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Chapter One
“I’m going to get kicked out on my first day,” I moaned, shuffling from foot to foot in front of the gilt-framed mirror in the coven’s living room.
The stupid portal within the mirror was supposed to have opened ten minutes ago to allow me through, but the incantation I’d been sent wasn’t working. I was convinced I was saying it wrong, but Wanda assured me I’d said it right when she examined the slip of paper that came with my acceptance letter. So, the problem had to be with me. Or, more pointedly, with my magic. Yes, mirror magic was a specialized talent, but the headmistress of Blood Rose Academy was an expert enchantress, and she was the one holding the door open. All I had to do was metaphorically squeeze through the gap, but it seemed I couldn’t even do that right.
Blood Rose Academy’s classes started tomorrow, and the entrance welcome and interview was due to begin soon. And I still couldn’t get through the mirror. Because, of course, things could never be simple.
“Astrid, you’re going to be fine so will you please stop having a breakdown,” Wanda said, smoothing non-existent wrinkles out of my uniform. She took to fussing with clothes when she was nervous. Mine. Hers. Anything on her racks. I suspected that, as a magical tailor, the feel of fabric soothed her.
“I’m not having a breakdown,” I responded.
“Well, regardless, you’re stressing me out so take a few deep breaths and try again.
I wanted to. I really, really did, but opening the portal seemed impossible with the mirror staying shiny and heartlessly smooth in its frame. I only had five minutes to get through the mirror and into Headmistress Aurea’s office. A second after that and I’d be officially late, which wouldn’t bode well for my future at Blood Rose Academy. Witches were petty on the whole and weren’t inclined to let even the smallest of slights go. And being late on my first day? Yeah, that would be considered a slight.
“The child is clearly useless with magic and, thus, should not be allowed entrance to such a prestigious academy,” Hellcat announced in between licking his paws.
“And that’s enough out of you!” Wanda railed at him.
I swallowed and took a look around the room, disheartened by the lack of people. It was silly, but I’d been hoping for a big send off by my friends and my found family with the witches of Scapegrace Coven. It was evening and I knew, logically that Poppy and Finn couldn’t be here to send me off. He did have school in the morning. Marty and the ghost hunters were off dealing with a spook, dragging Darla along with them. Fifi was showing houses. Roy had a bar to run. Life in the Hollow would and should go on without me here and I fully understood that. Still, was it such a crime to want some assurance they’d miss me? Only Wanda, Lorcan, and Olga graced the foyer of the massive Tudor Revival that had become our coven’s home. Well, and Hellcat, but I actually would have preferred it if he’d stayed home.
There was one absence that hurt more than the rest. Maverick, my stupid, stubborn warlock brother had refused my invitation weeks ago. It was silly to hope that he’d reconsider things at the last minute. When Maverick made a decision, it was hard to sway him, and he’d made his opinion on Blood Rose very clear. If there were vampires there, he didn’t want me going, and he wasn’t going to tacitly endorse my going by showing up to give me a hug or his well wishes. But a small, childish part of me hoped he’d change his mind, because I wouldn’t see him for another year, at least.
Olga, the white-haired German grandmother type of our little brood, glanced up from her book of shadows every few minutes to give me an encouraging smile. Her raccoon familiar, Franz, had curled up on the rug in front of her, rather than risk having his tail caught under the rocking chair. Her eyes were soft and kind as she regarded me.
“You vill be fine,” she said.
“Is that a prediction?” I asked hopefully. Olga had received the gift of second sight centuries ago, which meant she could pick up on things the rest of us couldn’t.
She shook her head with an amused smile. “Nein, just an educated guess. I vas a teacher zere for many years. It is merely... one large coven, and nozing zat you cannot handle.”
One large coven.
Great.
Like living in an ordinary coven had been easy. Even the most easy-going covens, like ours, had a hierarchy to adhere to and a baseline tension born of habit. In witch society, you watched your back, lest someone stick an athame into it to further their own ambitions. You trusted your immediate family and almost no one else. And even that wasn’t a hard and fast rule. My aunt Celestine had thrown Wanda, Maverick, and me out on our assess years ago and we were her flesh and blood. And even that had been a mercy. Banishment was a lot better than bindings or burnings.
Add in hormonal teenagers, the sort of fickle and fast-moving relationships said teens tended to jump into, the petty disputes between disparate covens, and just the typical clique-y mean girl mentality, and things got even worse. If I didn’t watch my back, one of my fellow students would eat me alive. Or at the very least, charm a werewolf to do it for them.
“Super,” I muttered.
Lorcan’s cool, long-fingered hand slid into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. When I glanced up, I found him shoulder-to-shoulder with me. His profile was striking, and his hair glinted gold in the light of the many candles on the mantle. As always, the sight of him made my heart stutter for an extra-long moment before resuming its usual pace. Lorcan was... well, he was hot. Movie-star hot, one of those men who somehow got even better looking as they aged. Wanda called it the George Clooney effect. Lorcan was a vampire trapped forever in his forties, but I suspected he’d have looked good no matter how old he’d been when the change happened.
It felt a little wrong to react to him this way. Wanda had been a surrogate mother figure to me for a while now, which made Lorcan the closest thing I had to a dad. Like most witches, I didn’t know who my mom had banged to get me here. Regardless, whoever that guy was, he wasn’t in the picture now and he never would be. So Lorcan was what I had. And... he was good at playing the part of dad. If I had a problem, I usually went to Lorcan, not Wanda. She was just a little too tightly wound. Lorcan was decidedly less prone to bite, though he had the literal fangs.
“Olga’s right, you know,” he said, and just the sound of his soft, lilting Irish accent made some of my tension evaporate. He had that effect on me. “You’re going to kick arse.”
I couldn’t help a smile. “You think so?”
He nodded. “I know so. I’ve seen you in action. If one of those bi—”
“Lorcan,” Wanda cut across him with a reproving frown.
“Witches,” Lorcan amended with a toothy grin. “If one of those conniving little witches tries something, you’ll handle it, my dear. It’s in your blood.”
I stood a little straighter. Lorcan was right. This was in my blood. I was a Depraysie witch, one of the newest in a line that could trace its roots to the dark ages. Maybe even further back than that. My mother was the High Witch of the Crescent Circle Coven in Portland. My cousin, Wanda, was the power behind the throne of Haven Hollow’s gaggle of witches. I was a red-haired witch among a sea of brunettes. I was born an upstart. A troublemaker. A potential revolutionary. And I was not about to let one little stupid mirror beat me.
“Right. I can do this,” I said, mainly to myself. Then I looked at Lorcan. “But I might need your help.”
