Single Witch's Survival Guide (The Jane Madison Academy Series) Read online

  “I feel like I’ve barely seen you this week,” I said, between bites of coffee praline bliss.

  “We’re making good progress down at the barn. We decided to build out four rooms, instead of two. Not much more work, and they’ll be useful down the road.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew how to do all that.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve taken care of basic repairs around the farm since I was a kid. It turns out Caleb put himself through school working as a handyman.”

  “And Tony?”

  “Caleb’s a good partner on projects like this.” David’s observation was dry. I suspected Raven’s bellicose warder would wear thin after a couple of hours.

  “At least Tony hasn’t pulled a sword on you. Again.”

  “Thank Hecate for small favors.”

  I laughed and started paying serious attention to my ice cream. David and I chatted easily enough while I ate, but as soon as I dropped my spoon into my empty bowl, he said, “Finished? Let’s find everyone else and get back home.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I have some paperwork to finish up.”

  I laughed, thinking he was kidding, but he didn’t join in. “What possible paperwork could you have to finish on a federal holiday?”

  “Hecate’s Court isn’t bound by federal holidays,” he pointed out.

  I put a little space between us, so I could better see his face. “This is about Pitt, isn’t it?”

  “It’s warders’ business.”

  I bristled at his dismissive tone. He’d tried that before, when I’d asked about the Court documents in his office. I’d let him get away with it then, but enough was enough. “Fine. You’re my warder. Your business is mine. What’s going on?”

  “You’re not a warder. You wouldn’t understand.” His voice was laden with cool confidence, with the absolute certainty that he knew what was best for me.

  My temper flared with a corresponding heat, and I poured that sudden rage into two concise words. “Try me.”

  “Stay out of this, Jane. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I’ve already been hurt! My entire magicarium is on the line because of you!”

  Ouch. Up until that instant, I hadn’t realized that I blamed David for the Charter, for the requirement of a Major Working. He couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d slapped his face.

  “Wait,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  He stared at me, his eyes solid black in the moonlight. “Yes. You did.”

  He was right. “Okay,” I said. “I meant it. But I really blame Pitt. So tell me what happened between you two. It can’t be as bad as everything I’m imagining.” And there were lots of things I was imagining. Blackmail. Seduction. Sex scandals involving the most senior members of the Court.

  David set his jaw, clearly intending to carry his secret to his grave.

  His stubbornness goaded me like iron spurs. I snapped out a reply before I’d fully considered the words. “I command you, as your witch. Tell me what happened between you and Pitt.”

  He froze.

  In all the years we’d worked together, I’d never played the witch card. I’d thought about it a few times. Even threatened to do it once or twice. But I had never actually spoken the words, never made my power over him so absolutely, explicitly clear.

  I could take back my command. Tell him I was joking. I could release him from my order. But somehow, in a matter of seconds, the secret he was hiding had become a referendum on everything—on the viability of the Academy, on our entire relationship. I bit my lip, but I didn’t take back my words.

  David swallowed hard and stared into the darkness. “Pitt made an example of me for five full years. He was sending a message to all the other warders—if I could be broken, any of them could. When I couldn’t take it any more, I forged documents to make it look like Pitt was stealing. I planted them in the Court’s records. He found them before I could make them public.”

  David Montrose, champion of rules and regulations and every law I could think of, had framed Norville Pitt. He was a hypocrite. A liar.

  “And the documents you were reading the other night?”

  His eyes flashed fire. “You don’t want to know about those.”

  He was right. I didn’t. But I’d pushed things this far, and I wasn’t going to back down now. “Tell me,” I said.

  Again, he complied with the letter of my witchy command, but he refused to meet my eyes. “I know he’s dirty. And I’m going to prove it to the Court, if it’s the last action I take as a warder.”

  Last action. He accepted that his hounding Pitt might strip him of his rank forever. And he was willing to take that risk. He was willing to chance abandoning me so he could have his satisfaction against Pitt, paid in full.

