“Tell me,” she says now, “when you think of amulets, what comes to mind?” Her long white hair sways behind her as she walks.
Someone raises their hand, and she points to them. “A stone or pendant you wear around your neck.”
She nods. “Anyone else?”
Someone else calls out, “Signet rings.”
“Good, good,” Mistress Gestalt says. She stops. “What if I told you I was wearing ten different amulets? Do you think you could find them all?”
My eyes sweep over her. She wears a loose royal-blue dress cinched with an embroidered belt, a wrist full of colorful bangles, and leather sandals.
She pulls her hair away from her ear, showing off a copper earring with etched writing. She points to it. “This may be my most obvious example. But I should also tell you that the crowns on three of my teeth are marked with protective wards, and the belt has been embroidered with another spell.”
She points to a few of her bangles, a button at the top back of her dress, and a buckle on her sandals.
“Amulets do not need to be obvious or conventional—there are quite a few I’ve spelled over in the medical field—pacemakers, implants, dentures, and more.”
She spends the rest of the two-hour lecture going over the nuances of amulets and all the spells that can be placed on them. I write down notes on everything she says, determined not to miss a single detail.
A bell trills, marking the end of the class.
“Your instructor wants me to remind you all that your amulets will be due at the end of the week,” Mistress Gestalt calls out. “I myself will be looking them over. The witch who creates the most exquisite work will be offered a formal apprenticeship at my company, the Witch’s Mark.”
I gather my things alongside my classmates, my mind turning over the idea of an apprenticeship. Is that what I want? Eventually, I’ll have to specialize in some kind of magic. I wonder what a career that specializes in amulets would look like…
“Selene Bowers.”
I startle at the sound of Mistress Gestalt calling—and hell, simply knowing—my name. Of course, a name is easy enough to procure, if you’re a witch.
I glance over at her.
She gives me a soft smile, her light eyes a little vacant. “May I have a word?”
My gaze sweeps over the rest of the witches leaving the room. I don’t know what she could possibly want from me, unless it’s something I’ve forgotten.
After a moment, I nod. “Of course.” I make my way toward her.
“Good, good.” She grabs her notes from the podium and slips them into a bag at her feet.
My heart is picking up speed as I step up to her. I don’t even know why I’m nervous. I think it’s simply habit that makes me assume I’m being recognized for doing something wrong rather than, I don’t know, standing out for my amazing magical talent.
“It’s an odd form of witchcraft, yours,” Mistress Gestalt says as she zips up her bag.
I raise my eyebrows. She knows my brand of magic? I shouldn’t be surprised. Crones are especially sharp.
She straightens, and I catch sight of her unusual eyes.
“Incantatrix immemorata.” She overenunciates each word. “The unmentioned witch, whose magic devours her memories. Very peculiar. Very rare. I wonder why that is …”
My brows draw together; I’m taken aback by the fact she knows this about me. “That was just the way I was born.”
“Hmm…” Those light eyes scrutinize me, her body trembling a little. Though her magic is strong, her limbs seem light as a bird’s. “No, I don’t think it is.”
My gaze sharpens on hers. Now that I’m looking closely, I realize why her eyes look so unusual. There’s no pupil in either of them. Is she…blind?
“Who needs sight when the third eye sees all?” she says.
I recoil from her a bit.
Man, elderly witches are spooky. That really is when we come into our highest power.
“Selene, dear girl, you are being circled by vultures. Many eyes are on you. Some of them good, some of them bad, some a bit of both.”
“What?” I say, alarmed.
“Power is to be celebrated and feared. You have it in spades, but it is locked away. Find the key and use it. Don’t be a pawn when you’re a queen. No one commands a queen.”
I blink at her, and my hand twitches from the urge to write this all down before I can forget.
“I don’t…understand,” I say finally, tightening my hold on my bag.