Familiar by Michelle Rowen

Chapter 1
    “That one.”
    The witch followed the direction of my pointing
finger, which singled out a tiny, tawny-colored striped kitten
sitting in the far corner of the pen. She frowned with
disapproval.
    “Wouldn’t you rather have one of the others, Brenda?
They’re more playful. That little runt looks half-dead. I’m not
even sure why my apprentice put it in the mix today.”
    I shrugged. “I guess half-dead runts appeal to me. My
mother said I could pick whichever one I wanted.”
    “Your mother also said she’s wanted you to do this
for almost a year now.”
    “What can I say? I’ve been busy.”
    I tried to ignore the icy glare my flippant comment
inspired. When it came to witch manners, I figured I was lacking.
Not that I really cared. It’s not like my powers were any big deal.
Not compared to my mother’s.
    “Go pick out your familiar so you can start your
real training.”
    “But I don’t want to be a witch.”
    “You can’t change what you already are.”
    We’d had this discussion every Monday for nearly a
whole year, ever since I turned sixteen. But when you don’t really
want to do something, it’s hard to feign interest. Basically, I
just wanted to be normal. I didn’t want to go into the “family
business,” as it were.
    Maybe I should have gone to live with my dad after
the divorce. Normal high school, normal friends, normal life. I
just wished I knew for sure what the right answer was. A little bit
of perfect clarity would really come in handy every now and
then.
    Like this—picking out my “familiar.” A familiar is a
witch’s pet, an animal that becomes her constant companion and is
supposed to help her do magic and bring protection and good luck.
Frankly, I could use all the luck I could get. My mom was a high
level, respected witch in our neighborhood coven, but me? I could
barely do a decent card trick. Mom says it’s because I don’t
practice very much, but I had other things to do. More important
things. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
    But to get her off my back for a while, I agreed to
go to Hocus Pocus, a magic shop that supplies all sorts of witchy
paraphernalia—including potential familiars. There were cats,
ferrets, snakes, rats, even a couple of bats here. No puppies,
though. I really would have liked a puppy.
    I wasn’t much of a cat person. But, in my opinion, it
was way better than a snake.
    The kitten hissed as Mrs. Timmons picked it up by the
scruff of its neck.
    “Interesting,” she said. “It’s wearing a little
rhinestone collar. Denise must have put it on earlier. I’ll include
it with the price since it suits him.”
    “Great,” I replied absently, not really listening to
her. Instead I swept my gaze over the interior of the shop. I’d
been there loads of times with my mom as she picked up her
supplies. The place always creeped me out with its musty, dusty
interior and cluttered shelves holding everything from carved
wooden boxes to crystal balls of all shapes and sizes to herbs and
spices for potion-making to what looked like a dried up, severed
monkey’s paw on a shelf directly to my right.
    I grimaced. Poor monkey.
    “Here you go,” Mrs. Timmons said, and her face
cracked into a thousand wrinkles as she forced a smile that did not
look even slightly genuine. She didn’t like me very much. I once
heard her call me a troublemaker. She handed me an open shoebox
that weighed next to nothing even with the tiny kitten sitting
inside. “I know your mother already has a feline familiar, so I
won’t worry about food and litter.”
    “No, don’t worry.”
    “You’ll have to give it a name. Just concentrate and
it’ll come to you. Remember, there’s power in names, so be sure
it’s the right one.”
    “Power in names. Got it.” I resisted the urge to roll
my eyes. “Do I need to pay anything right now?”
    “No. I’ll bill your mother’s account.”
    “Okay, then bye. Thanks.” I turned to leave.
    “Wait!” Mrs.