Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

WREN

M y hands curl around the bone china, the thin cup doing almost nothing to protect the skin of my fingers from the heat of the near-boiling tea. A rose petal bobs at the surface, a lavender bud following in its wake from where they've escaped the copper tea strainer.

I close my eyes, inhaling the aroma deeply, trying to ground myself in this moment, with this tea I've been saving for just this occasion.

The letter sits atop a lace napkin on the table beside me, all of which shakes nervously with the rhythm of my leg jangling against the floor. Closed with a red wax seal embossed with a diamond sigil that makes my heart beat all the faster.

The mark of the Enchanter's Lapidary and Metalsmithing Guild.

"Only the premiere organization for jewelry enchanters," I tell Fenn. He's curled up on the hearth, the embers of this morning's fire still burning softly in the grate.

Fenn ignores me, as he usually does, his fluffy red tail flicking slightly in annoyance at the fact I've had the audacity to disturb his nap.

Having a nocturnal familiar can be incredibly trying.

"Maybe I should go next door and open the letter with Piper there," I muse.

It's not talking to yourself if your familiar is around. That's an unwritten rule of witchery, I'm sure of it.

This time, though, Fenn raises his fluffy red head and blinks slowly at me.

"You think that would be a good idea?" A shoulder to cry on or a friend to celebrate with—either way, Piper will know the perfect thing to say.

If it's another rejection, I can get a cupcake.

If the guild has finally come to their senses and decided to extend me an offer of membership, I can also get a cupcake.

Either way, there is a frosted confection in my future, and that heartens me. A little, at least.

Mostly, though, I'm a bundle of nerves and excitement and trepidation.

"Do you want to come with me?" I ask Fenn.

He lets out a whiny yip in response, then bundles closer into himself.

"It's an early morning for me, too," I say, amused at my little fox familiar's annoyance at me.

We keep late hours, in general, working the shop below our snug apartment in the late mornings for the few customers that come through my doors. In-person clientele are rare, brought in by the little word of mouth that gets out of Wild Oak Woods into the larger world, though we do a bustling mail-order business that keeps the lights on and food on the table.

Fenn and I have spent many lazy afternoons together, leafing through spell books in the sun-soaked window seats and slowly going through the massive inventory left to me by the former owner of Witchwork's Jewelry. Evenings and late nights are best for spellwork and crafting enchanted rings, the highest in demand, and he's there with me too, watching and lending energy where he can, my little magic fox battery and companion.

"It's a good life we have," I tell Fenn, and it is—I know I'm lucky. I know it.

But it's a lonely life, despite the network of witches in town, my new friends. I love my work, but without the recognition from the damned guild…

I sigh, tracing my finger over the wax seal.

Fenn yips again, not even bothering to move his tail.

"I'll bring you back something," I tell him. My teacup rattles on its saucer as I set it down, gone cold while I brooded.

Fenn whines, my vocal little familiar voicing his strong fox opinions.

"Two somethings," I amend. He rewards me by fluffing his tail and curling up into an even tighter ball.

I raise an eyebrow and huff a laugh, stuffing the letter in the pouch on the belt around my favorite green linen dress.

It takes no time at all to lock the door to my little apartment, the heavy key hanging on a long chain around my neck, and I make my way down the back stairs, avoiding going into the storefront at all, as if walking by my spare jewelry displays will jinx the contents of the letter.

My pulse picks up as the morning sun caresses my skin, and I slip into the back of The Pixie's Perch, dodging the grumpy troll line chef who grunts at me in annoyance as I squeak through the door into the bustling dining room.

The bakery counter has a line that winds out the front door, full of perfect pastries in shades of pastel.

The morning rush.

"There she is," Piper crows in delight, her pretty brunette hair tied back in a complex crown of braids. A pink ribbon's laced through it, and she looks perfectly in place here, in her domain, surrounded by sweets and pastries chock-full of magical effects.

Muttering niceties, I squeeze through the crowd to the table she stands at.

"Oh," I say, my heart fluttering.

They're all here. Well, most, at least, of the witches of Wild Oak Woods, gathered around the table with expectant expressions. A three-tiered treat stand overflows with chocolate-filled pastries and tiny sandwiches, a pot of steaming coffee on a quilted pad next to it.

"You're all here."

Piper cringes slightly before bestowing me with a wide smile. "We knew you might need us." She takes a pink frosted cupcake from the stand and places it on a thin china plate embellished with deer and flowers, and I swallow hard as she slides it in front of the chair.

"Sorry," Rosalina says, her hands twisting anxiously in her long brown hair. "Squeak told me you had big news coming." The mouse in question, her familiar, pokes its whiskered nose from Rosalina's apron pocket. "We thought it would be best if we were here for you."

I look around at the five witches, my friends, and my heart aches.

