Joy of Witchcraft Page 5

  “And Teresa Alison Sidney missed it?” She sounded incredulous.

  “She never saw it,” I said with satisfaction. “Last month, David and I had some renovations done on the basement. As long as we were investing in the work on the garage and the barn, we hired a couple of specialists for a more challenging…project. We converted David’s basement office into a climate-controlled vault for the most valuable books in the Osgood collection.”

  “Why didn’t Teresa Alison Sidney see it? What sort of shields did you put on it?” Clara’s voice ratcheted up in disbelief. She wasn’t the strongest witch in the world, but she was quite capable of sensing magical wards left lying around.

  “We didn’t add magical protection,” I said. “The house is already as secure as we could make it. The vault is state of the art. Climate-controlled, relative humidity of forty-seven percent, steady temperature of sixty-seven degrees. There are ultra-violet filters on the overhead lights, and high-efficiency air-handling filters. We installed mold- and mildew-resistant metal shelves coated in baked enamel. The whole thing is fire-proof.”

  Clara looked impressed. “It sounds like Fort Knox!”

  I shrugged. “My witchcraft collection is worth its weight in gold. More, maybe. But right about now, I’m glad we didn’t add any extra spells. Teresa would have detected them for sure. As it was, she never thought to ask if I had anything that wasn’t in plain sight.”

  “And if she’d asked…”

  “I would have been honor-bound to tell her the truth.” I might not be a member of the Washington Coven, but some rules went deeper than social clubs. Some rules went to the heart of being a witch.

  Clara sat back on the couch. “So you still have a copy of Warders’ Magic.”

  “Along with several other books that are worth a thousand times more. The precious stones on some of those bindings would pay for the vault several times over.”

  Clara shook her head. “You played a dangerous game, Jeanette.” She caught herself and shook her head. “Jane.”

  I nodded. “But we won this round. And now it’s time to go downstairs and reassure my students that victory was ours.”

  Clara stood as I did. “You go,” she said. “I’m heading home.”

  “Afraid of seeing David, after you ordered him to submit?” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Not afraid,” she said. “Just being…practical. We should all get some sleep.”

  “Where are you staying, anyway?”

  “In DC. With Mother and George,” she said, like I should have known she was at Gran’s apartment all along. “I’m sharing your old room with Nuri.” I felt a flicker of pity for my grandmother’s familiar. That flicker swelled into a wave when Clara said, “The pink paint on the wall creates fascinating vibrations with my aura. I’m attuned to deeper power wells than I’ve sensed in years.”

  My mother and her auras… I was truly grateful for everything Clara had done that night, but I had to admit to a wave of relief when I watched the red eyes of her tail-lights turn onto the county road at the end of our driveway.

  Moderation in all things. And moderation in maternal things the most of all. I headed downstairs to deal with edgy students, a smart-aleck familiar, and a warder who still needed to be forced into submitting to urgently needed medical care.

  For that matter, we needed to get Zach Spencer to the emergency room. And I’d have another try at getting Cassie to see a doctor. All immediate threats might be safely put away, but my evening was just beginning.

  The tall case clock struck midnight as I headed down the stairs. Samhain was over. The new year had begun. And the Jane Madison Academy was officially open for business.

  CHAPTER 4

  Saturday, I slept until noon, only coming to my senses when David brought me a tray with hot buttered toast, crisp sliced apples, and a giant pot of pear oolong tea. I struggled to sit upright, to reach for my clothes so I could check on my students. I needed to know how they were handling the aftermath of our disastrous working.

  David assured me, though, that everyone was fine. He’d conferred with their warders. The witches were resting, restoring the health of their bodies, preparing their minds for Monday’s classes.

  “What about Cassie?” I asked. “Did she go to Pine Ridge?”

  “She went with Zach to have his arm set. Tony drove them.”

  “Did she see a doctor?”

