The cat man’s laughter made the hairs on her neck stand out, as if his voice produced an electric charge. “There is plenty of time to learn if this is your chosen discipline. You’ll also study cartomancy, scrying, pyromancy, a full range of techniques and skills. But you said you’venotyet chosen your area of study. Why.“ It wasn’t a question. The word was a challenge on his lips, and her spine straightened a bit.
“Um, that’s–that’s what I was saying. I–I wasn’t asked to return to the Collegium this term. I missed a lot of classes and . . . I wasn’tinvited to return. But I hope to go back.“ She wasn’t sure if it was true. As the words left her mouth, her stomach swooped, the very thought of the future — particularly her future as a witch — nearly leaving her breathless. “Um, maybe. Hopefully. But I’m not allowed to attend coven meetings until I do, so like I said. I don’t know if I’m still a witch.”
“A coven does not make a witch, little one. Dedication to the craft, service to sister and community, a lifetime of study — those are the things that matter. Not coven meetings and popularity contests. Those things don’t matter at all.”
“But you said the strength of the circle is what makes us strong,” she shot back, fists balling, steak knife deposited, forgotten. “You literallyjustsaid that. That, without it,“ she deepened her voice to imitate his, ignoring his scowl as she did so, “‘We’re no different than ordinary humans.’ And newsflash, asshole, some of usdon’tfind strength in the sisterhood. Sometimes, the sisterhood is full of catty, mean girls. Sometimes it’s just one more reminder that you’re not good enough.”
“The strength of a witch does reside in her coven alone,” he countered, his voice steady, advancing on her again.
This time, Harper held her ground.He’ll have to knock you down to go through you.“Like I said. That’s not been my experience. And-and it’s not just that. I flunked out of my classes. I wasn’t welcomed back. If I can’t study, I don’t see how I can ever be an accredited member of the coven.”
“Particularly,“ he went on, ignoring her as if she’d not spoken, “when one’s coven is run to serve singular egos, and not the unity of the whole. Do you think every witch beneath the moon is privileged enough to attend a specific, private school for study? There have been witches forever, but I assure you, the Collegium concept is quite new, all things considered. Rather, it is the strength of a sisterhood that transcends time and place that makes us strong. We all serve under the same moon, Harper Hollingsworth, whether you are a solitary witch or one with a large coven. Whether self-taught or under the guiding hand of a teacher.”
“Did you just steal my name with your creepy cat magic?”
“It’s actually all over your mail,” Holt sniffed, gesturing to the table. “Recycling is free, you know. The coven here is a perfect example. Ego. Blind ambition. Closed hands instead of open arms for a fellow witch. No respect for the ties that bind us all. You’re not missing anything by not attending their meetings. That’s a mark on them, not on you. Understand?”
She nodded, hesitantly. His voice had grown sharp, but the edge of it was not directed at her.Mom and her friends.Suddenly, she wanted to tell this annoyingly handsome cat everything, every word uttered at tea that day and Ilea’s cryptic comments after, every professor she’d ever had who played favorites amongst the students, every junior coven meeting that seemed designed to exclude, instead of fostering the bond of sisterhood.
“You have no idea what it’s like out there. Almost every coven meeting I’ve ever attended has been a popularity contest, and that doesn’t end at school.”
“I know what it’s like. And a large part of that is simply human nature, I’m afraid. Young women taught to compete with each other at an age when hormones and young adulthood are like a tidal wave. Unfortunately, there’s very little chance of escaping it unless one is raised in a closed community. The true mark of a coven does rest in the junior ranks, but in its leadership.”
“My mother had some friends over right after we moved here. They told her all about the high crone, howdynamicshe is. Half the time, it sounded as if they were trying to talk themselves into believing she’s so amazing, but none of them would say anything bad. They just danced around it.”
“Because the culture she has created is one of control,” he cut in, raking a bone-white hand through his thick hair. “This crone wants to be obeyed; she’s not interested in fostering the coven of tomorrow. You know, the previous high crone used to say, ‘We walk to the noose with our heads held high, for we do not walk alone.’Thatis the strength of a witch. It is only when she forgets her sisters and her calling that our work is corrupted. You are young on your path and heavy with grief. You only need to find a coven who will nurture the witch you are, not demand you conform to their standards. Do you understand? The time is coming, Harper Hollingsworth. I swear it.”
Harper wasn’t sure if she did, but she felt breathless and overwhelmed by his words, the vehemence in his tone, and the green fire in his eyes. She wondered ifthiswas the point of a familiar, for she could never remember a single time in all her life when Ilea had inspired her tobea witch.
“Do you live with your witch?” She wasn’t sure why she was asking.What are you going to do if he says no, invite him to stay? Get him a little bed, let him and Ilea have catfights in the driveway?
Holt flinched at the question, suddenly very interested in the meager contents of her freezer. “I don’t have a witch at the moment, actually.” His voice, so full of passion just a few seconds earlier, was suddenly disinterested.That’s a typical deflecting cat.
“But I thought you said you went to the Collegium?”
“Oh, I did,” he agreed with a shrug. “But that was many years ago, long before you were even born.”
She swallowed at the reminder that his appearance was nothing more than an assumed glamour, like slipping on a borrowed skin. “I thought familiars had to be reassigned if they’re surrendered.”
“I wasn’t surrendered!”
“Then what happened to your witch?”
His head lifted, meeting her eye. “She died.”
Harper felt his unexpected words like a physical blow, hunching slightly as they caught beneath her ribs, making contact with the yawning emptiness inside her.
“She died, and then I wasreassigned.“ His voice was mutinous, his glare lethal. “And thenthatwitch decided to leave the craft altogether.”
“That seems enormously unlucky,” she murmured weakly.
“Yes, well, I’m a black cat through and through.”
“And–and you’ve not been sent to a new witch since?”
Holt shrugged noncommittally, and the gesture was so entirely feline that Harper half expected him to swish a tail. “It’s entirely possible I misfiled the paperwork, slowing down the process. But I don’t especially want to be reassigned, not yet.”
She wondered what his witch had been like. She wondered if he mourned her loss, if his type could even feel things that deeply. She didn’t know how old Ilea was, just like she didn’t know how old the cat before her might be, but they were old, decades older than they looked, and surely a creature that long livèd would not care for something as petty as a mere witch’s lifespan.
