A letter arrived that morning, pushed through the tarnished mail slot along with the bills and advertising flyers, but Daphne knew as soon as she picked up the pile of mail that this was something different. She sorted through the papers until she found it: an envelope of heavy white paper. The wax seal had a small chip of opal pressed into it. She turned the letter over. "Laurel Elder," it read in curling script that glowed silver, and she could tell from this glow and from the tingling in her fingers that this letter contained magic.

"Mama," she called into the apartment. "Letter for you."

"I'm in the study," she replied.

Daphne scooped up all the letters (the bills were important too, she supposed) and walked to her bedroom, better known as the study, mostly because only a tiny corner of the small room was used for her bed. The rest of the space was taken up with stacks, shelves, and piles of instruments and trinkets for practicing witchcraft. Daphne squeezed through two cabinets filled with different types of candles and found her mother on the other side, sitting at her scrying bowl.

"You said there's a letter for me?" Daphne's mother asked, dropping another pebble into her mirrored bowl. Laurel Elder was a beautiful woman, made even more beautiful in the wavy light of the scrying potion, which caught on her sharp chin and cheekbones and made her dark skin luminous. Her black hair was coiled into braids which she piled on her head like a crown. Daphne thought she looked nothing like her, only having inherited the slight roman nose, dark skin tone, and black hair (which she dyed anyway). The rest—chubby cheeks, strong eyebrows, and tendency towards stoutness—came from her father, whoever he was.

Her mother's bracelets jingled together as she dropped another polished stone into the liquid. "It's from the Grand Coven, isn't it?" she said after watching the ripples for a while.

"Did your bowl tell you that?" said Daphne in awe, handing her mother the stack of letters.

"No," she replied, smiling. "Who else would send me a letter?" She held out one slender hand and blinked; an ornamental dagger came zooming off a nearby table. She caught it gracefully by the handle and slit the envelope open. She stared at the letter, which glowed with the same silvery light as the writing on the envelope, with concern and apprehension.

"Mama?" Daphne asked.

Lips pursed, her mother folded the letter shut. "Daphne, honey, do me a favor and get me my old suitcase? It's in the front room closet."

"Yes, Mama," Daphne replied, moving as fast as she could through the clutter and wondering why her mother needed a suitcase. She opened the closet doors, pushed past the coats and scarves, and grabbed the wood-handled case of cracked leather.

She found her mother in her bedroom folding clothes on her quilted bed. "Just set it down on the floor, honey."

She did as she was told and asked, "Why do you need a suitcase?"

"I'm going away," she said, waving her hand so the pile of neatly folded robes landed in the suitcase with a soft thump. Instruments, books, and votive candles from the study next door began to whirl into the room and settle in the bag on top of the clothes.

"Away? Away where?"

"The Grand Coven needs my help."

"What? Why do they need your help?" Daphne blurted. She knew her mother was a powerful witch, but this was the Grand Coven, the council composed of the nine most powerful witches currently alive. Her mother was gifted, yes, but nowhere near the level of the Coven. "They're not—" A terrible fear stole over her. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

Her mother laughed and closed her bag. "Don't worry; I'm not in trouble. They just need my help with the War."

"Oh. The War," Daphne said to her mother with undiminished concern. She had heard against the great War against evil, of course; what witch hadn't heard of the Grand Coven's wonderful plan to stamp out all evil magic once and for all? They had all heard of it, but few were ever asked to fight. "Why do you have to go?" she asked.

"It is an honor to be chosen by the Grand Coven," her mother replied dutifully.

"Chosen for what? What are you going to have to do in the War? They don't tell us anything about it other than it's to save the world from evil, and they--"

"I'm sure the Coven has its reasons for the secrecy," she said firmly.

Daphne examined her face. Her dark eyes were unreadable in the hazy light of the scrying bowl.

Seeing Daphne was still worried, her mother walked over and pulled her in for a hug and kissed the top of her dyed-orange head. "You don't have to worry about me, sweetheart," she said.

"Can I go with you?" she asked, pulling away from the hug to stare at her mother's face.

"No. You're much too young."

"Mama, I'm eighteen. I'm old enough to... I don't know, smoke cigarettes and intimidate children and vote," Daphne reminded her.

"In human elections, maybe, but not in witch ones. You're not even done with your training!"

"Who's going to teach me, then, if you're going away?"

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "You said it yourself. You're eighteen, old enough to do many things. Teaching yourself magic can be one of them. You have my books."

"Not the fun ones," Daphne grumbled.

"Perhaps one of the fun ones." Her mother smiled and clapped her hands together once. As she pulled them apart, a light began to glow. It looked like she held a galaxy between her hands. Daphne's eyes widened. "From the Great Library itself," her mother explained. "Go on, take it."

Daphne reached her hand into the vortex until her fingers felt something familiar: the curved spine of a well-read book. She pulled it out. It was nothing spectacular, just a plain book wrapped in a brown linen and cardboard cover, but she clutched it to her chest and beamed at her mother.

"Promise me that you'll be careful and you can have it," said her mother, smiling back.

"I promise."

"And promise you won't let the stray cats you let in the apartment at night on the furniture."

"I—uh—what cats?" said Daphne weakly. "There's no cats."

"Then who keeps scratching up my curtains?" she asked aristocratically.

Daphne smiled sheepishly. "Busted."

Her mother tapped the cover of the book with one long finger. "There are a few replenishing spells in here. Be sure to use them on whatever your furry friends damage before I return."

"I will, Mama," Daphne said, then flung herself into her mother's arms, sending the suitcase crashing to the floor. She barely came up to her mother's shoulder. "Promise me you'll be careful," Daphne whispered.

"Oh, honey, don't worry. I'll be back before you know it," she said, giving her daughter one last squeeze. "There's a portal at the park for me. I should be off." She picked up her suitcase again. "I love you very much."

"I love you too."

"And I'll see you soon." Her mother threw a gauzy scarf around her elegant neck as she walked out the door.

"Stay safe!" Daphne called out to her.

The door swung shut.

Her mother and mentor was gone.

Someone meowed from the window. It was the gray tabby that she had found on the fire escape yesterday and befriended by feeding him her mother's leftover canned tuna fish. She opened the window and scooped him up, cooing, "Come here, kitty. Did you miss me?" She scratched his furry ears. "We can be study buddies."

Leaving the window open in case any other stray cats she fed wanted to stop by, Daphne took the tabby to the couch and plopped down, settling comfortably against the squashy old cushions. The cat found his way to her feet and started to snooze there.

Daphne pulled the book her mother had given her out from under her arm and ran a finger down its linen spine, liking the way it felt. She thumbed the book open to what seemed a good place to start—at the beginning—and started to read.