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I let her drag me across the clearing, past the sparking bonfire and a fiddler playing some upbeat tune. Next to him is a harpist, though she’s currently leaning back on the fallen log she sits on, a drink in her hand, talking to a mage wearing the crest of Bladderwrack Grove, which is the local magical association for mages.

When the fiddler catches sight of Nero, he halts his song, watching my panther with wide eyes. And a nearby group of what must be shifters sniff the air as we pass them. The moment they trace the scent back to Nero, they go preternaturally still, their eyes turning luminous as their wolves peek out.

In fact, little by little, the party goes quiet. I’ve never had so much attention fixed on me at once. Though, technically, it’s not me everyone is looking at. Their eyes are trained on my panther.

Finally, someone shouts, “What in the seven hells is that?” The voice carries across the field.

My stomach roils as though I did something wrong. I don’t know why I feel this way. I’ve wanted people to recognize my worth as a witch for so long; apparently, I have no idea what to do now that they’re forced to.

I pause and place my hand on Nero’s head as I search the crowd for the voice. “This is my familiar.”

Somehow, the silence deepens; the only sounds are the crackling fire and the hiss from another witch’s familiar.

Then someone else says, “Man, that’s fucking dope as shit.”

A nearby witch laughs, and just like that, the tension eases out like air from a balloon.

Sybil grabs my hand once more and continues to pull me along as the rest of the party goes back to chatting.

“So,haveyou heard from the admissions committee yet?” Sybil asks as we make our way to a massive cauldron. Wildflowers grow thickly around its base, and steam drifts up from it.

I shake my head. “No,” I say softly, trying not to think about spending another year yearning to be part of the coven.

The two of us reach the cauldron, which is filled with a deep, plum-colored liquid. Herbs and dried flowers float on its surface, and white smoke drifts up from it.

Ah, witch’s brew. Exactly what I need to soothe my frayed nerves.

“Another drink already?” a nearby witch says to Sybil, pretending to be shocked. “Youlush!”

Sybil and the witch cackle together as Sybil helps herself to a drink and grabs me one as well.

The other witch’s eyes move to me, and I see recognition spark in them. “Hey,” she says, “you’re the girl from the plane crash, right?”

I take the cup Sybil hands me. “Um…yeah.”

In my mind’s eye, I see that indigo magic.

We were never meant to part…

“That’s so wild. I heard that the way the plane landed could’ve only been achieved by magic,” she says.

That’s news to me.

“Did you help land it?” she asks. The witch has a look in her eye, one that makes me a little nervous. I’ve hated being overlooked, but between Nero and now this, I’m pretty sure I hate the spotlight even more.

“I can’t remember,” I say because it’s the truth. My memory of the event was wiped.

Still, her words linger with me.

The way the plane landed could’ve only been achieved by magic.

The witch’s gaze moves to Nero, and I can practically see her next question.Did you find your familiar while you were there?

Before she can voice it, Sybil grabs me by the wrist and begins dragging me away. “We’ll be back for more brew soon!” my friend calls.

I give a helpless wave and follow her. “Are you going to stop manhandling me any time tonight?” I ask.

“Don’t pretend like you wanted to stick around to answer Tara’s questions,” Sybil says.