Page 7

I set the bottle down and pull out my notebook before reading over the two requirements I scribbled down back at Henbane.

It’s the second one that’s going to give me hives.

Get a familiar.

I drink half the bottle of wine while I ponder how the fuck I’m going to do this. It’s not as though I haven’t alreadytried. The thing is, a familiar isn’t just any animal. It’s a particular creature whose spirit resonates with your own and literally binds itself to you. Supposedly, familiars are the ones who find their witches, but that hasn’t happened to me yet, and I’m increasingly skeptical that it will happen anytime soon.

Okay, screw number two for now. I take another swig of the bottle, feeling the first stirrings of a buzz. I’ll focus on the other requirement, the magic quest.

Every witch has to participate in one of these quests. The idea is you go out into nature, connect with your magic on a deep, spiritual level, and then you write about your experience. In theory, it’s supposed to be life changing, but now that it’s a requirement for coven membership, it’s been cheapened and commodified.

But whatever, the coven wants me to give them an exciting quest?

Fine.

I open an airline site, musing over where exactly I should go. I’m sure the admissions board believes an exciting quest begins with an unusual destination.

Siberia? The Kalahari Desert? The Gobi Desert? I could go to the North Pole, ride a narwhal, and call it a day.

Only, when I scroll through international fares, everything is sodamnedexpensive. My god. I’d need to sell a kidney to afford the airfare alone.

Oh, wait. They have deals on flights under this little tab.

I click it.

Oklahoma City—that’s…hmmm. Could I make that work?

Nah, probably not.

I filter the results to just international flights and begin looking again.

Reykjavík—don’t they have natural hot springs? Sounds nice.

Venice—I don’t know. Itseemsmagical, but not in any sort of wild, natural way.

London. Paris. Athens.

I rub my head. All these are faraway destinations, but none of them fit the bill.

I take another swig of wine. Perhaps tonight is not the night.

I’ll sleep on it and hopefully come up with something tomorrow.

* * *

“Great Goddess’s left tit.”

I stare at the receipt for the nonrefundable plane ticketsandthe nonrefundable cruise I booked to the Galapagos Islands.

I mean, high-five drunk Selene for finding a destination I would legitimately love to visit.

But also, what in the actual fuck, drunk Selene?

Acruise? How did we even afford this?

One look at my credit card alerts me that we didnot, in fact, afford this. Drunk Selene simply decided that future Selene would have to figure it out.

I spend a good ten minutes trying not to hyperventilate.