  I closed my eyes. My head was suddenly pounding, and my stomach was reminding me that ice cream made a spectacularly lousy dinner. Especially after a skipped lunch, and a morning spent running a magicarium that was failing to meet my dreams.

  This was all too much to handle. I couldn’t sort out the tornado of my feelings, here in idyllic Parkersville, surrounded by people who didn’t have the first idea that witches or warders or Hecate’s Court even existed.

  I felt guilty that I’d pushed David as his witch. I felt angry that he was putting his own revenge ahead of me. I felt trapped that Pitt had made all of this happen in the first place.

  There was too much at stake. Too much to handle, without having a clear mind. I should sleep on it. We both should. We could figure out a path forward in the morning.

  “Come on,” I finally said. “Let’s go home.”

  David stepped away, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Go on back to the car. I’ll get another ride.”

  And that was when I realized the truth. I’d broken something.

  By ordering David to act, by wielding my power as his witch, I had shattered a link between us. Not the magical bond we shared—that could never be so easily severed. But the other ties, the worldly ones. The ones that made him my boyfriend. My lover. Whatever.

  “David—

  He shook his head and turned away, disappearing into the shadows without another word.

  This couldn’t be happening. Everything had been fine just a few minutes ago. He couldn’t have… I couldn’t have… We…

  I waited for him to change his mind, to come back, to tell me we could talk it out. But I couldn’t even imagine the shape of that conversation. And he didn’t return.

  I should be crying, I thought, as I made my way back to the car. I should be sobbing, and gasping for breath, and digging out my phone to call Melissa. But I wasn’t doing any of those things. I couldn’t, because I was numb. I was swaddled in cotton, cut off from the world.

  And I almost walked into the middle of a fight when I got to the minivan.

  Tony stood by the driver’s door, clutching a slip of bright yellow paper. Hani was crowing as if he’d just been told the funniest joke in the world, and Raven was filming her warder with undisguised amusement. “It’ll come out of your paycheck,” she said, and when Tony snarled, she tossed him a saucy air-kiss and zoomed in for a close-up.

  Neko and Jacques gawked from the sidelines, as if the tableau were the finest Broadway entertainment. Apparently, my familiar was unable to resist hamming things up. Raising his Statue of Liberty torch, he sashayed over to Tony and proclaimed, “Give me your tired, your poor, your crumpled parking tickets, yearning to be—

  Tony’s snarl turned into an outright roar. He slammed his fist into the minivan, punching the side panel three times in rapid succession. Neko yelped in surprise and leaped away. Hani cut himself off, mid-cackle. Jacques stared in blank astonishment.

  I waited for Raven to intervene. Any witch worth her wand would go to her warder in need. She should reach out to Tony, soothe him, ease him back from the sharp precipice of his rage. Instead, Raven shoved her camera into her bra and asked, “Are we really
doing this again?”

  Without another word, she stalked around the minivan, threw open the door, and climbed into the very back seat. Hani barely waited for a count of three before he scampered after her.

  David, I thought. He could fix this. But David wasn’t here. And he wasn’t coming any time soon. Because I should have gone to him. I should have reached out to him, soothed him, eased him back from the confession I’d forced him to make.

  That left Neko to glide up to Tony’s side. My familiar dropped his green torch, not even noticing when it rolled around by his feet. His fingers were straight and strong as he settled his hand on the warder’s biceps.

  Tony flinched, and he made a bruised fist. Neko merely leaned closer, saying something so softly that I couldn’t even guess the words. He stroked Tony’s arm, slowly, even tenderly. He moved his other hand to the back of the warder’s neck.

  Tony swallowed hard. His arms began to tremble, and I thought he was going to break down completely. I braced myself for him to bellow, to unleash the violence held so close beneath the surface.

