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

That’s right. David knew my mother. He was fully aware how irresponsible she could be. I dug my elbow into his side. “You can make her pay up. You’re her warder after all.”

  “Right,” David said dryly. “Like I can demand anything from one of my witches.”

  I blushed. Clara was just as headstrong as I. David’s warder magic would never turn my mother into a responsible, attentive woman, just as his unique astral skills had never tamed my own personal brand of insanity. “You’ve got a point there,” I conceded.

  He laughed, clearly relishing the victory. I leaned in close, pleased to realize he was relaxed again. Comfortable. Hopeful for the lake’s future.

  The lake that was distinctly lower than usual, if the water markings on the dock indicated anything. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to read the signs. I’d never spent a summer out here at the farm. “What’s up with the water level?” I asked.

  “Drought. Three years running now. There should be four creeks feeding in, but one is already dry. Two more will go by the middle of July, and the last will be pretty much mud by August.”

  A fish jumped, as if to defy the bad news. Ripples made their slow way toward us. “It doesn’t seem that bad.”

  “Not yet. But when the water level drops, the whole lake heats up. Plants die off. Algae blooms. It’s a mess.”

  The osprey called again from the edge of its nest, and its mate answered from somewhere on the edge of the shoreline. “But they’ll be okay?” I nodded toward the raptor I could see.

  “The parents should be. The chicks…” He shrugged. “Only twenty percent live in a good year.”

  But I had seen these chicks. I had watched the parents feeding this trio of young. The strongest fledgling was going to try flying any day now.

  As if I’d spoken aloud, David grimaced. “I should do more to protect them.”

  “Climate change is above your pay grade.”

  There was that grunt again, the one that meant everything and nothing at all. He didn’t accept my pronouncement, but he wasn’t going to challenge me outright. I pulled his hand into my lap and traced the length of his fingers with my own.

  I longed to have the power to fix the lake. It would take some incredibly complicated workings, interweaving earth and air, fire and water. There were countless living creatures to take into account. A real coven harnessing the power of dozens of witches might be able to work the necessary changes over a period of years. But me? Standing alone, outside every tradition of witchcraft? Who was I fooling? I couldn’t even harness a simple wind spell with a couple of students.

  I swallowed galling disappointment as I looked out at the southern end of the lake. If David sold the timber on that land, the ecological problems would only be compounded. Without the tree canopy, animals would suffer. There’d be erosion. More earth running into the lake.

  All for a magicarium that had no guarantee of success. No real hope for success if the morning’s working was any sign.

  “Don’t even think it,” David said. He kept his voice low, but his note of warning was very real.

  “Think what?” I pretended innocence.

  “You’re not giving up on the Academy now. Not before you’ve even begun.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  He laughed and bent down to kiss me. The touch of his lips was easy, gentle, as if we had all the time in the world to stay together. “Don’t lie to me, witch. I’m your warder. I always know.”

  I settled my palm against his chest. “And I know things, too. I know you don’t want to sell the lake. We can find another way. Promise me you won’t do anything right away.”

  His fingertips were warm against my throat, settling over the pulse point just below my ear. He kissed me again, harder this time.

  My belly flipped at the unspoken urgency in his touch, but I wriggled away. “I’m serious, David.” And I was, even though my breath caught in my throat. “Promise.”

  “Hmmm,” he murmured while his nimble fingers did distracting things with the buttons on my blouse.

  “David,” I whispered, and his name was half a moan.

  “I promise,” he breathed against my lips.

  I rewarded him by sliding my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His arms folded around me, pulling me back to lie beside him on the dock. The sun-drenched wood radiated heat into my back, almost as warm as the hard body beside me. David nudged his left leg between mine and the pressure made my breath come fast. I reached down to his waist, and my fingers trembled as I pulled his shirt free from his trousers. He growled and caught my wrists tight, pinning my hands above my head.

  I laughed and rose beneath him, hungry to feel every line of his body.