  He shook his head tightly. “She refused. But she was calm enough to make up a story. She told the doctors she was knocked down by a goat in the barn. She said Zach came to help her, but the billy turned on him.”

  There were enough farms in the countryside that her story might have been true. And Cassie had escaped without any physical damage, beyond a few scrapes and bruises.

  David said, “Zach helped her to sleep when they got back.”

  Warder’s magic. It was better than nothing. Better than a lot of things, actually.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why would Pitt send a satyr to interrupt our first working? It’s not like he gets any benefit if the magicarium shuts down. He’s not a witch. He can’t stake a claim to the Osgood collection.”

  David’s jaw was tight. “He doesn’t care about the Osgood collection. He’s trying to punish me.”

  “You?”

  “I’m the one who’s made his life difficult. I reported him to the Court. I caused the inquest to convene. I’ve cut off the flow of his income and his power—no witch would be stupid enough to bribe him now that Hecate’s Court is involved.”

  “But isn’t that a little indirect, bringing a satyr into my working to get at you?”

  David’s gaze was steady as he reached over to brush a lock of hair behind my ear. “He knows what matters most to me. Hurting you is the worst thing he could ever do to me.”

  The admission melted something deep inside me. I turned my head and kissed David’s palm. “How are you doing?” I asked. “How are your ribs?”

  “Broken,” he confessed. “But Neko taped them up.”

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To the basement. I’m getting my aventurine. You need the healing power of a crystal.”

  “I need you to get some rest.” David looked exasperated.

  “Fine. We’ll compromise. I’ll stay up here, but I’ll have Neko bring me the crystal.”

  “I don’t need—”

  But it was too late. I’d already summoned my familiar.

