights lined the neat shelves. Like our library at the Northern Sea Circle, they hadn’t installed electricity in this building to minimize the risk of fire. Some of our books were ancient, and witches kept limited copies in our small communities around the world.
I scanned the spines and picked some interesting titles at random. I would look through more systematically if I didn’t have any luck.
Witch history seemed to blend with mythology at some point. I had studied our past in school, including the story of the millennia-old alliance with Hell, the supposed realm of our demon familiars.
Of course, we witches could objectively prove that angels and demons were flesh-and-blood creatures, but the modern understanding was that we were all a normal part of evolution, albeit one the outsiders didn’t understand. Our ancient stories were nothing more than attempts to explain what our ancestors had not understood. The non-magical had folded a lot of the same stories into their religious systems, which just proved my point.
I ran my fingers over an ancient illuminated manuscript showing a scene of two beings locked in magical combat—an angel and a demon straight out of the outsiders’ myths, looking nothing like the vile winged creatures we battled or our tiny, pale familiars.
The story went like this: The angels believed they were superior to all other beings. They ranked every type of being from their most favorite to their least, and then each individual according to the angelic notion of power. They insisted that everyone adopt this hierarchy and vow to serve those above them.
The ranking system was called Inperium, and the angels fought bitterly with anyone who opposed it.
The demons were their strongest opposition. As punishment, they were locked in a prison—Hell. The angels then set their sights on humanity, commanding their worship. The story claimed that many of us fell willingly into Inperium.
Our ancient witch ancestors were not swayed, though, and laid down their lives to oppose the angels. Blades, fire, bullets—those things could only wound an angel. No matter how maimed, they would recover. Only magic could kill an angel, but the circle spells of the witches were too slow and unwieldy to be used as a weapon.
The alliance with Hell changed that. The demons had a way of casting —flinging magic with their hands, without a circle. Keeping their one advantage, they only taught witches half of the process so that every caster needed a demon ally to supply the spell.
The story neatly explained every facet of our existence—why we needed to fight the angels, why we hated hierarchies, and why we required a demon familiar to cast spells. It was too clean to be anything but a myth.
I didn’t think ancient stories would help in my case, but I hoped I would find accounts of demon behavior from the past hundred years or so and see if anyone had ever encountered a problem like this before.
I brought a small stack of books to the front, and the red-haired witch scanned them out on a battery-powered tablet.
“I’ll set aside anything I think of that seems useful,” she promised.
I felt a little more myself after stopping for lunch on the way back to my apartment. I had a plan. Calamus and the library witch were going to help too. Between the three of us, we were bound to uncover something.
I drew up short. My mother was standing on the garden path in front of my building. She lifted her furious face, and I knew there was no chance of escape. She advanced on me, and I stepped backward, nearly tripping on the walkway.
“Where have you been?” she hissed. She clamped her hand around my upper arm. My books spilled onto the ground.
“Let… let go. I’m sorry .” I tried to twist away, but she squeezed to the point of pain. I stumbled as she dragged me farther into the garden, where no one would see her. “I… I was only trying to—”
“Trying to what? Sneak around with that Blackthorn man? Go out partying and drinking? Ignore my calls?”
“I wasn’t sneaking around. He was assigned—”
“Neither of you were assigned to be on the seawall in the middle of the night. Don’t think I didn’t put that together.”
My heart beat wildly as I inched away into the garden bed, backing myself against a tree. She was blocking the path. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” I raised a shaking hand to my arm, which was throbbing from where she’d grabbed me.
“Layla, I’ve warned you about him. About this . Look what happened to me. I married a spell caster, and fate is punishing me.”
“I’m not doing anything like that. I—”
“Stop lying to me!” she seethed. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing behind my back? How do you think it looks when I don’t even know where my daughter is? When I had to ask around to find you?” Her face was contorted with anger, and her normally smooth hair stuck to the sweat at her temples.
I clutched myself miserably, tears dribbling down my cheeks. “I’m… I’m sorry…”
She stared at me a moment, then sniffed. “I heard about your spell casting during the attack.”
I said nothing.
Mother gave a wan smile. “So, you did your summoning after all. Why didn’t you tell me?” After a moment, she continued in the velvety voice she used on people when she wanted something. “I recently met the Mountain Circle’s security coordinator. She’s a delight.”