  And then I heard it—a single sharp bark. I knew the tone—Spot was demanding our immediate attention. David froze above me, his arms hardening into a protective cage. I slipped my hands down to my sides, twisting around to see what had upset the dog.

  And I nearly laughed out loud. Our unexpected visitor looked as if he’d reported from Central Casting, responding to some imperious director’s demand for “Accounting Dweeb.” He wore trousers from a rumpled brown suit and a short-sleeve dress shirt with—honest to Hecate—a pocket protector. Aside from a few wisps of hair combed sidewise across the dome of his head, he was bald. His overbite made him look like a rabbit, an impression that was reinforced by the nervous glances he cast at Spot. He carried a beat-up briefcase, the russet leather worn almost bare on the corners.

  David ordered Spot to lie down, and then he climbed to his own feet, never taking his eyes off the newcomer. He reached down and helped me up, keeping a palm on my elbow, as if he didn’t trust me to find my balance. I took advantage of his interposing body to button up my compromised blouse before I followed him to the end of the dock.

  “Jane,” David said when we stood beside our softly growling dog. “I’d like you to meet Norville Pitt.”

  My blood froze. Not because “Norville Pitt” meant anything to me—it didn’t. Not because there was anything remotely threatening about the awkward man who licked his lips and darted his gaze to the bristling Spot.

  I panicked because David Montrose was quite clearly afraid of the man at the end of our dock.

  CHAPTER 5

  OVER THE PAST four years, I had watched my warder face down physical threats without a second’s hesitation. He had escorted me past men armed with swords. He had confronted policemen and Secret Service agents. I had witnessed his unequaled skill at verbal fencing; he’d traded barbs with witches and warders alike. I had relied on him to put me back together after disastrous encounters with my mother, after terrifying medical emergencies for Gran, after failed romances.

  Through it all, David had never hesitated. But now my warder seemed lost. For the first time in my life, I realized it was a curse to know someone well enough to tell exactly what he was thinking. Especially when he was thinking he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  To give him a moment to collect himself, I extended a hand in greeting. “Mr. Pitt.”

  “No relation to Brad,” our visitor quipped, shaking with a sweaty palm.

  Um, yeah. No possibility of confusion there.

  Spot whined, loudly enough that David spoke his name in warning. The dog’s attention was stapled to our visitor. David issued a tight hand command, insisting that Spot maintain his prone posture.

  Attending to the dog finally allowed David to recover enough composure to take some action. He tugged open the door of the ramshackle boat shed and dug around inside for a few plastic chairs. After taking a couple of swipes at the sturdiest one, he gestured toward our guest. “Please, Norville. Have a seat.”

  Pitt’s shoulders hunched as he perched on the edge of the chair. His glasses slid down his nose, sped on their way by a sheen of sweat. He pushed them back into place with an automatic gesture that told me his glasses slipped a thousand times a day, sweat or no.

  This was this man who put fear in David’s heart
?

  My warder flicked his hand to indicate I should take another one of the chairs. I automatically left room for him to sit between Pitt and me. Spot’s whine ratcheted another notch toward desperate, and David took pity on the poor animal, allowing him to cross the beach, to fold himself across my feet.

  Pitt swallowed noisily before he began to speak. “Miss Madison. I am here today in my capacity as Head Clerk of Hecate’s Court.”

  David stiffened beside me.

  “Yes, Montrose,” Pitt said, and he actually chortled. “You’re one of the first to hear about my promotion. It will be announced officially at Lughnasadh.”

  I glanced from Pitt to David, trying to fathom the importance of the promotion. Hecate’s Court, of course, was the bureaucracy that managed all the witches in the world. I’d sent them the registration papers for my magicarium, months ago. Now, I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. It took me three tries to choke out, “I’m always happy to serve the Court, Mr. Pitt.”

  The Head Clerk beamed as he released the clasps on his briefcase. The spring-loaded fittings sounded like pistol shots. I jumped despite my best intentions, and David leaped halfway out of his chair to save me from a nonexistent danger. Spot was on his haunches.

