Dis-Encouragment

Then Emory's eyes widen because Walker is at her coven house and she grabs his arm, her black painted nails digging into his tanned skin, and she pulls him inside before closing the window. She draws her curtains closed and spin around to gape at him.

"What are you doing here?" She whispers, the sound high with panic. Her gaze darts to the unlocked bedroom door and she can hear her coven sisters talking in the hall right outside. "If my Priestess catches you I'll -"

Walker cuts her off by placing his several degrees hotter hand against her mouth. She accidentally licks him since she was in the middle of talking, and her face bursts into flames. His palm is ridiculously soft for a dragon shifter who hasn't shifted. Yet.

Like Emory, Walker has trouble with his magic. He can breathe fire, and he can unsheath his claws, but he can't fully shift. Just like Emory can't get a grip on her damn magic because of her curse. They're alike in that way. She guesses that's why they're so close.

However, he doesn't like to talk about it. Emory doesn't know a lot about Walker, really. She knows he's an orphan like she is. However, where Emory has a coven of witches to care for her, Walker doesn't have a hoard of dragon shifters to guide him with his. She doesn't know if he has anyone at all. She doesn't know where he goes at night to lay his head, and sometimes she lays awake wondering about it. If he's okay or not.

No matter how curious or obsessive with it Emory becomes, though, she doesn't ask him. Sometimes big things that has shaped a person without a choice is better left unsaid. Or until he's ready to share. Sometimes it makes her think he doesn't trust her enough yet, but then she shrugs it off. Because one day he will. So she hasn't asked much.

"Relax!" He grins, blood red hair flopping into his eyes. He pulls his hand away from her mouth and she steps back. "You're finally going to summon your faemiliar, I can't miss that for anything."

Emory's heart melts, and she tries her best not to show it. She doesn't know when she started to see Walker as someone who could be more than a friend, but she's been trying to shut it down and quickly. He can never know, and she can never act on it. He is he only friend, even in her coven of witches, where she's supposed to feel like she belongs, only she doesn't.

"I don't even know if I can. Or if I will." Emory says, her doubts coming back in full force from before he scared her through her window.

"Hey," He puts his hands on her shoulders and leans forward until they're eye level, "You got this! You've been practicing for this for forever. I believe in you, but the most important thing for you, is to believe in yourself." He gives her a small but firm shake.

Emory sucks in a small breath, his nose inches from hers and as she stares into his crimson eyes, she start to think he really means it.

Her lips split into a smirk as she snorts at his cheesy words, this is why he's her best friend. Because even though it's cheesy, she knows he completely means it. She'd have given up on herself a long time ago, but he continues to encourage her. She gives him a big smile and press her face into his chest as she hugs him.

"Thanks, Walker." Emory huffs. She steps away and steels herself as she closes the door behind her. He's right. She's been practicing her summoning spell for her faemiliar ever since Priestess Promilia taught them how.

Emory knows the symbol that has been engraved into her head, the words she needs to chant. All she needs to do, is do it.

***

In a large room, Emory sits on the floor in the middle of her drawn summoning circle. It took her three days to get it engraved into the basement floor, to make sure it was blemish free.

She sucks in a breath as she examines her white lines once more. Everything has to be perfect, no smudges of paint, no imperfections such as dirt or dust. Anything out of place, or if she messes up her enchantment, then she would have to start all over again. And if she does that, she fears her High Priestess will give up on her for sure.

The back of her neck burns with heat, and goosebumps rise on her bare skin. Sucking in a small breath, Emory peaks over her shoulder just in time to see Bexie roll her eyes. The rest of her coven watch on beside her, most with matching expressions of ire. The High Priestess stands at the end of the crowd, near the door as if she can't wait for this to be over. Her aging white hair is pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head, her glasses sitting on the top of her nose. Her green eyes squint through them, and she gives Emory a tight smile, which she's sure is meant to encourage her but it only makes her shrink into herself.

Facing forward once more, Emory let's out an exhale and rest her palms loosely on her knees before beginning her chant.

"Athse helāseth mōn vēxate," Her voice is strong as it projects through the large basement. She repeats the phrase of words twice more and waits.

There's a moment of awkward silence, Emory's eyes glued to the circle that surrounds hers. Then there's a small surge of energy that heats the air in the room and for a moment she thinks she did it. Emory summoned her faemiliar, her fae companion that is connected to her spirit.

But then the energy fizzes out, as if it had been sucked dry in an instant and nothing happens.

The weight of dozens of stares glaring at her has sweat beading down her forehead. Her brows furrow in concentration. There's no way that's it. A small sound of desperation escapes her and Emory closes her eyes, pushing away the thought of her coven sisters laughing at her. Because they will start laughing.

Please, dear fae on the other side of this summons, give me a chance. I plead to the spirit realm, to the fae realm, anyone that can just give me a stroke of luck!

"How much longer do you think we'll have to wait?" The obnoxious whisper is too loud to be anything but obvious. Emory's eyebrow twitches as she cringes, because of course Bexie would be the first to start it all. Her would be nemesis if Emory could actually control her magic. Bexie is the bane of her existence.

"Has anyone told the High Priestess what a waste of time this is?" Another whisper, and Emory resists the urge to cry.