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The last thing I want to hear is anyone complimenting Sterling, but it’s either that or let him win. While I’ve never really been the competitive sort, I have an urge to make sure he doesn’t come out on top.

“Well… I’ll see you there,” I say.

Her silver eyebrows lift. “I didn’t say what time, dear.”

“Oh.” My shoulders deflate, and I glance around, fighting off the embarrassment creeping up my spine. “Okay. What time?”

“Does noon work for you?”

I nod stiffly. “Yeah. Totally.”

Noon works.

Except I’m fucking starving. Why didn’t I get lunch before meeting up with these weirdos?

Okay, Jewel isn’t that bad, but Sterling. Tall, annoying, cottage fucking Sterling. He doesn’t seem very happy to see me—then again, when is he? He slides into the seat next to me, his posture rigid, and he doesn’t so much as look in my direction.

“Do you know what this could be about?” he whispers.

“No clue.”

Jewel’s office is well-decorated—there are paintings and tapestries with moons, stars, and tarot symbols all over the beige walls. Fairy lights twinkle above, strung over the top of the walls and dangling down. Rather than a typical desk, there’s one small couch and a cushioned armchair, with a couple of side tables. Jewel’s laptop is perched on the coffee table in front of us.

And what would you know? Sterling and I are shoved together on the sofa, so close that his gangly legs knock against mine when he fidgets.

I inhale deeply and grab a pillow, playing with its frayed tassels. The smell of burning rosemary grounds me enough that I can keep myself from glancing at him every few moments. When Jewel arrives, she sets down a pot of fresh tea and sits in the armchair across from us.

“A celebratory dessert tea—vanilla, chocolate, cinnamon.” She leans in to pour. “I thought it was right, considering that we’re celebrating a collaboration.”

I clear my throat. “We… are?”

“Why, of course. I may be your teacher, but that makes us the greatest collaborators of all.”

Sterling nods slightly and gives me a look, as if he’s confirming that the head witch of his coven is always this weird. His lips press together, his eyebrows lifting.

Come to think of it, I can’t actually imagine Sterling replacing her. He’s all hard lines and Mercurial, pushing his glasses up his nose. Constantly. Stupid, stupid glasses. And withholding. He’s so withholding, has been since I met him—but it was hot then, and now it’s annoying.

Jewel, though? She’s like an ocean wave, peaceful and ever-changing. I can tell that from the few times I’ve met her.

More importantly, where the hell do I come into play? I can’t lead a coven. What would my dad think of this? And why do I still care when he’s not here? I wish he were here. I need to know whether this is a legacy he wanted me to continue. The burden would be too heavy otherwise.

I never had dreams of leading a coven, especially not one of this size. I like being part of something. A small part. Useless part. I’m like the tonsil of witches. Remove me, and you’ll be fine.

Would this be enough to make him proud, finally? After years of trying and failing?

She continues. “More importantly, I’d like for the two of you to collaborate. I have a task.”

Sterling leans in, his frozen exterior melting into something hot and frustrated. “I don’t think that’s necessary⁠—”

“Oh, but it is.” Just like that, her tone becomes short. Clipped.

Sterling leans back in his seat. It’s kind of satisfying to see the older woman walk him like a dog. Maybe I’ll like this collaboration after all.

A smile plays on my lips. “Anything you need. What did you have in mind?”

“The harvest festival.” She picks up her teacup and sips.

“I already have it under control,” Sterling grits out, his jaw tight.