  Even as David sat and ordered the Lab to do the same, Pitt reached inside the case. As he took his time, digging deep for some supposed treasure, my mind flashed over possibilities, cataloging things that could warrant David’s jagged emotion.

  Pitt might have a magical stone in there, a chunk of jasper that would drain my powers, leaving me helpless and exposed. He might have a rowan wand, a tool to bolster some deadly spell a witch had packaged for his use. He might have fresh-harvested bay leaves and rue, powerful herbs that would disrupt the balance of my own magic, render me as helpless as a child. He might have a gun.

  Pitt cleared his throat as he extracted a sheaf of papers.

  The pages were covered in small type. A column of numbers ran down the left margin, counting off rows of text. Some words were printed in bold; others appeared entirely in capital letters. A copper grommet bound the document together, and a red ribbon wrapped around the ring.

  David collapsed back in his chair. “All these cloak and dagger games to deliver a Charter?”

  Pitt’s smile was different now. He’d gone from unctuous to carnivorous. “I assure you, Montrose. This is not a game.”

  David reached for the papers.

  “Ah, ah, ah! These pages aren’t for warders’ eyes. We have rules, Montrose. You used to know that.”

  “I still do,” David snapped. Good. His temper was rising. I’d rather see him angry than afraid.

  “Then show a little respect. I busted you back to apprentice when you reported to me eight years ago. I hardly need to remind you the Court doesn’t offer third chances. One more Class A violation, and you’re through with warding forever.”

  Eight years ago. I knew the whole story. David had warded a Washington Coven witch, a woman named Haylee James. They’d had a series of fiery disagreements about proper uses of magic, about the roles of witches and warders. Against all logic, he’d fallen in love with her, and she’d betrayed him, taking another warder as her lover. Ultimately, David had been cast out from the Coven, sent back to Hecate’s Court. He’d only been allowed to ward me after years of rehabilitation. Even then, the Court had only sent him my way because I was an upstart. An unknown. Someone who couldn’t possibly be important in the long run.

  And now, I understood what I should have recognized the instant our unwelcome visitor materialized on the beach. Norville Pitt wasn’t some hapless accounting clerk, running errands for Hecate’s Court. He was an enforcer. Pitt held the power of arcane life and death, the ability to terminate David’s career. And mine too, in all likelihood.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Pitt. I’m afraid I don’t know what’s in that packet of papers.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Madison.” I’d been wrong when I’d thought the man was a shy rabbit. He was more like a snake, hypnotizing me with his bulging eyes. “May I present the Madison Academy Charter?”

  He handed over the beribboned papers with a greasy flourish. I glanced at the front page, taking care to hold the document at an angle so David could read along with me.

  “WHEREAS, Hecate’s Court has been charged for time immemorial with the management and training of all Witches in the Eastern Empire, and

  “WHEREAS, Jane Madison has founded the Madison Academy as a magicarium for the training of Witches and established herself as the magistrix thereof, and

  “WHEREAS, Jane Madison wishes that all graduates of the Madison Academy be recognized as official Witches within the boundaries of the Eastern Empire…”

  There were a dozen more statements like that, all formalizing the background of my Academy, all stating what I had supposedly thought through and done before I launched the magicarium. I thumbed past the rest of the whereases until I got to a statement printed in bold: “NOW, THEREFORE, Hecate’s Court and Jane Madison are agreed that this document shall control all interactions between them with respect to the Madison Academy.”

  Okay…. I turned the page to a lengthy collection of DEFINITIONS.

  “Magicarium shall mean a school for training witches in the use of Witchcraft.

  “Affiliated Institution” shall mean any Coven, Magicarium, or Court that offers formal or informal support to a magicarium, including but not limited to support in the form of instruction, financial aid, material goods, or astral energy.

  “Shadowed Path shall mean any form of Witchcraft designed to bring harm to other beings, human or animal, whether those beings possess magical abilities or not.

