The sound of wings beat overhead, the force of them enough to rattle the windows.
Maya sighed. “Ugh, I hate dragon riders; they really need to introduce a no-fly policy past midnight. The number of times I’ve woken up from one of those dumb beasts…”
“What if you got one of those dumb beasts?”
“Nah, I’m way too cool for a dragon. That’s why I got a crow.”
As if on cue, the black shadow perched on Avery’s window let out an ear-screeching caw. Avery snorted at Maya’s statement. Dragons were known as the most powerful familiars you could summon; anyone would be lucky enough to have one. Crows, foxes, cats, bats, horses, etcetera, etcetera, were all considerednormal. They gave you power, but it was nothing compared to the mythical beasts. The only person to summon anything mythical in their year was Julian fucking Ainsworth and his griffin. They say familiars look like their owners, and both looked like pompous pricks.
Maya had summoned her crow a year ago, as soon as we were allowed to perform the ritual. It was a given that she was the first to get a familiar. In theory, it was easy. You drew a summoning circle, set up the candles, read the incantations, and offered the goddess a token in exchange for a familiar; out popped a crow, and Bob’s your witchy uncle.
However, Bob was notheruncle, nor was he helpful at all in summoning a fucking familiar. Maya had done it all perfectly. The rest of her class followed over the following months. It was now a fucking petting zoo and Avery still had manifested nothing but perpetual disappointment.
Jealousy festered within her. It was a wound that wouldn’t heal. She tried not to give a fuck, but unfortunately, she gave too many; she was a slut for them. She was happy for Maya to be the first. But selfishly, she would like to be a little happy too.
Maya sighed again, stumbling as she made her way out of the bed, half sliding, half crawling like a cat that missed its jump, hanging onto the duvet for dear life. “I should go back to my dorm before the wicked witch notices me gone. The woman has a second sense for me, I swear to the goddess.”
The wicked witch was wicked indeed. Their housemother was the epitome of what humans thought of witches… well, how their movies displayed them anyway. Warts growing on a protruding nose, wrinkles forming lines where they shouldn’t, hairs on her chinny, chin chin. It was a crude depiction, even though humans were well aware of how witches actually looked. And usually, they looked normal. The only giveaway that theyweren’t human was a magical signature that set off alarms if they crossed the wards without permission in the human territories.
Witch enclaves were designed to keep witches in and humans out. Step through the barrier without clearance, and as Avery had discovered when her cabin fever became particularly bad, you were magically flung back. Still, better than being burned alive at the stake, which humans had done at one point.
Even shifters had more rights than witches. The humans let them walk around and travel wherever they wanted, and it was said that they could turn intoliteralmonsters—but she wasn’t sure if that was a myth or not. Back in the distant past, shifters played nicer with the humans, working with them rather than against them. Witches, on the other hand, preferred to stay in their hidden enclaves, only interacting when it benefited them. Turns out the humans took that personally. They shouldn’t; most witches just wanted to stay near the ley lines that ran under the enclaves, where they were most powerful.
However, Avery didn’t care, and she really wanted to taste some chicken nuggets. Tragically, there was not one chicken shop on the whole island. Maybe see a few of the world’s wonders too. Anything but the same university and town skyline.
Maya paused, one foot touching the floor. “There’s still time for you to summon a familiar, you know.”
Avery’s hand tightened around the bottle. She wanted to believe her, she really did. The subtle hope still simmered like embers in her chest long after she had doused it. The small child in her refused to believe that her dream was long over. Hope was cruel. So she shoved that little light as far down as she could, locking it in a dark box and starving it of oxygen where the fire couldn’t rage inside her.
She took another swig of the bottle, the contents of it almost empty. Fourth-year started in two days. She had two days tosomehow produce a familiar out of her ass and present it to the university council. A seemingly impossible task, when she had tried and failed so many times before. And as her close, personal friend, Charlotte Lucas, fromPride and Prejudiceonce said: I’m twenty-seven years old (twenty-two actually), I have no money (true) and no prospects (if she didn’t get a familiar), I’m already a burden on my parents (parent), and I’m frightened (the truest of all).
“Avery—” Before Maya could finish, a massive thump shook the ceiling. They both scrambled back against the bed as roof tiles clattered overhead, sliding down and shattering on the balcony with dramatic clangs.
“What was that?” Maya said, suddenly far more sober. She clutched a pillow to her chest, as if it would protect her from whatever had just landed on the roof.
“I’m not sure,” Avery said honestly. The whiskey had dulled her senses far enough to get off the bed and investigate the noise. She may be smart, but she was still an idiot. She took careful steps toward the arched doors and saw there was nothing to see but the moon rising over the silhouette of the campus’s spires snarling over buildings reaching far up into the sky.
“Avery? Get back here,” Maya whispered desperately.
And for a brief moment, Avery saw the shimmer of iridescent scales against the orange light. Her heart jumped as a knock rang out through the room.
“Shit.” She kept her voice low. “Hide the whiskey, it’s Wren.”
In her drunken stupor, Maya sprang into action with the grace of a newborn foal. Her body hit the floor with a thud before she scrambled under the bed to plant the whiskey far out of sight. In doing so, she hit her head on the slats and clanged the bottle against the bed frame. To top it off, the crow let out an alarmed squawk, its collar jingling as it did. Wren was going to kill her.
Another knock, more insistent this time.
“Coming!” Avery’s voice cracked at the high pitch of someone trying to have a semblance of normalcy in it. Smoothing her uniform and her hair, she cracked open the door to find her eldest sister, her eyes as fiery as her dragon perched on the roof.
“Hey!” Avery said with a hiccup.
Wren looked past her, her eyes landing immediately on Maya’s disheveled state, the faint smell of cinnamon not yet aired out. Her expression was unreadable, but blessed be the fucking goddess, she said nothing. Although with Wren, it was hard to tell. Avery was convinced the university’s beautician had magically altered her to stay that way, something Wren vehemently denied at every dinner Avery brought it up at.
“What are you doing?” Wren asked, her tone flat.
“Nothing,” Avery said too quickly. “What are you doing?”
Wren was absolutely, utterly not convinced by her answer. Avery was convincing no one, let alone her sister. She was dressed in her full enforcer regalia, the fitted maroon blazer tight against her muscled form. A rifle was slung across her back, the red crystal embedded within it giving a small hum.
