Chapter Text
“Okay,” I say to myself as I finish laying out the last of the ingredients. “Okay. This is good. I’m prepared.” Despite my words, I don’t feel very prepared — my stomach is in knots and I’m pretty sure that if anything goes wrong I’m going to shit myself. My hands tremble as I lift the first ingredient, powdered newt’s tail, over the bubbling cauldron in front of me. The light from my candles dim dramatically as I let the powder slip through my fingertips and scatter into the boiling liquid, which immediately belches out a pale yellow cloud. I lean forward and inhale as much of the gas as I can, gagging at the smell of rotten eggs. Then, with a still-shaking hand, I lift the book of rituals and begin to read the text aloud.
“From endless night to morning bright, bestow upon me a witch’s might,” I whisper. The potion is stirred clockwise four times, and then counterclockwise once before I grab another handful of powdered newt’s tail and toss it in. This time, the gas that’s expelled is a deep gray, and it lingers in the room, making the outlines of my few belongings hazy. The candles have yet to return to their normal level of brightness.
I reach down for the second of the seven ingredients and toss it in, watching as the liquid blooms into a milky white color. Instead of chanting anything, I close my eyes and try very hard to visualize why I needed these powers. Frustratingly, my mind stays blank, even as I try to picture my sixteen-year-old sister. It’s difficult to do considering I haven’t seen her in four years. Sadness irradiates in my chest, as I open my eyes, let out a sigh, and press my hands against the warmed belly of my cauldron.
I need this ritual and these powers desperately. If I can’t prove to that adventuring party that I’m worth a damn then they’ll fire me, but I don’t have any desire to finish this ritual for my own sake. The book was very clear — you had to come to this ritual with determination and a strong purpose in mind, or the patron wouldn’t listen to your call. I have the purpose down pat; I just need the determination. I just…
I grit my teeth. I wouldn’t even be considering this career path if it wasn’t for —
I shake my head and refocus. Now’s not the time to think about how much I dread this next part of my life. I have to convince this patron to sponsor me. With a steadier hand than before, I reach down and pick up the third ingredient to toss into the cauldron, followed swiftly by the fourth. The liquid doesn’t change, but it does spew out another noxious yellow gas that I reluctantly lean into and inhale. “Ugh!” I choke out, leaning away and retching slightly.
The candles in my room flicker. My head snaps up to look at them, and then I shoot an uneasy glance at the cauldron. If the ritual doesn’t work, then I’m screwed — I can’t prepare it again for a fortnight. I lay the open ritual book in my lap, clasp my hands under my chin, and close my eyes again. I can do this.
An intense presence settles in my room. Behind my eyelids, I see the dim light grow even dimmer. With a deep breath, I root around blindly for the final three ingredients and toss them in, making sure to hold my entire face over the pot as the next cloud of gas billows up. I cough through the cloud, then lean back and fumble for the small doll I made out of sticks. It presses jagged ends into my palms as I squeeze it.
“Oh patron,” I say, lifting the doll into the air as if I’m presenting it to the gods. Then I pause, trying to piece together the words I want to say next. “Look…I’m not good at this. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’m trying to protect my sister. That’s got to be worth something, right?” I tilt my head back, keeping my eyes closed. “She can’t lose her schooling because I couldn’t provide for her. So…please.” I grip the doll tightly, shaking it slightly, before hovering it over what I think is the cauldron and dropping it. It settles into the liquid with a soft splash.
For a few heart-stopping long seconds, nothing happens. I don’t move a muscle, even as sweat begins to drip down my forehead and streak over my cheeks. Suddenly, the wind outside picks up in a roar, and all the dimly lit candles in my room extinguish at once. I leap to my feet, eyes open and heart pounding in my chest, but the dark room is empty and silent. Outside, the wind dies down and silence falls heavily around me. I appear to be alone, but am I really? There’s a presence here, something supernatural that I can’t put my finger on. I feel like I’m being politely considered. With a dry tongue, I wet my lips and drop my hands to my sides.
“Hello?” I whisper. Nothing answers me, but after a few seconds I go on, “I can sense you. Please. Please help me.”