  And then Tony rolled his head back. He leaned into Neko’s touch. He took a shuddering breath and stared up at the sky. Neko said something, another secret. Tony nodded slowly, painfully. And then he straightened and kissed Neko hard, full on the lips.

  I was shocked. Not because I’d never seen two men kissing—plenty of movies and T.V. had taken care of that education well before Neko provided in-person instruction. I was stunned because I hadn’t imagined Tony as anything other than a fighter, a hot-headed warrior with an all-too-ready sword.

  Neko had clearly seen something else. He had read between lines I hadn’t even imagined. And now, my familiar ignored Jacques’s shouted protest, all the while returning Tony’s kiss with enthusiasm. Without intending to move, I found myself snagging the bright blue fabric of Uncle Sam’s top coat. Jacques thrashed like a speared eel, working his way free from the costume.

  By the time Jacques had ripped off his fake beard and ground it into the pavement, Neko and Tony had both come up for air. My familiar leaned in and murmured something, and Tony plunged his bruised hand into the front pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a tangle of leather and silver and gold and passed it to my familiar.

  Neko looked over his shoulder. “Caleb?” he called, and I realized that the other warder had appeared at some point during the drama. Kopek and Emma were beside him. Even in the moonlight, I could see that my student’s lips were swollen, and I wondered if there was still a Parkersville fireman lurking nearby.

  Neko asked, “Can you drive everyone home?”

  Caleb nodded once, and he caught the keys that Neko tossed.

  Jacques spluttered. “Où vas tu?” He was obviously so shaken he forgot to translate his question.

  Neko’s voice was steady. “I’m going with Tony. He needs me now.”

  “I am zee one that needs you!” Jacques shouted.

  Neko only shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Thees ees not work! You cannot say thees ees work!” Jacques was furious. “Eef you go weeth that one, we are through!”

  “I’m sorry,” Neko said again. And then he shifted his gaze to Caleb. “Get them out of here.”

  Jacques stomped off into the night. Emma’s warder marshaled us into the car, pausing only to ask if we should wait for David. I shook my head, dazed.

  Raven still fumed in the back seat. Emma rode shotgun. I sat on the middle seat, with Hani on one side, and Kopek on the other. We rode back to the farm in our suddenly spacious car in absolute, stunned silence.

  CHAPTER 8

  DAVID NEVER CAME home. I woke half a dozen times during the night, but the sheets were always smooth on his side of the mattress. Cool. Untouched. I considered reaching out to him, as witch to warder, but the thought of using my powers that way again sickened me.

  I finally woke, for real, just before noon. Spot was waiting for me in the kitchen, whining by the back door. I let him outside and watched him anoint a half dozen shrubs around the driveway. When he was back inside, I wiped my palms on my ratty sweatpants and told myself it was far too early to panic. David would return soon enough. He had to.

  Besides, I had more immediate problems to solve.

  The kitchen looked like it had been blasted by a cyclone. Remnants of multiple meals were scattered across the counters. The bottom layer held remains of the sandwiches we’d eaten for dinner the night before—breadcrumbs and slivers of tomato, trimmings from cold cuts and a handful of wilted lettuce leaves, all anchored by a phalanx of condiment-smeared knives. The top level consisted of breakfast dishes—syrup-crusted plates and a few leftover bites of frozen waffles, caps from strawberries and a rind of cheese. Someone had scrambled eggs, and the scent of bacon was still heavy on the air.

  It would take an hour just to get the place neat enough to pour a bowl of cereal. At least I could manage a cup of tea without risking ptomaine poisoning. I grimaced and filled the kettle with water.

  Just as the whistle blew, Emma came into the kitchen. She blinked at the chaos on the counters and said, “Blimey.”

  The colloquial English exclamation grated on me, but I forced myself to smile. I even offered Emma water for her own tea, and I waited for her to take a seat across from me at the kitchen table. There were lots of things we could have spoken about. My warder. Her sister’s warder. My familiar. The fireman who had—I could see by the light of day—left her with a hickey.

