Layla blinked rapidly, trying to blink the expanding fireball out of existence. But it grew and grew as Lizeth cradled it in her hands. Layla found herself suddenly yelping in alarm and stumbling back when Lizeth bounced it up and down like it was a rubber ball, but the other women were taking it in stride.

Layla couldn’t believe it. There was no such thing as magic…right? But if that was true, how was Lizeth doing what she was doing? Was it some sort of illusion?

The thought disappeared when a spark jumped to a bush outside the house and flared into a small flame. Rose was ready; she sprayed it with the fire extinguisher, putting it out at once.

“I think that’s enough,” Sophie said firmly, her eyes on Layla. The ball of fire abruptly vanished, leaving Lizeth staring blankly into space, as though in a trance.

“What—what was that?” Layla stammered.

“A simple fire spell. You’re a witch, Layla,” she added gently. “We can help you. Come in. Please.”

The spell might have convinced Layla that they were telling the truth about being witches, but it certainly hadn’t allayed any of her fears. If they wanted to hurt her, they could probably do it with their eyes closed. Still, they had rescued her, and it seemed they weren’t crazy. Layla was curious.

Her better judgment still told her to run for the hills, but despite herself, she followed Sophie inside.

Damaris stayed next to Lizeth, who remained frozen and staring into space.

“What’s wrong with her?” Layla asked.

“Nothing to worry about,” Damaris said cheerfully. “We all get side effects from casting magic. She’ll be fine in a few minutes. She’s completely unaware, though, so it’s best to have someone stay with her to keep her safe until she comes back to herself.”

Layla’s head was spinning with everything she was hearing. She let Sophie lead her inside and sit her down on the couch in what appeared to be a spacious living area.

“You must have questions,” Sophie said. Rose went off into what she guessed was the kitchen while Sophie remained with Layla. “You can ask me anything.”

“How?” Layla asked blankly. “How am I a witch?”

“It’s passed on from mother to daughter, though it sometimes skips a generation.”

“Why wouldn’t my mother have told me?”

Sophie’s expression darkened. “I don’t know. How any mother could let her daughter turn eighteen without warning her…it’s despicable. Some witches were afraid of their power in medieval times, when they were hunted and killed. Now, though, there’s no reason. Someone—your mother, grandmother, or even further back than that, maybe—must have turned her back on being a witch and not told her own daughter. I can’t imagine that your mother knows and wouldn’t have told you.”

“What do you mean about turning eighteen?”

“Your powers manifest when you come of age. You need training to learn to control them. Young witches often cause accidents when they get emotional. That’s why it’s such an important time. Most mothers take their daughters somewhere remote, where there isn’t a lot to destroy, to start teaching them.”

Layla felt an unexpected wave of grief that was far more powerful than the shock she’d been feeling. It came back to her mother not caring for her, as it always did. She imagined having a mother who actually cared about her, one who looked after her, taking her to a safe place and teaching her about her birthright. Maybe Sophie read some of this on her face, because she put a hand on Layla’s arm.

“You’re going to be fine. We’ll teach you. I’d love for you to stay with us.”

Layla nodded. These women were like her. It only made sense for her to accept their offer—at least until she got another job and could afford to rent somewhere.

“I don’t want to destroy your house, though. I try to be careful, but accidents keep happening…”

Sophie laughed lightly. “Don’t worry about that. You’re not the first young witch this coven has trained. Rose is sorting everything out.”

Layla glanced over to see that Rose was no longer in the kitchen.

“She’s setting wards,” Sophie explained. “Accidents will keep happening for a while, until you can control your powers better. Don’t worry about it—we all understand. The wards should protect all of us, as well as the house.”

“What if she goes into a trance while going down the stairs or something and falls? Isn’t it dangerous?”

“We all have different side effects. Rose is why we have such thick carpets in here and why she always wears a hat, to soften the blow to her head if she falls. See how we don’t have any framed paintings on the walls? If Rose does something wrong with a spell, even a small thing, she suffers terrible pain, and usually falls. We’ve made sure to remove what’s most likely to hurt her.”