My eyes flicked to her nervously.
“She has such a heavy responsibility, vetting and assigning all the new Northern Sea guardians. Not all of them are up to Mountain Circle standards, sadly.”
My breath stalled and my body turned to ice as her threat hit its mark. Witches like Costi didn’t get a second chance. If they decided he couldn’t make it as a guardian, they would ask him to leave the Circle.
She said, “Please answer my calls and texts.”
“I… will,” I rasped, looking down at the wavering mulch.
“And stay away from the guardian.”
My head snapped up and I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
My mother’s lips pinched with rage. Her voice was like a knife at my throat. “You’ll do as I tell you, Layla.”
Blood rushed to my head so fast, I felt faint. Do as she tells me? Witches didn’t try to control each other like this. With threats . It wasn’t done. It went against everything we held sacred.
If she was aware of my reaction, she didn’t comment. She sighed. “This new Circle… it’s different from Northern Sea. It’ll be good for us. I can feel it. I have a plan to make things better. You just need to help me instead of fighting me.”
“Wh-What plan?”
“You needn’t worry about the details. Just focus on yourself and your spell casting,” she said. “We’re in a new era now, and I’m prepared to make the most of it. For both of us.”
She stood over me a moment longer before nodding to herself and leaving me alone beneath the oak tree.
I slid down the rough bark onto the ground as raw emotion clawed up my throat. She’d never been this bad. She’d never hurt me before. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t tell Costi. My mother would—
A shadow fell over me.
“No,” I whimpered. But it was too late. I raised my head.
Costi took in my huddled form and my tear-streaked face, and I swore the color of his eyes darkened like storm clouds. “What in Hell’s name is going on?” He dropped to a crouch in the mulch in front of me.
His gaze snagged on the nasty red mark blooming on my arm, and he froze. “Who was it, Layla?” His voice held a cold fury I’d never experienced from him.
I shook my head, eyes wide.
“There’s a handprint on your skin, ” he pushed out through gritted teeth, breathing harshly with the promise of immediate and terrible violence. “If it was that fucking spell caster, I’ll—”
Which spell caster? “No,” I mumbled, fresh tears spilling.
Spitting out curses, he slid his arms around my torso and pulled me off the ground and into his arms. His voice was gravel as he ran a careful hand down the back of my head. “Fate, baby, don’t,” he said into my hair. “Hell, you’re shaking. I’ve got you. I’d never hurt you. Please tell me what happened.”
I should have pushed him away and told him to go. But I had no one else. I didn’t want anyone else.
“You can’t do anything,” I breathed, clinging to him.
“The Hell I can’t,” he said, tightening his hold.
I raised my face and braced my hands against his chest. “My mother—”
Costi stiffened. “She’s done this before?”
“No. Not like this.” I took a shuddering breath. “I’ve never… She was so angry. She threatened you. She… she told me to obey her.”
The last part came out as a whisper as the shameful admission spilled out. It was worse than scandalous. Commanding another witch to obey you was Inperium. It was treasonous .
Costi said nothing as he held me.
“Sh-She needs help,” I admitted. “A mediator or… the councilors?”
“Not the Arcaenum,” Costi said gravely.
“What?”
He pulled back slightly to look down at me, sliding his arm down to my waist. “Something’s not right here.”
I swallowed, nodding slowly. Something did feel off with the Mountain Circle, and Costi had a knack for seeing the bigger picture.
I looked at him then, taking in his black uniform and the sheen of sweat that clung to the side of his face and neck. “You were training?”
Costi nodded. “Running. But I wanted to see you. It’s a damn good thing I came when I did.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone, wiping away the moisture.
“You sh-shouldn’t have come. I don’t want you to lose your position because of me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You been talking to Holly?”
Fate, this man. It was impossible to keep anything from him. “She’s right, though. I don’t want to be the reason you get thrown out of the guardians, not after you worked so hard to get in.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s meddling. I already told her to knock it off.”
“My mother said she’d get you disqualified,” I said.
“Let her try,” he growled.
“I think—”
Costi shook his head. “No.”
“Maybe we should—”
He pressed two fingers over my open mouth. “Layla,” he said, his breath hitching. “Don’t.”
