And then my heart stopped beating altogether.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Settled in the bed next to me, pummeled into an unrecognizable (and slightly lumpy) pulp… was the cauldron sludge, bright purple andalive.
I screamed bloody murder.
Ani’s cottage was much messier than my shop, full to the brim with magical items and ingredients. The curtains were pulled shut, letting in no natural light—the only illumination in the space came from enchanted lanterns. A brown striped cat napped peacefully on the fluffy rug.
Tiny dust motes floated in the air. They danced and fluttered idly, disturbed by my movements. The scent of lavender and warm magic permeated the space. It almost smelled like home.
I clutched a mug of rose and sage tea with trembling fingers, fighting to still my quaking as I slowly brought the drink to my lips. I managed a small sip without spilling any.
A jar sat on the table between me and the coven leader.
I tried not to look at it, but I couldn’t help myself. My eyes were drawn with a mind of their own.
The jar contained a small, roiling bit of the iridescent purple cauldron sludge, and I could tell that it waspissed. It hissed and snapped, splattering against the sides of the jar over and over again.
I was the one who deserved to be angry. After discovering the twitching, slimy mass curled up in bed beside me, I had done what any respectable lady would do.
I panicked.
I screamed, I cried, I screamed some more, then I threw up in the washroom. And then after shedding a few more tears, I grabbed a jar, blindly scooped up some of the sludge, and scrambled my way here: to my coven leader’s cottage—so she could tell me what to do.
The tea, though expertly brewed, hardly brought me any comfort. I couldn’t even appreciate the warm, floral flavor as it slid down my throat because I couldn’t stop staring at the damned jar.
Ani peered me with a calm but questioning gaze. She wasn’t nearly as panicked as she should have been while sitting in front of a magical monstrosity.
Her waist-length silver hair glimmered in the enchanted lighting of the cottage. She was swathed in a thick dressing gown, but her knobby feet were bare. She had clearly not been expecting visitors.
I exhaled a shaky breath. “Ani, I need help. What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
She glanced at the jar with only mild interest. “What do you mean, dear?”
“I mean—how do I get rid of it?”
She gently picked up the jar, rolling it between her gnarled hands and examining the contents with a knowing gaze. The sludge sloshed and crackled. “I’m afraid you can’t get rid of it, Kizziah.”
My eyes snapped to Ani’s lined face. “What? You’re joking. Yes, I can.”
Her expression held no humor, just a calm steadiness. “I’m afraid this isn’t a joke. It seems you’ve created yourself a familiar.”
My jaw dropped open.
No fucking way. It wasimpossible.
I knew what a familiar was, of course. Familiars were things of old witch legends. A critter or a creation, bound to a witch’s soul. A guardian, an assistant, a companion. A friend. It took immense magical power to create one, often requiring the assistance of an entire coven. Familiars assisted with spells and rituals, granting stability and control to their witches. They were extremely powerful—all the strongest witches had one.
Or so the legends said.
Witches hadn’t had familiars for ages—there wasn’t enough magic left to create them. Not since the Old Gods abandoned the realm.
Nope. Not possible.
I slowly shook my head back and forth. This was some elaborate prank, surely. The coven was messing with me.
I waited for the punchline to drop.
