Survival is not so easy here.

“You are better than this, Foster. Getting lost, really?” I say to myself, standing at the center of a forest that, for some reason, is on the damn estate.

One moment I was washing linens, the next I put them in a basket and went in the direction I thought Alyssa had shown me. Usually, I am good with directions, knowing the quickest route to escape any given situation. However, I am starting to suspect the Yarvelis family had a puzzle maker craft the landscape. An assassin certainly would have trouble navigating this place.

Tomorrow, I’m going to take up my official position. My gut says Sylas will not take kindly to mistakes, so mapping out the layout of the castle is my top priority.

Grumbling, I continue my unexpected wilderness trek because the trees have to end, eventually. Hopefully. My lungs ache from overexertion; carrying a full basket of linen while stumbling over tree roots isn’t good for me. After a couple of stops, the castle steeples peek through the trees and I fumble out of the woods.

“Finally,” I gasp.

The pointed steeple makes me believe this is the main building, the one Harvey and I entered through, so Sylas’ housing should be to the right. Not that I will trust my own instincts. Someone will be inside and I’ll ask them.

The first door I enter along the side leads into a quiet hall. There must be workers in a room nearby dusting away the cobwebs that aren’t there. A pair of double doors lay open and the interior of the room has me stopping in my tracks. A three-story library greets me, shelved from floor to ceiling. My neck aches from craning to inspect the domed ceiling containing a beautiful painting of vampires dancing in the moonlight.

I drop the basket of linens and take a gander at the books that bring about fond memories. My fingers dance over their spines, stopping upon a familiar book. Ms. Rosewood’s Book of Witchcraft, the first spell book Sylas ever gave me. With my back to the doors, I flip open to the first spell and memories ensnare me.

“Here we are!” Sylas fell onto the floor beside me, a pale blue leather-bound book in hand.

Our favorite spot in the library was a mound of pillows and blankets nestled into the back corner in the last row. A tall window overlooked us, always casting light and warmth. Lord Sarraze sometimes said we spent so much time there, that if no one came to retrieve us, we would root into the floor.

“Ms. Rosewood’s Book of Witchcraft,” Sylas read aloud. Ink stained his thin fingers from his earlier calligraphy class. “This is the best book for a newly practicing witch.”

“What if I don’t want to practice?” I muttered, legs held tight to my chest. “I know you think it’s great, but Mom has been worried. She thinks someone may hurt me.”

I’ve caught her crying every day since I lit up a portion of the garden. It had been an accident, of course, but when we went home that night, she had been quiet, then she cried in her bedroom when she thought I was asleep.

“You know what they say, a witch’s blood is bad luck,” I added.

“That’s a ridiculous superstition. My kind came from a witch’s spell, so technically, I wouldn’t be me without someone like you. Besides,” his shy gaze fell to the floor when all I wanted was for it to be on me, especially when he muttered, “Everything you have ever put your mind to is incredible, and this will be incredible, too. It’s a gift, your gift, and I know you’ll do great things with it.”

Sylas always knew what to say to make me smile. I nudged him because all I wanted was to touch him. It has been happening more and more lately. I wanted to hold his hand and never leave his side. I’ve thought about kissing him and wondered if that was okay, then I worried it’d ruin everything we’ve ever had, so I’ve kept these feelings to myself. Every day, they grow a little more, like I’m watering weeds that smother out everything else.

“You know that, huh?” I asked.

“I sure do, and you should believe me. I’m smarter than most.”

“I expected you to say you are smarter than everyone.”

“I’m not that conceited.” He rolled his shoulders. “Although that may change. I’ll only get better with age.” That got a chuckle out of me, then a smile when he continued, “I understand why she’s worried. People can be cruel, but I think knowing a spell or two to melt their faces off might help.”

“Maybe.” I laughed, and Sylas flipped to the first page.

I had no interest in magic before this. Witches were few and far between around here, though I heard the same tales as everyone else. They cursed people for fun and made jellies out of children’s eyeballs. I might have believed that last part for a long time.

However, as Sylas and I read through the book, something changed. A wick never before lit sparked to life at the edge of my mind. The fire sang of yearning. Embers flickered in my veins, itching to burst into a spark, then a flame, then an inferno.

The book described this wanting as a witch’s song, our inner need to use our magic and listen to it sing. We would feel lighter afterward. As I thought about it, the book was right. That day, when I lit up the garden, I felt as if I had been tethered all my life and had finally grown wings. Ever since, I’ve had this itch. Though my nails scratched at my skin, nothing took this feeling away, this need, and now it’s roaring louder than ever.

“Here, the first spell to summon a gust of wind. Want to try it?” Sylas asked. I gave a nervous nod. From beneath his eyelashes, a blood moon glistened.

I spoke the words to summon a gale that did not come. When my shoulders deflated, Sylas took my hand. He had always been shorter than me, hands nimble and soft, but he held me up so easily.

“Try again,” he said.

And I did, over and over with little luck, a little breath of air here and there, until the window swung open from a wicked wind. Sylas and I cursed in shared surprise. The wind breathed and danced, spinning enough to whip our hair and tickle our cheeks. Leaves fluttered into the room. We’d be lectured for the mess, but watching them prance above us would be worth all the trouble.

“Your magic is already my favorite,” he said, hand still clasped firmly in mine. I didn’t want to mention it because he might let go.

“That would be flattering if you knew more than a handful of witches.”

“Doesn’t matter. I could meet every witch in the world, but yours will always be the best.”

“How are you so sure?”

He looked at me, smiling with all his teeth. “I am smarter than most, remember?”

He cast his eyes above us to the dying wind, and I gave new life to it with a word. Sylas’ laughter warmed my ears. If making him laugh like that meant I was bad luck, then I’d be the unluckiest person in the world.

I sigh at the fond memory that has me questioning whether Sylas remembers. That day meant a lot to me because Sylas’ encouragement meant a lot. After that, I tried to impress him by learning new spells and every compliment he gave fanned the flames of my power. That I am grateful for because that power saved me when I needed it more than ever.

“Foster?” Buddy enters the library, fingers and face dirtied. The book shakes between my tense fingers. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

He’s close, and would soon be able to peek over my shoulder and see the spell book. He’d guess why I’m reading it and be entirely right. I’m not ready to reveal that yet.

Carefully, I shut the book and slid it into place, listening to Buddy getting closer. I tug one of the books by it loose, a book on fairy tales, so if he glances at the row he’ll think I’ll have looked at that, hopefully.

“I got lost,” I admit with a sheepish smile. “But what about you? Don’t you care for the gardens at His Majesty’s living quarters?”

“No, as a groundskeeper, I work anywhere and everywhere.” He chuckles and waves a heavy hand. “Come along, I’ll take ya back.”

“Thank you.” I saunter toward my basket, retrieving the linens, then following Buddy into the hall. “Are we allowed to take books from the library?”

I don’t know why I’m asking. I’ve vowed not to delve back into witchcraft, but there is the witch’s song in me. The craving, the desire, the itch that has gnawed at me for years because I’ve abandoned it. It hasn’t been fed and that simple glance into a book has awakened an overwhelming need.

“Yes, we have full access. You can grab anything you like. I grab herbology books all the time.” Buddy talks about the various species of plants all throughout the grounds, little of which I understand or pay full attention to.

My gaze drifts over our shoulders to the library doors where I left a spell book I cannot deny wanting, even if I know I shouldn’t.