  “Witchcraft shall mean the casting of spells, the reading of runes, and/or any magical use whatsoever of crystals, herbs, or other elements of the natural world.”

  All right. I couldn’t offer much argument there. I flipped past another few pages.

  One lengthy paragraph was labeled MILESTONES. I skimmed over the words, trying to force them to make sense. “All students enrolled in the Madison Academy shall be tested at regular intervals to determine their achievement of the Milestones set forth in this document.” A series of benchmarks was defined: Awakening a familiar, lighting a candle, changing the appearance of a substance, converting an item from one substance to another.

  The list of accomplishments went on and on. Some of the achievements were laughably simple; I’d mastered them on my own before I’d even learned that Hecate’s Court existed. Others, though, were substantially more involved. At the bottom of the list, I found one that had given me nearly endless grief: Awakening an anima.

  Right. Like I’d be teaching that to any of my students.

  The document went on in the same legalistic vein, page after page. I understood all the magical concepts, but some of the formal language left my head spinning. It seemed unnecessary both to attest and to aver. And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to “assert, verify, and proclaim” that I was entirely in charge of my students’ magical workings whether those undertakings were conducted on the premises of the Madison Academy or elsewhere. I was absolutely positive I didn’t want to indemnify the Court for any loss, pecuniary or magical, that they perceived to have accrued to the possessions of Hecate’s Court, in their sole evaluation and at their sole determination.

  And then, I found the real kicker. It was a few pages from the end, buried in a collection of paragraphs about how we parties could notify each other about changes in our address, about how we both submitted to the jurisdiction of the District Court of the Eastern Empire, etc.

  “MAJOR WORKING: In the event the Madison Academy fails to complete one (1) Major Working by the conclusion of its first semester of operation, all magical materials belonging to Jane Madison and the Madison Academy shall be forfeit to Hecate’s Court without any compensation or recourse for future return.”

  I tossed the agreement onto Pitt’s briefcase. “I w
on’t sign this.”

  He simply turned to my warder. “Montrose? Perhaps you can explain to Miss Madison why it’s in her best interest to sign?”

  David was clutching the arms of his chair. “I’m not doing your dirty work! I’ve seen hundreds of Charters before, and not one had a clause like that.”

  Pitt licked his liver-colored lips. “You saw those Charters when you worked as my clerk. A rather headstrong clerk, as I recall too well. A rather headstrong clerk, with entirely inappropriate ideas about how the Court should and should not conduct its business.”

  “That’s between you and me, Norville. You can’t punish the Madison Academy because you didn’t like the way I filed your papers.”

  “Can’t I?” Pitt clambered to his feet and pointed a pudgy finger toward the center of David’s chest. I automatically dropped a hand to Spot’s muscled neck, and I could feel the animal trembling to intervene. If David hadn’t flashed an immediate silent command, there might have been blood spilled on the sand.

  “Let me tell you something, Montrose. When this little document came up to the Front Desk, no one was particularly inclined to bring it out here. No one wanted to leave the cool, comfortable hallways of the Court, to travel in the sweltering Maryland summer.”

  Pitt took a step closer. His feet shifted in the sand, and the tip of his index finger touched David’s shirt. Spot began to growl, low and steady. “But I realized they were all being short-sighted.” Poke. The growl rose in pitch. “I realized this was quite an opportunity.” Poke. Spot’s lips curled back over his teeth. “I realized I was finally going to see David Montrose bound by the very rules and regulations he claims to hold so dear.” One more poke, and this time Pitt did not pull his hand back. Spot’s growl became an uninterrupted snarl. “The Court issued the Charter, Montrose. Get your witch to sign it, or suffer the consequences.”

  David’s fingers curled into fists. If I had been Norville Pitt, I would have been stumbling backward across the sand, doing my best to get away from a warder’s unrestrained anger, not to mention Cujo, by my side. I had no idea what the true stakes were between these men, but I knew I had to intervene. “Mr. Pitt?” I asked. “Could you give us a moment?”