Still nothing, and the presence I feel fades away. It is becoming increasingly obvious that the ritual failed. Frustrated, I drop back to my knees and reach for the glass of water next to me so that I can douse the fire under the cauldron, but at my touch the clear liquid turns a murky brown. I lift it to my nose to smell it, and then rip it away with a gag when the worst smell I’ve ever encountered fills my lungs. Startled, I drop the glass and it shatters at my feet. “Fuck!” The sticky liquid from the glass spills over my toes and I leap backwards to get out of danger. “What in the nine hells?”
The water had putrefied at my touch. That’s never happened before. I run a hand through my hair, grip and tug on the strands a little. What is happening?
I clean up the glass, doing my best to avoid stepping on the shards. After the ground is glass-free, I open the window and start to air out the haze that still permeates my bedroom. Maybe I can start studying magic like a wizard? There might be a book or two of beginner magic in Vane’s library. Perhaps I can buy it off him and join the adventuring party that way. Just because plan A didn’t work doesn’t mean I’m out of options. I just have to be flexible.
There’s a real sense of disappointment that radiates throughout my entire body as I lie in my tiny bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s not like this was my last hope, but it was the option I desperately wanted to succeed. Without this, I’ll have to try twice as hard to be useful in a fight, and I’ll be at a real disadvantage opposed to the rest of the party. They might choose to rescind my offer now, and if that happens, I’m really screwed. If I can’t get Camille’s tuition covered…
This thought chases me into sleep. I wake with the dawn and begin my normal morning routine, sliding into my work clothes and popping a piece of bread onto a metal plate so it can bake. I reach down with my fire starter, but leap back and trip over my feet when the kindling sparks to life at my touch. I hit the ground hard and swear at the top of my lungs.
Breathing heavily, I stare at the bouncing fire in front of me. I know for a fact that I did not trigger my starter to light the kindling. So what did? It couldn’t have possibly been me that did it, right? I don’t have any magic. My heart rate picks up as I consider both of the options. Option one: I accidentally triggered the starter and just didn’t realize it. Option two: I set a fire using my finger. Which seems more reasonable? I know the ritual didn’t work, so I must have just triggered the starter by accident and didn’t realize it. I am a little groggy this morning anyway, so it’s not beyond the realm of possibilities.
It’s a weak excuse, but it’s the only one that makes sense, so I swallow back the feeling of discomfort and go on with my morning. Once the toast is finished, I swipe a spread of butter on it, and jam it into my mouth. The door swings open and I go to step outside, but there’s a small reptilian creature on my doorstep. I blink down at it, then go to nudge it aside with my foot.
“Shoo, shoo,” I say, nudging it a little and shifting my bag higher onto my back. It snorts, shakes its little head, and looks up at me. Impatient, I put a little more force into my shove. “C’mon, I don’t have time for this.”
“Oh, you’re going to be an interesting one,” it says in perfect common. I scream and kick it fully, tossing it about three feet away. “Ow. Nice to meet you too.” it snipes.
I blink down at it again, mouth agape. It takes several seconds before I’m able to piece together words. “What…what in the hells is happening?”
The little creature dusts itself off and rises to its feet. “You’re supposed to be my witch? You look pathetic.”
I bristle, stung by its words. Then I soften as they begin to sink in. “What do you mean I’m “your witch”? I’m not a witch.”
“Sure you are,” the little thing says with a snort. “You did the ritual, didn’t you?”
My breath catches in my throat as hope blooms in my chest. “You mean it worked? I have magic now?” Suddenly, the water putrefying last night and the fire from this morning make much more sense. That wasn’t just random happenstance — that was me practicing magic without knowing it. I stare down at my hands, then at the little creature. “I’m sorry I kicked you. You frightened me.”
“Whatever,” it says. “I’m a Compsognathus. I’m your new familiar.” It regards me with a look of disdain on its tiny reptilian face. “Not that I particularly want to be, but hey, duty calls.”
I shift my weight between one foot and the other, then glance up at the rising sun. If I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late opening Vane’s store, but I have about a thousand questions for this little creature. What does a familiar do? Does he have to follow me around everywhere? What kind of magic could I practice now, and how do I get better at it?
