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“Wonderful job,” they murmur. “Remember too that there are objects not present that could also tap into your powers—solar magic, astral magic, and numeric magic are just a few. Your homework assignment is to write a paper on your specific magical affinities and how you think they interact with your magic. Due next Friday.”

With that, they dismiss me. And now I’m left to wonder what I’m supposed to do with a power that likes dirt and rocks, clay and water, but not plants. Or herbs.

Or bread.

I mean, what sort of twisted magic doesn’t like motherfuckingbread?

It’s only as I’m nearly home that I realize there was a very obvious life-giving item not present, one my instructor did not address at all.

Flesh.

Blood and bone can produce life-giving magic just as much as plants and dried herbs can. They also happen to tease that line between light magic and dark.

As I head for the residence hall, I can’t help wondering if my power isn’t as cold and lifeless as I think it is.

Perhaps it does like life-giving items. Perhaps it hungers for something that comes from the soil and returns to it, something more substantive than plants. Something that grows and dies.

Something that bleeds.

But I’ll never find out one way or another. Blood magic is forbidden.

CHAPTER19

Havinga familiar is creating some problems.

Besides the most obvious problem, which is that loose panthers make even witches nervous, there’s the fact that feeding a big cat is expensive, especially for a broke girl like me.

I mean, technically, Nero is often out in the surrounding forest hunting wild game—I try not to shudder at the thought—but that comes with its own issues. For instance, he may be doing so on lycanthrope territory, and that could have potentially catastrophic fallout. Not to mention that in the meantime, Nero would be poaching off them.

It’s all one massive headache, and it’s just easier if I can get him food from the butcher.

So I have to get a job.

I look at the bulletin board hanging in the hallway to the left of my house’s main staircase. Pinned to it are several job listings. I stare at them all like they’re the Holy Grail.

Before I lived here, I couldn’t land a single one of these jobs. Each one required a coven-affiliated witch, which I wasn’t at the time.

Now, however, I can do any of them—assuming they hire me.

I scan the listings. Someone wants a witch to enchant five years off their face. Another one wants a cleaning spell placed on their house. Still another is for some undisclosed need, but it’s printed on fancy card stock, which makes me think whoever posted it has money to spend.

Money I could definitely use, especially since I learned earlier today that the amulet I remade for Wards didn’t earn me that sought-after apprenticeship.

I jot down the number for each job post. Personally, I’m not sure I could lift five years from a toad, let alone a person, nor do I know a satisfying cleaning spell (my old apartment was proof of that). But I’m willing to learn, so long as it gets me a few extra dollars.

Another witch steps up to the bulletin board, looking at the listings. “There are never enough postings here, in my opinion,” she says.

I make a noise of agreement, even though what do I know? I’m new here.

The witch turns to me, and the first thing I notice about her is how white her teeth are. White and straight. Then it’s her perfectly arched brows and the way her hair falls in orderly loose waves. Witches are often striking in one way or another. Whether that’s a long nose, a short frame, odd eyes, frizzy hair, generous curves, an addled mind, a long face, a prominent birthmark, or—in this witch’s case—some pleasing symmetry.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” she asks.

“Not really,” I say, turning my attention back to the bulletin board. Technically, I’m looking for something easy, but I’ll settle for what’s available.

“So just short on cash?” she says.

I hesitate, then glance back over at the witch next to me.