"Thank you," I say softly, sinking into the empty seat at the table. "This is…"

"We're your friends, like it or not," Nerissa says crisply.

Willow snorts at the spellsmith's customary bluntness, but the healer squeezes my hand across the table. "There's no magic like?—"

"If you say the power of friendship, I will throw a cucumber sandwich at you," Nerissa tells her sourly, flipping her blue-black hair over one shoulder.

"I was going to say the power of a coven, but you interrupted me." Willow glares at her.

"We're not a coven," Rosalina cautions. "You shouldn't say that. You never know who's listening. We would have to have a charter, and get approval, and sanctioned, and?—"

"Squeak is probably listening," Nerissa interrupts, jerking her head at the whiskers still sticking out of Rosalina's pocket. "We all know the biggest gossip here is the one who gets it from the rest of our familiars."

Squeak pops more fully out, chittering angrily at Nerissa.

I snort in amusement, which draws everyone's attention back to me.

"Well, open it," Piper urges, making a hurry-up motion with a flour-dusted hand.

I fish the envelope from the pouch on my belt, straightening a slightly crumpled corner. My heart seems to stand still in my chest, my anxiety ramping up.

"I didn't plan on reading this in front of an audience," I tell them grimly.

"It could be a yes," Piper says. That's Piper, though—she's unfailingly positive no matter what. The pink ribbon trailing from her hair bobs as she nods in agreement with herself.

Nerissa shoots me a look of understanding, and that, more than anything, tightens my throat. Nerissa is more than a spellsmith—she dabbles in darker shadow magic, in things Piper and the rest of us wouldn't dream of touching.

She has what my mother would have called ‘the knowing,' and right now, I'm not sure I like that about her at all.

The envelope tears slightly as I pull away the red wax seal, and the breath whooshes out of me as I read it quickly.

Dear Ms. Wren Tierson,

We regret to inform you that your application to the Enchanter's Lapidary and Metalsmithing Guild has, yet again, been denied. We have, in fact, made note of all eleven of your failed applications, and while your work is impressive for a witch who has been cast out from their coven, we would be ill-advised to accept such an applicant.

We wish you well in your pursuits, and if you would like to purchase additional correspondence courses and materials, we are more than happy to provide them.

Best wishes,

The Enchanter's Lapidary and Metalsmithing Guild

"Well?" Rosalina prompts, the mouse in her pocket staring at me with glossy black eyes. "What does it say?"

"By the crone," Nerissa says crabbily, "use your eyes. She's been rejected again."

I want to glare at Nerissa, but the pretty raven-haired witch is entirely right. I settle for staring at my hands instead.

"They said not to apply again. Pretty much." My throat is tight, and I can barely force the words out. I pour myself a cup of black coffee, wishing I'd stayed upstairs in my little apartment where I could snuggle Fenn and cry in privacy.

"What?" Piper's face is astounded, her eyes wide and mouth a thin line of annoyance. "How dare they?"

"They don't want an outcast." The word is bitter on my tongue. "Without a coven, they won't even look at my application."

Nerissa glares daggers at the open letter before me. I drink the coffee just to have something to do, and it's too hot and strong and overwhelming after the bad news.

My shoulders sag in disappointment, and I fight the wave of self-pitying tears that threaten. "I needed this," I say, flapping the letter at the four witches in front of me. "I need to be in their good graces."

I set my jaw, more obsessed than ever with getting into the goddess-damned guild one way or another.

"I'll figure out a way in," I grind out. "I'll be so good they can't ignore me."

Piper gives me a bleak look. "You're already the best enchantress we've seen."

"That's not saying much," Nerissa snarks.

Willow laughs again, but the healer watches me carefully. "We could start our own coven. Then you could try again."

I shake my head, mustering a placating smile that doesn't stretch to my eyes. "You know no one wants anything to do with me. The Elder Council won't touch anything I'm a part of. Not after…" I trail off, and the rest of the women around the table pick up the conversation, discussing how, exactly, they could begin their own coven here in Wild Oak Woods.

I stew in my thoughts and pick at the cupcake in front of me, Piper's signature pleasure spell woven into the frosting hardly touching my black mood.

Until the door of The Pixie's Perch blows open, a gust of chilly air sending the chimes above it tinkling. The five of us whip our attention to it, the faint fingers of magic sending the hair on the nape of my neck upright.

A birch-branch broom just inside the pastry shop falls to the black and white tiled floor with a clatter, and I jump.

"Change is on the wind," Nerissa says darkly. "Company is coming."

Piper and Willow exchange a look, concern furrowing their brows.

The preternatural stillness vanishes as suddenly as it arrived, and the whole of The Pixie's Perch seems to shake itself as business resumes at the same fever pitch like nothing happened.

Something happened, though.

Change is on the wind.