  Neko stuck around to help me energize the healing stone, to focus the power that I poured into the green crystal. The spell was enough to send me back to sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

  ~~~

  On Sunday, I had to roll out of bed a lot earlier. It was time for my monthly brunch with Gran and Clara.

  My grandmother had instituted Mother-Daughter Brunch when Clara first came back into my life. It was Gran’s blatant attempt to make me like my mother. I think she thought I’d come to associate great food with positive family emotions. Clara still assaulted my nerves like lemon juice on a paper cut, but I’d consumed an awful lot of comfort-food calories with her. Today’s target was the Original Pancake House.

  Our accommodating waitress set plates in front of Clara and me. “Dutch Apple Baby,” she said. “We split it back in the kitchen.”

  “Thank you,” I said automatically, leaning over to breathe in the sweet scent of cinnamon and Granny Smiths, all baked into the top of a fluffy pancake. I couldn’t imagine making it through even half of what was on my plate; I was pleased Clara had agreed to split the awesome indulgence.

  “And the Works for you,” the waitress said, beginning to offload plates in front of Gran. One dish held a mountain of scrambled eggs crowned by the cheddar cheese Gran had added to the order. A continent of hash browns balanced out the platter, plump shreds of potato glistening beneath a crispy brown crust. A smaller plate held three of the meatiest strips
of bacon I’d ever seen, centered between a trio of sausages and three patties that fragrantly broadcast their sage and fennel spices. Gran had debated between the breakfast meats for long enough that she’d decided to get all three.

  And then, there were the pancakes that the restaurant was known for. A tower of five plate-sized rounds groaned beneath a scoop of melting butter. Powdered sugar and an entire gallon of fresh strawberries—deep red despite the November date—rounded out the dish.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.

  “Some blueberry syrup please,” Gran said. And she held up the pitcher of maple that already rested on the table. “And we’ll need more of this, dear.”

  The waitress was too well-trained to react, but I’m sure she wondered if Gran was putting her on. I hastened to add, “And some more hot water for my tea, when you get a chance.”

  The woman shook her head as she hurried back to the kitchen. Gran devoted her energy to constructing a perfect bite, balancing egg and potato with a chunk of sausage. Clara and I had a much easier time, digging in to the sweet confection we were pleased to call brunch.

  Gran then demanded that Clara and I fill her in on the entire Samhain working. She fussed over me, and she fretted about the state of David’s ribs. She exclaimed about how well the aventurine crystal had worked for her, when I’d charged the stone to help heal her lungs from double pneumonia. She clicked her tongue about Cassie, nodding knowingly when I said Zach had urged her into a healing sleep.

  “Enough!” Clara said after swallowing a cinnamon-laced forkful of pancake. “We have to talk about something else.” She rounded on me. “Have you settled on a wedding date yet?”

  “Mabon,” I said. “The autumn equinox next year.”

  “So long!” Gran almost covered her surprise by spearing a monster strawberry.

  “The magicarium will be well-settled by then. This year’s students will be wrapping up their studies, and we won’t be dealing with new ones yet. And the equinox coincides with a full moon. David and I are facing enough criticism from Hecate’s Court. The least we can do is choose an auspicious day to make our wedding official.”

  Clara nodded contentedly. “I’m so pleased you’re considering the astrological implications. I’ll draw up a complete chart for you. You want to pay particular attention to your rising sign and the position of Venus.”

  As a witch, I was fully aware of the natural world around me—the phases of the moon, the passing of the seasons. But Clara went a whole lot further into astrology than I did. She charted just about everything, and the vast amount of her star-reading added up to gibberish in my book. Tension screwed its hooks into my shoulders. A dozen different arguments fought to come front and center on my tongue. I wanted Clara to know that she made me embarrassed to be a witch, embarrassed to be her daughter.

  But then I remembered David’s suggestion. I heard his calm voice at the back of my mind, and I mimicked the words he’d given me, just two nights before. I looked at Clara and said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  My mother beamed, and I silently saluted David for his detente formula.

  In fact, David and I were thinking of Mabon for another reason, one I wouldn’t share with Clara and Gran. The equinox meant that day and night were exactly the same length. David and I needed that equality in our relationship, in our lives. If forced to make an honest admission, he would certainly say I was the most headstrong witch he’d ever known, and I’d counter that he was an overbearing warder. For the rest of our lives together, we’d be able to remember at least one time when we’d been in perfect, harmonious balance.

  “And have you chosen a place, dear?” Gran asked around a mouthful of bacon.

  I had. But I needed to get her permission. And I was surprised by how nervous the thought made me. “The Farm,” I said.

  “That makes sense,” Clara chimed in readily. “It’s always easiest to plan something where you’re already living.”

  I shook my head. “Not that farm. Gran’s property. Up in Connecticut.”

  Clara’s lips pursed into a surprised O. The Farm had been in Gran’s family for centuries. I’d visited for family gatherings throughout my childhood. Clara, of course, had missed decades of trips to the Farm, when she’d been living her own life, far from responsibility and tradition.

