Chapter 1

1

The brown paper bags full of groceries crinkled in Travis’s arms as he walked down the dirt road to home. Thoughts of the Grand Council of High Magick and a seventh summon for Reckless Use of Magick and Vigilantism and today’s trial weighed heavy on his mind. He really hadn’t been worried, even if a guilty verdict held the chance of him being arrested. It went fine, of course—it always did—but he was glad to get it over and done with, and he’d be happy just to get home where he could brew some hazelnut soup. If he didn’t get talked into making fish, anyway. Again.

Travis smiled when the chimney first peeked through the tops of the trees. The cottage was always a welcoming sight. The sight of home always made his chest fill with something warm and right. The home Travis grew up in with his late mother wasn’t located on a heavily populated or well-traveled road. It wasn’t large and didn’t boast with ostentatious arrogance, but Travis always thought it was filled with rustic charm, tucked in the backwoods of Kings County. It had always been a simple and quaint home, with its sloping straw roof and cobblestone chimney rising out of the middle of it. Made of thick clay—yellow, Mama’s favorite color—and large windows that let the sun in from dawn to dusk, it was the sort of place that felt approachable day and night. With its creaky, wooden floorboards and built-in bookshelves overflowing with books from spellbinding to conjuring to potions, it was the perfect spot for holding a magick gathering.

Which was good. As one of the county’s only witches without a Guild, Travis made a point to keep his house neat and clean and welcoming. He wanted people to feel comfortable coming to him for potions and spells and charms. Without being a part of any local Guild, Travis could set his prices lower and provide his services for those who couldn’t afford them from members of the more expensive Guilds.

Noticing that the daffodils in his garden at the start of the stone walkway were beginning to wilt, Travis waved his hand over them. Warmth rushed through his fingers as his magick ran through them and into the flowers. The blossoms slowly bloomed again as Travis’s magick unspooled from him and breathed life back into them.

A charge formed between him and the flowers now—a silky, opulent sensation that belonged to the magick of all witches. It lingered for a moment or two as their energies mixed together. As an elemental witch, most of Travis’s magick drew a strong connection to the four main elements—earth, air, fire, water—and as he continued down the stone walkway, the feeling stretched like cotton candy until it finally eased apart from him completely.

Travis’s shoes clacked on the path that led right up to the stone steps of his cottage where a small, calico cat was curled up on the top one, napping in the sun.

Stopping, Travis allowed a bit of his own magick to weave through the air, sifting through the ley lines, the currents of natural energy that crossed throughout the world. He pushed. Searched. Found his wards still very much in place so nothing too exciting could have happened around here while he’d been gone. Travis continued for the door.

After just a few more steps, the cat’s right ear twitched with Travis’s approach. Before Travis got any closer, his eyes opened. Left one first, then the right, and then those bright, striking green eyes remained alert and watched Travis as he came to the door.

“What happened?” Travis asked as he fished his ring of keys out of the deep pocket of his purple trousers. “Did you lock yourself out?”

The cat didn’t quite roll his eyes, but Travis could see the hint of that eye roll as he quickly shook his head and arched his back in a long, drawn-out stretch. He licked his lips and sat straight, tail curled around his paws. He waited for Travis to balance the grocery bags while trying to fit the iron key into the keyhole of the front door.

At first glance, the cat looked like any of the strays roaming around the ever-busy streets of Kings County. Most people that caught a glimpse of him just saw a cat. Others took a longer look and saw the lovely calico patches of orange and black on his coat. Small in size and often mistaken for being under a year old, but worth a soft pet and a dish of food. After a closer look still, even someone with talent and experience might continue to be fooled. On rare—exceedingly rare—occasions, someone would stumble upon him and see him for what he was.

A familiar. A rare, magickal creature born in between the current of magick and the mortal world. Unlike other magickal creatures, a familiar’s magick was completely pure. And a pure source of magick was hard to come by.