He leaned in, pushing a hand through my hair and holding my eyes with his. “I’m not about to leave you alone. You get what I’m saying?”
He was so close, I could feel his breath on my lips, still stopped by his touch. I nodded, unable to do much else as he stroked his other hand along my scalp.
I suddenly remembered the party. The dream . My body flushed hot.
I shivered as he traced his fingers over my mouth. He pulled himself away with a shudder.
“Come on,” he mumbled, guiding me gently back to my apartment. Inside, it was dark and quiet. I trailed behind him into the kitchenette. He rummaged around in the freezer, pulling out an ice pack that he wrapped in a towel.
Looking me over, he frowned at the bruise forming on my bare upper arm. He pressed the ice pack onto it, and I raised my other hand to hold it in place, our fingers brushing. Costi’s phone vibrated from his pocket. He ignored it.
“Don’t you need to get back?”
His eyes confirmed that he did, but his mouth was set obstinately.
“Don’t get in trouble because of me,” I said.
He scoffed.
“I’ll be fine,” I promised.
“Call me right away, okay? If your mom shows up again. Try to stay away from her. This isn’t right. I’ll tell the security coordinator.”
“You can’t tell her. My mother said they’re friends.”
He cursed. “Of course they are. Keep your eyes open. I’ve been talking to some people, and I’m gonna find out what this is all about. We’ll figure it out.”
My heart warmed. “Be careful,” I told him.
He nodded once. “You too.”
I thought I would break down when he left, but instead I just felt numb. My mother hadn’t always been this way. I thought she had even been happy when I was young. She was the success story of a regular witch who married a spell caster for love and had a powerful child, proving society wrong. What happened to her?
After retrieving my bag of library books, I went into my bedroom. I flipped the lock on my door and fished out one of the history texts, sitting on my bed. The faded fabric cover and yellowed pages smelled of old paper.
There wasn’t a section helpfully labeled “Problems with Your Familiar,” and I had no idea what information would be helpful, so I started from the beginning.
The book was a full, anthropology-style investigation of demon familiars, written fifty years ago.
A lot of it backed up common knowledge: familiars had never been found in the wild, they seemed intelligent but didn’t speak or communicate, they didn’t interact with each other, and they always answered the call of their spell caster, but they would recall themselves after a short time if no spells were being cast.
There were also some strange tidbits I’d never considered: the tallest familiar the author had measured was four feet, their eyes seemed to be sensitive to light, and they had never been able to do an autopsy on one because their bodies would disappear back to wherever they came from if rendered unconscious or dead.
A dead-on-arrival demon was a line of inquiry I hadn’t considered, but reading further, I found that if a spell caster lost their familiar in battle, they could and did summon a new one.
The bond between spell caster and familiar was for life. Demons seemed to age roughly the same as humans, and older spell casters would sometimes find their familiar unresponsive when being invoked—presumably claimed by old age.
There was also a chapter on natural summoners, like Sativa. It happened to some young witches who could pull large amounts of magic—according to the author’s detailed notes, it was a one-in-a-thousand phenomenon. It typically occurred in the witch’s early teens, but the how and the why of it wasn’t clear.
What was unknown about demons was a much longer list: where they went when they weren’t with their witch—the mythological Hell or elsewhere; if they were Earth-like mammals that ate and reproduced; what the nature of the spells they passed to us was; and if they possessed humanlike reasoning or if they worked by instinct. Were they allies? Pets? Did they feel enslaved ? Uncomfortably, we had no way of knowing.
I found nothing about invisible or missing familiars, and nothing to suggest this kind of thing had happened before.
I started skimming faster through a long section with charts and eventually groaned, setting the open book aside on my bed. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way.
“Come on out, shy little demon. I’m not mad,” I invited the empty air, patting the bed. “You did such a good job with those angels! I’d love to work together.”
An overtired, loopy giggle escaped me.
“No? All right then.” I decided it was probably best to get some sleep.
***
“Fate, what happened to your arm?” Sativa asked as she set down her handbag on the table I’d just cleared. “Did you walk into a door?”
“Something like that.” I had been on a cleaning spree since the morning. My mission was to destroy this mess before the mold gained sentience. I clasped the fragile sense of purpose like a lifeline.