“That sounds terrible! Should she really be setting the wards?”

“She’ll be careful. Besides, wards are quite simple spells. I’ll hear her scream if something goes wrong.”

More and more, Layla couldn’t help thinking that magic sounded like a curse more than anything. Trances, excruciating pain? What would she have to face?

“What’s your side effect? What will mine be?”

“I get exhausted and need to rest when casting a spell. Damaris only has a certain amount of magic, which resets about every twenty-four hours, so if she uses it all up and something urgent comes up, she’ll be helpless.

“I don’t know about yours. It’s different for everyone, Layla. Until we find out what your stipulation is, you’ll need to be very careful about casting spells. Most of the work we do will be to help you hold back your magic rather than use it.”

Layla was all right with that. She’d never asked for any of this. Sure, her life hadn’t been great, but she’d been human, at least, with the same potential as everyone else to change her situation for the better. Now? She didn’t know what she could or couldn’t do. She supposed she could learn to control her magic and just go on with her normal life without ever using it, though.

Sophie brought her back out of her troubled thoughts. “There’s something else you should know. We’re all immortal. You’ve aged normally until now, but now that you’re of age, your aging will be dramatically slowed. I’m nearly a hundred years old—still young for a witch. Damaris is over three thousand years old; she’s one of the oldest witches around.”

Layla gaped; this seemed like the craziest thing of all. Sophie didn’t look more than a few years older than her, and she’d have guessed that Damaris was no older than thirty.

“What do you do? For all that time?” She couldn’t possibly imagine herself living on and on for thousands of years. Would she go to college multiple times? Learn every language on the planet? The thought was daunting. How would she feel, a hundred years from now, when she still looked like she was in her early twenties?

“Most of us work on our magic. The limitations are rough, but over time, with practice, they can be improved a little. When Damaris was young, she had enough magic per day to cast eight small spells, or one big one. Now, she can cast one big one and one small one, or nine small ones.”

“In three thousand years?”

“Yeah, it’s a long process. I’ve been working on trying to reduce the time I need to recover, but even if I work on it for hours every day, I won’t start seeing a difference until I’m at least a thousand.”

“You’re overwhelming her,” Rose said, coming to sit beside Layla. “Lay off.”

“Are you okay?” Layla asked.

“Believe me, if I’d had an accident, you would know.”

Layla did feel overwhelmed, but she still had questions. “How did you find me tonight? It seems too much of a coincidence that you just happened upon me.”

“You’re right; it wasn’t a coincidence. We were patrolling the area, and Damaris sensed you. Once you get more advanced, you’ll be able to sense magic in others. We thought we’d come by just to say hello. There aren’t that many of us, you know? And it’s always nice coming across another sister. We only realized you were in trouble when we were much closer.”

“A sister?”

“It’s just what we call other witches. Covens are close, like families. Most of us had human friends for a while, but after they died, making more didn’t seem worth it. No one else can truly understand us, our powers, and what we go through.”

Well, at least that won’t be a problem for me.

“What about you?” Rose asked. “Tell us more about yourself. What happened that left you on your own?”

Layla had known this was coming, and she didn’t feel right avoiding the question—not when they’d been so open and honest with her.

“My father left before I was born. My mother’s an alcoholic, so I could never really rely on her for anything. I was working, trying to save up for college, but I got fired because of all the accidents that kept happening around me. My mother found out and got mad. She kicked me out.”

Rose looked sympathetic, while Sophie looked disgusted. “How could any mother do that?” she hissed.

Rose put a hand on Sophie’s shoulder and murmured something quietly to her. Sophie took a deep breath. “Sorry, Layla. My mother…she was murdered. Mothers are just an emotional topic for me.”

Rose leaned forward, ready to change the subject before Layla could find a response. “Well, college won’t be a problem,” she said brightly. “Once you learn to use your magic, that’ll be all the income you need.”

“What about the side effects?”