I must stare at the little creature for too long because it sneers at me and says, “God, I didn’t realize you’d be stupid. I’ve been a witch’s familiar for a long time and you’ve got the dumbest reaction so far.”
“Shut up!” I snap, patience thinning. “I didn’t even think the ritual worked. You’re a baby dragon that just showed up on my doorstep. I’m allowed to be a little shocked about this!” With a frustrated growl, I step over the Compsognathus and start my walk to Vane’s store. There are soft footsteps behind me as it follows me.
“Not a dragon,” it says. “Compsognathus. A dinosaur. You don’t pick up on things quickly, do you?”
I grit my teeth and do not respond, deciding to give the little creature the cold shoulder. If it wanted to be a jerk, then I could be a jerk back. We walk in silence for a few minutes before it bounces up and stares at me with its unsettling black eyes. “So, what’s your name? I should know who you are if I’m going to grant you magic.”
“Theo,” I reply shortly, not looking down. Then I pause and frown. “What do you mean “grant me magic”? Don’t I have it innately now?”
“Yes and no,” it says with a little shrug. “You practice magic without needing to study, but you don’t have any as long as I’m not around.” It gives me a very smug look. “That’s why you need me.”
“Joy,” I mutter. “Look, Compy —”
“Compy?”
“Well, your name is a mouthful, and I’m not going to say it the whole time. So you’re Compy now. Congratulations.”
It sighs. “I guess I’ve had worse nicknames. You’re not exactly the creative type, are you?”
All this little shit has done since we met is insult me. I try not to let my growing rage overtake my tongue, and bite down on it to prevent me from being able to speak. We walk in blissful silence for most of the rest of the way to Vane’s shop, and Compy hops into the building behind me as I enter. Vane looks up from his place behind the counter and frowns at the both of us.
“Sweet merciful Iomedae, what have you gotten yourself into now, Theo?” He asks, setting down the quill he’d been using to write in a book on the counter. He circles around it to stop in front of me and peer down at Compy. “What is this little creature? Where did you procure a dragon?”
I drop my bag on the counter and turn to face him. “It’s not a dragon,” I say. Vane’s frown deepens even more.
“What is it, then?”
“It’s a Comp — Compsog — This is Compy. He’s my new pet.”
“Pet?”
“Well…” I sigh. “Do you remember that book of rituals I borrowed from you?”
“Yes,” he replies. “And I want it back when you’re done.”
I realize then I’ve left the book at home and swear in my head. “Well, I am done with it, but I don’t have it on me. I’ll bring it back soon. Anyway, this little creature is my new familiar.”
He brightens. “Ah, so it worked? You have magic now?”
I look down at my hands and clench them. “I guess?”
“Well, either you do or you don’t, and if you have a familiar now, it’s probably a good bet that you do.” He pauses, and eyes me with a critical look. “I guess I’m gonna have to train a new apprentice potions master now that you’re going to be off being an adventurer.”
I clench my teeth and try my best not to look pained. “That’s right. Theodora Bliss, off on an adventure with her…adventuring party.” My voice is the flattest it’s ever been by the end of my sentence.
He chuckles, picking up on my sarcasm. “Well, it hasn’t happened yet. Let’s open the store. I’m sure your new friends will come by to pick you up eventually.”
We go through the motions of opening the store, putting the new potions on the shelves and restocking the few potion ingredients we keep on hand to sell. I move without thinking — I’ve been working under Vane for the last four years, so it’s not difficult to set the store up for the day anymore. Once everything is ready, I unlock the door and take my usual place behind the counter as Vane disappears into the back room to do more brewing.
Compy circles around the counter and curls up at my feet, which means I have to step carefully so that I don’t end up stomping down on his tail. When he’s not speaking, I almost find him cute. Unfortunately, he breaks his silence by looking up at me and sneering. “I thought you were an adventurer.”
I grit my teeth. “I just got hired by a party. We leave in a few days. Now leave me alone. I’m working.”
“It just looks like you’re standing there.”
“Yes, that’s what work is. People will come in for potions throughout the day. You’re not very smart, are you?” I ask, mimicking his tone from earlier. Compy regards me expressionlessly, but settles into a cat-like crouch and lowers his head to snooze.