  I settled for fortifying myself with a huge sip of orange pekoe, and then I launched into a relatively safe topic. “You said you spent two weeks in England, seven years ago. That vacation certainly made quite an impression.”

  Emma eyed me warily over the edge of her mug. She wasn’t a fool. “Quite,” she said, drawing out the single syllable.

  “You don’t often hear the Queen’s English in … where are you two from originally?”

  “Chicago,” Emma said, and she couldn’t completely hide the flat vowels of her youth. Banishing a quick frown, she retreated to her Earl Grey.

  I waited. I could have asked specific questions. I could have told her she was driving me nuts with the fake accent, the affected vocabulary. I could have demanded that she set aside her pseudo-British identity, just as I’d required Raven to give up her phone. But I wanted to learn more. I wanted to understand.

  My patience was finally rewarded. Emma stared into her mug and said, “It started as a joke, with the friends who were on the trip. We challenged each other, to see if we could the fool the assistant at the greengrocer, make him think we were British. Everyone else went back to normal as soon as we got home, but I couldn’t let it go.” Her index finger circled around the lip of her mug, clockwise, then counter-clockwise. “I made Mum and Da laugh. They paid attention to me.”

  Instead of to Raven. I heard those words, loud and clear, even though they weren’t said aloud.

  “After a while, it just became second nature. I got a summer job as a receptionist in a doctor’s office, and everyone loved my accent. They smiled, and they relaxed, and it made their appointments just a little bit easier. At uni, a lot of boys thought I really was from England, and I ended up with a lot more dates than I might have otherwise. I stopped… I don’t know… translating, and this just became the way I talk. I’m happier this way.”

  Well, when she phrased it that way… I wanted my students to be happy.

  But she wasn’t through. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “And that lets me be a better sister to Raven. Less jealous. More supportive. We’re twins, you know.”

  Her tone was challenging. I couldn’t believe she was actually calling me out on my dislike of Raven. I stammered, “I— I didn’t realize—”

  “Most people don’t. But we did a lot of classic twin stuff while we were growing up. We had our own language, and we did our best to dress the same, even when Mum refused to buy us matching outfits. We shared a cot when we were babies, and a bedroom until
the day we went to uni.”

  “When did you realize you had magical powers?”

  “We were babies. Whenever the child-minder put us down for a nap, she’d wind up a mobile above our cot. After it stopped moving, we’d cast a spell together to get it going again.”

  She made it sound simple. But a mobile would have a mechanical engine, a structure of metal and gears. No witch would find it easy to work a device so far removed from the natural world. For two babies to generate enough power… “That’s amazing!”

  “Yeah. We went through a lot of child-minders.”

  “Was your mother a witch?”

  “If she was, she never understood her power. I tried to talk to her about it—we both did, when we were around five years old. Mum laughed and told us we had such great imaginations. Raven insisted, and she got punished for telling lies.”

  “But someone taught you how to use your magic.”

  She shrugged. “At uni, Raven majored in dance, and she took a certificate in Asian religions. She talked me into going on a retreat with her, to an abbey outside of Sedona. The leader was a witch. She’s the one who told us what we are.”

  “So you stayed in Sedona.”

  Emma nodded. “It’s all worked out quite well for me. I’m a bookkeeper, with a speciality for doctor’s offices. I can land a job whenever I need one. Raven hasn’t had it as easy.”

  “Where does she work?”

  “Anywhere that will have her. She’s been an assistant in a solicitor’s firm, and a cashier at nearly every shop in town. She taught ballet to kids for a couple of months, but she kept helping the gormless ones with a bit of magic and her guv got suspicious.”

  “It must be hard on you, watching out for her all the time.”

  “She’s my sister. That’s what family does.”

  And just like that, she closed the door on the conversation. She was good at this. She’d had years to get used to dealing with Raven’s drama. I accepted her decision, but I couldn’t resist asking one more sly question. “So. What’s the fireman’s name?”