“It’s not too bad as long as you’re careful. You’ll learn how best to manage yours over time.”

“Do you know anything about your father, Layla?” Sophie asked.

“No, nothing. My mom would never speak about him. If being a witch is passed down through the female line, he would just be an ordinary human, right?”

Sophie and Rose exchanged a look. “For the most part, yes, but not in your case.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how I told you that witches can sense magic in others? We can also sense other magical beings—demons, vampires, werewolves, succubae, that sort of thing. I can’t tell you what your father was, but I can tell you that you’re what we call a halfling. You’re half witch, half something else.”

Layla shook her head, leaning back into her chair. She wasn’t even normal among a group of witches? She felt like she wanted to burst into tears.

Just then, Damaris and Lizeth walked in.

“Anything good?” Sophie asked.

“I doubt it. I just saw you sitting and explaining things to Layla—it’s probably over already.”

“Lizeth’s visions are always true, but they’re not always useful,” Sophie told Layla.

Lizeth snorted. “‘Not always’ is pushing it. For the most part, they’re useless. Most of the time, knowing the future makes no difference. It’s just coincidence when you see something that you benefit from knowing in advance.”

The oven pinged, and Rose got up to get it. The smell of roasted chicken wafted over, and Layla suddenly realized how hungry she was.

“Chicken sandwiches, anyone?”

The others got up, and Layla followed them uncertainly.

“We’ve been out all night, so this is supper for us, but there’s breakfast cereal in the cupboard if you want some.”

“That’s all right,” Layla told Damaris. “I’d love a sandwich.”

The others started chatting amicably as Layla followed them to a large table. Damaris sat next to her, handing her a plate with a chicken sandwich on it. Layla wolfed it down and greedily drank the glass of water Damaris handed her.

“Sophie, you’ve been starving the poor girl; what kind of hostess are you?”

Layla blushed. She didn’t want to make any trouble. Sophie just laughed. “I guess I’ll have to make up for that. There’s a pad on the fridge, Layla. Write down anything you want, and I’ll get it the next time I make a grocery run.”

“No, you don’t need to,” Layla said quickly. “I can buy my own stuff.”

“Nonsense—that’s not necessary. You’ve just lost your job, remember? There will be plenty of time for you to contribute once you’ve learned to use your powers, but there’s no rush. We get good prices for our spells, as you can imagine.”

Layla really didn’t feel comfortable living off these women, but she didn’t want to argue, either. She resolved to go and buy some food for everyone as soon as she could.

At first, she felt awkward, not knowing what to say, but surprisingly, the emotion faded quickly. The conversation flowed easily, and the others made a constant effort to include her. Lizeth finally persuaded her to tell them about some of the accidents that had happened at work, and they roared with laughter about the exploding beer.

“Served him right,” Damaris chuckled. “Once you can control your magic, I’ll teach you some more subtle forms of revenge.”

Layla felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. In hindsight, maybe it had been a little funny. And she was amazed at how easy these women were to talk to. She felt included and…liked. It was the strangest feeling.

The chatter was broken off when Sophie’s phone rang. She answered at once.

“Hello? What?”

There was silence while the person on the other side talked, but Sophie suddenly looked grave, and the others were watching her intently, their eyes wide with worry. Sophie said very little, but the conversation was strained and terse. When she finally hung up, she looked around at the other witches, seeming to communicate something to them without words.

“A situation has come up,” she said to Layla. “We need to go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t explain now. Just stay here, okay? Don’t leave. That’s important, Layla, do you understand? For your own safety, do not leave this house.”

Layla was scared now; she couldn’t help it, given what had happened and the looks on these women’s faces. Sophie and the others hadn’t shown a hint of fear when confronting those men, but now they all looked beyond alarmed.

She didn’t have time to ask any questions, though. They all hurried out the door, leaving Layla alone with her fears.

“Be careful,” she whispered after them, knowing they couldn’t hear her. She’d just met them, but she somehow already cared about them. She just hoped everything was all right. From Sophie’s expression, she didn’t think it was.