Sativa sighed. “You don’t have to do all this. No one cares.”
I looked away. “It’s not like I’m doing anything else.”
“No luck, then?” She propped herself against the counter, watching me load a bag of rinsed-out containers to return to various eateries for sanitizing and reuse.
I shook my head.
Despite her assertion that no one cared, she began to help sort through a pile of papers. “Maybe you don’t need a familiar. What if you’re, like, the next evolution of witches?”
I snorted a laugh. “I doubt that.” I paused, trying to remember. “It felt… like there was something. A force outside of me creating the spell.”
“That is how it feels,” Sativa agreed, nodding.
Perching on a stool, I sat next to her. “Are you doing okay?” I asked seriously.
She widened her eyes. “Me?”
I nodded, feeling a little awkward. “You and the others. I’ve only been here a few days, but… I can see you’re not practicing casting. You haven’t picked guardians. Is something… wrong?”
Something in my recent conversation with Costi had stuck with me.
Sativa looked away in a rare gesture of self-consciousness.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Before I could finish apologizing, Oliver and Datura tumbled through the door, apparently trying to go through together instead of one at a time.
“Hey, it’s us,” Oliver said.
“Funny enough, I could tell,” Sativa deadpanned, abandoning my question.
“Here, Screwup. I brought you lunch.” Datura shoved a container and a fork at me.
I blinked in surprise. “Thanks, that’s… actually really nice of you,” I said.
Oliver gasped loudly. “No! Don’t you dare spread those kinds of rumors. My Datura is a wicked, poisonous flower.” He flung his arm around her neck and tried to pull her into a headlock.
I laughed despite myself. “ Did you poison it?”
She scoffed, shoving Oliver away. “Guess you’ll find out.”
My phone started chiming, causing my heart to flip in dread. I’d been keeping it on since yesterday, when Mother had suggested that if I didn’t answer her, she would go after Costi. He’d said he wasn’t afraid, but I wasn’t about to test her.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, taking my phone and my probably-not-deadly lunch to my room. “Hello, Mother,” I said without emotion.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said approvingly. “I have a nice surprise for you.”
I consciously controlled my shuddering breath. I couldn’t imagine this being good. “Oh…”
“Fate blessed me with running into one of our new councilors—our recent assembly speaker, Cedar Grey.”
I was sure fate had nothing to do with it. Mother had a way of getting in front of people.
“His son Calamus was with him. What a charming young spell caster!”
“Yes.” I hadn’t known the witch who’d spoken at the recent meeting was Calamus’s father, but now that I thought about it, I could see a resemblance.
“Layla, I was very surprised to hear about the problem you’re having with your familiar. You didn’t share that with me.” Her tone fell.
My body went cold. “I-I’m sorry…”
“I heard that Calamus kindly offered his help. He said he’s already come up with a solution.”
“He did?” I blurted. “What is it?”
“I didn’t have time to listen to all the details, darling, but he had to get special permission from the Arcaenum to try it. His father and I agreed that he should talk through it with you over dinner this evening. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
Anger flared through me. She wasn’t even subtle. Bitterly, I wondered how Calamus would like the bruise on my arm. Did Mother know Costi was his guardian?
“Yes, Mother,” I said. What else could I say? She had me, and she knew it.
I’d always thought the people in the old stories were hapless and silly, letting the angels demand things of them. Why didn’t they simply refuse? I hadn’t realized how… easy it was. Everything someone could use against you as a weapon.
“I’ll send you the details. Wear something nice, sweetheart,” she reminded me.
“Thank you, Mother,” I said cooly.
After punching off the phone, I angrily dug into the lunch Datura had brought. It was a curry with rice and a side of fried potato dumplings, which I appreciated. I’d seen the side-eye Calamus gave my dastardly carbohydrates. I wondered what he thought of this dinner plan our parents had cooked up.
The food did my mood some good. Bringing my dishes back out to the kitchen, I found Datura and Oliver on the couch with their heads bent together over a tablet as they scrolled.
I slammed the container down with a bang. They looked up with matching startled faces.
“It was delicious , and I feel fine . I can’t count on you for anything ,” I scolded Datura in mock fury.
I hid my smile by pretending to storm away in a huff as she threw back her head with a loud cackle.