  But I hadn’t chosen the Farm because I wanted to rub Clara’s nose in her absence. I’d chosen it because I’d always loved the place. Now that I understood my magical heritage, I knew I’d been primed for witchcraft on the Connecticut property. I’d learned to pour power into the marble stone on the ancient farmhouse’s threshold, reciting a “tradition” (not a spell, never a spell) that Gran had taught me when I was just a little girl. I’d absorbed the placement of the woods, the planting of protective herbs and flowers—all the details that made the Farm a perfect refuge for witches, even when I hadn’t known I was one.

  “But, dear, you haven’t been up there since…” Gran trailed off, apparently deciding it might not be a good idea to remind me about one of my famously disastrous romantic relationships. But I was prepared for that argument.

  “That’s exactly why I do want to go back. I’ve loved the Farm since I was a little girl. I want to build new memories there, good ones. And I want David to understand more about our family.”

  Gran rushed to reassure me. “That’s sounds perfect, dear. How many people are you thinking of inviting? We can host a lot at the house, and there are always bed and breakfasts nearby for overflow.”

  “I haven’t added up the list yet. Between family, and people from the Peabridge, and now the magicarium…”

  “Just make sure it’s a prime number,” Clara asserted, reaching across to spear one of Gran’s sausage patties.

  “A prime?” Even as I asked the question, I knew I’d regret the answer.

  “Absolutely. Everyone knows that a prime number of guests reflects the unique nature of your relationship. If you get married with a prime, then you’ll never get divorced.”

  I wanted to know how many guests had attended Clara’s wedding to my long-fled father, but I knew that would only open an entire cargo ship of worms. Nevertheless, I couldn’t keep from asking a single honeyed question. “Is it the number of people you invite that matters? Or the number of people who actually show up?”

  I must have hit the perfect pitch of curiosity and respect, because neither my mother nor my grandmother bristled. Instead, Clara said with absolute certainty, “The number of people who show up, of course. What matters is who witnesses the actual union.”

  Great. According to Clara’s batty concept of magic, I should keep a cadre of second-tier guests in reserve, in case I needed people to round out the ranks to a sacred prime number at the last moment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said again. The words came more easily the second time.

  David’s paternoster continued to work its magic, because Clara didn’t miss a beat when she asked, “Have you decided on the wedding party?”

  “Melissa will be my matron of honor, of course.”

  “Of course,” Gran and Clara agreed at the same time. My grandmother subdued another strawberry before she asked, “Where is Melissa? I thought she was joining us for brunch today.”

  “She was. But Rob’s been tied up on a huge litigation matter ever since they got married. This is the first weekend day he’s had off in a month, so she texted me this morning and begged off.” And I understood that. Really, I did. But a part of me had wanted to type back that I hadn’t seen her in every bit as long.

  Married life had done strange things to my relationship with my best friend. I was happy for her; of course I was. But we had yet to celebrate Melissa’s wedding—no Mojito Therapy in the six weeks since she and Rob had run off and tied the knot. Not that a marriage should require therapy. What I really meant was that I longed to toast Melissa’s marriage—just like we’d toasted a million things in the past. Strong drinks, good food, and talking unt
il we’d both gone hoarse. Was that too much to ask of a best friend?

  It wasn’t Melissa’s fault, not at all. And it certainly wasn’t Rob’s. I’d been every bit as busy as they had been. But there was something wrong when I’d been wearing an engagement ring for six weeks, and my best friend still hadn’t seen the diamond.

  Gran must have sensed my disturbance, because she offered up the best salve around—a slice of bacon from her plate. It was salty and thick and chewy and smoky all at the same time, a bite of meaty heaven. Gran nodded in complete understanding of my groaned bliss before she asked, “And David’s best man?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, struck by the oddness of that statement. “He’s got two younger brothers, but I haven’t actually met them. There are the other warders at the Academy, but they’re more co-workers than friends. I don’t know,” I said again, and I shoved down a queasy roll of my belly.

  No, that wasn’t a warning sign that anything was wrong between David and me. It was simply a statement that orange juice and Dutch Apple Baby and bacon were a little too much to eat for breakfast. Really. That was the only problem.

  Gran breezed past my uncertainty. “Well, let me know when he’s made up his mind. I have a little something I’d like to do for the wedding.”

  My grandmother had been my support system for years; she’d nurtured me through my tortured teens, through all those college years when I couldn’t decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. Gran had the proverbial determination of a bulldog and the legendary patience of a saint.

  But she made some terrible choices when it came to wedding festivities. Witness the orange and silver bridesmaid dress I’d worn to her own wedding, the one with a gigantic lamé bow across my butt, with dyed-to-match Gatorade-colored shoes. And that crime against the senses had been accomplished with Neko at her side, offering the best of his fashion guidance. I trembled to think of what Gran might come up with on her own. Offering a sickly smile, I said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Keep what in mind?” Clara asked. “You don’t even know what your grandmother is planning.”