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Nero walks at my side, and I’m so proud to have him there. I feel like he’s always belonged next to me, and getting to show him off in all his hulking, ferocious glory puts my magical insecurities to bed.

People won’t pity a witch who’s snagged a panther as a familiar. That’s the sort of bond that inspires respect—and maybe even a little fear. I wouldn’t entirely mind that, if I’m being completely honest.

The two of us cut past the lecture halls and the enormous three-story greenhouse, then head into the Everwoods, the forest surrounding the coven. I follow the distant sound of laughter and music, and for a moment, I pretend I belong here, that I know this campus the way I so desperately want to.

My phone vibrates against my cleavage, which is being used in lieu of a purse.

I pull my phone out, checking the text from Sybil.

Are you here yet? Do you need me to come meet you? We’re just past the greenhouse.

I hurriedly respond.

I’m all good. On campus now. I should be there soon.

A gust of wind kicks up, sending a violent shiver through me.

I rub my bare arms and glance over at Nero. “Are you cold, buddy?”

Nero’s eyes flick to me just long enough to make me feel like I asked an inane question.

“Fine, fine, forget I asked.”

My heels crunch fallen pine needles, and the smell of woodsmoke grows stronger. For a witch, that smell stirs something deep in the bones. This is the magic we’re made of—midnight fires and fog-shrouded forests.

The woods open to a clearing filled with dozens and dozens of supernaturals chatting, dancing, drinking, and laughing around bundles of dried cornstalks. Most of the women, I recognize from the coven, but there are some unfamiliar witches, as well as several lycanthropes as well. I take in the mages—the male equivalent of a witch—and the other lycans. Magic shimmers in the air above them, glittering off the light from the bonfire and the enchanted lanterns that float in the sky.

I’ve missed this.

I’ve spent the past year maneuvering the regular world filled with nonmagical humans and their nonmagical lives. I forgot how a gathering of supernaturals can make my blood thrum.

I hear a squeal, and then Sybil is running over to me, her drink sloshing in her hand, while her owl, Merlin, lifts off her shoulder where he’s been perched.

“There you are!” she calls, her long dark hair swaying behind her. “I was worried you wouldn’t show—” Sybil stops short, her eyes landing on Nero. “What in the Tiger King hell isthatthing?” she says, staring at him. Her own familiar glares at the panther; Merlin looks as put out as an owl can look.

Did I not tell her?

“This is my familiar, Nero.” I place a hand on Nero’s head, ruffling my panther’s fur perhaps a tad more aggressively than I need to.

In response, my familiar growls, probably because he’s aware I’m being an ass.

He and I have a love-hate relationship.

“Thatis your familiar?” she says, edging back a little. “I thought you said he was a cat.”

Nero gives me a long look, like I’ve disappointed him. But you know what? He’s the one who licks his own butt, so he has no grounds to be judgmental.

“Heisa cat,” I say defensively. “He’s just a really, really big one.”

“You think?” Sybil says. Her owl flaps his wings in agitation, clearly uncomfortable being this close to a panther. My friend looks equally uncomfortable, like she’s fighting her own instincts to flee from such a large predator. Not that she needs to worry about that. Familiars are fairly safe to be around. As an animal extension of myself, Nero will only attack another human if I command it or if it’s in defense of my life. Short of that, he’ll act in line with my values, and those don’t include maiming best friends.

After a moment, Sybil’s expression brightens. “Well, hey, there’s no way Henbane Coven can deny you now, not when you have a familiar likethat.”

Among witches, it’s commonly thought that the stronger the witch, the bigger and more powerful the familiar. And I am flattered and proud, and I feel redeemed for all the struggles I’ve faced. But as I glance down at Nero, I bite the corner of my lip. Talking about this has unlocked a whole new worry—that I may have more familiar than I can handle.

Nero certainly seems to think so.

After a moment, Sybil collects herself and links her arm through mine. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”