Joy of Witchcraft (5 page)

“Drink, Cass,” Tupa urged.

Like a child swallowing from a sippy cup, Cassie complied, gulping once, twice, three times. I passed the plate of food to Tupa, hoping he could work additional familiar magic there. He selected a morsel of blondie and held it under his witch’s lips. Cassie hesitated, swallowing hard, tightening her fingers around the mug.

But then she opened her mouth and let her familiar feed her, bite by painful bite. I waited until she’d finished the entire Blessing before I spoke again. “Please, Cassie. Let us help you. Let us take you into Pine Ridge.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need that. He didn’t—” A sobbing breath shut her throat, and she gulped noisily. “He didn’t do anything.”

The satyr might not have succeeded in raping her. But he’d done plenty. All of us could see that.

Still, she was allowed to refuse treatment.

“Come upstairs, then,” I said. “Lie down in the guest room. Just for a little while.”

Her arms tightened close to her sides, and I thought she was going to refuse. But Tupa cupped her near elbow with one small hand, rubbing the side of his face against her biceps. I couldn’t feel the specific tug of their magical bond, but I knew what Neko would have done in a similar situation. I wasn’t surprised when Cassie staggered to her feet.

She sucked in her breath as she straightened. Bruises were already coming out on her pale arms. I was certain her back was mottled black and blue from where she’d writhed against the ground. But Tupa leaned close on one side, and Zach closed in on the other.

“There you go,” I said. “Up the stairs. First room on the right. There’s a change of clothes in the closet.” Feeling helpless, I watched them shuffle toward the landing, supporting each other, step by painful step.

“The rest of you,” I said when they’d completed their climb. “Eat. Drink. Take care of yourselves. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I brushed past Teresa as I crossed to the stairs. I was grateful for David’s presence at my back, even when he pushed past me into our bedroom, barely waiting for me to close the door before he exploded. “You can’t let Teresa Alison Sidney claim a benefaction.”

“Hush,” I said. “Cassie will hear you.” He paced three steps away as I continued. “What choice do I have?”

He whirled and marked three paces back. “You realize what benefaction means, don’t you? She can take any magical possession of yours, anything equal in value to the assistance she lent.”

I met David’s dark brown eyes, refusing to quail when I saw the green glints that meant he was furious. “What do you want me to do, David? She matched her powers to mine and we succeeded in a working I couldn’t complete alone. I admitted as much in front of witnesses.”

“What if she claims me? If she demands Neko?”

“She can’t,” I said flatly. “A witch can only lose her warder or familiar if her life was at stake. The satyr wasn’t after me.”

“But Cassie is your student. She’s under your protection.”

“I know that!” My exclamation was all the sharper for the fact that I couldn’t shout, couldn’t alarm Cassie down the hall. I hated when David acted like I was a child, like I was too young or naive to understand the consequences of my actions. I knew exactly what I’d done in that circle; I’d weighed everything to within a gram in the desperate heartbeat before I’d nodded to Teresa.

David filled the spiky silence, backtracking to a subject where he knew he could prevail. “I want you to eat something.”

“And I want you to get your ribs wrapped,” I countered. “Looks like we’ll both be disappointed until we get Teresa out of this house. And the fastest way to do that is to yield to her claim.”

David’s face set in stone. I reached out a hand to his jaw, cupping the familiar stubborn line with my palm. “You’re right, of course. Cassie’s under my protection. But that’s not enough for Teresa to claim you. Or Neko.”

“I don’t want her claiming anything at all,” David said, his voice barely registering above a sigh.

“That makes two of us. But I won’t let her bring this before the Court. Not with…”
Not with the Pitt inquest starting on Monday.

I didn’t say it. I didn’t need to.

David sighed. “Let’s get you out of that dress.”

It took all our combined concentration to unfasten the rows of onyx buttons, to peel away the clinging bodice and wrestle the heavy folds of velvet into submission. I would have given a pretty substantial claim of benefaction to anyone who helped me slip into the soft fleece of a sweatshirt, into the warm flannel of pajama bottoms.

But I was a magistrix. That was the crux of everything that had happened this Samhain night. And a magistrix didn’t retreat into comfort, not with an enemy on the premises. I forced myself to pull on a black pencil skirt, to add a crimson shell and a respectable jacket. To hell with heels, though. My ballet flats would have to do.

By the time I’d towel-dried my hair, David wore a fresh shirt and the clean, dry slacks of another dark suit. I suspected he’d changed quickly so I couldn’t see the damage left by the satyr’s hooves. At my accusing look, he held out his hands, as if to prove his innocence. I chose to ignore the fact that he winced as he gestured.

Back in the living room, battle lines had been drawn. My students, their familiars, and Clara all stood close to the fireplace, where some enterprising person—my money was on Caleb—had lit a cheerful fire. The warders were gathered on the far side of the coffee table, spread in a carefully casual line, feet planted with deceptive attention to angles, to lines of attack.

Sporting a patronizing smile, Teresa stood near the foot of the stairs. Connie, her familiar, twitched as she looked at the far side of the room, at the plates and mugs, at the patent simulation of good cheer. Ethan didn’t bother with pretense. He was clearly on alert, his back to Teresa, his hands flexed by his sides as if he’d throw the first person who made a false step.

“All right,” I said from the small landing, a few steps above the living room floor. I’d admit I took some pleasure in making Teresa and her entourage turn around, in forcing everyone to look up at me. “Let’s get this over with.”

I looked across at my confused students. “Teresa Alison Sidney made a claim of benefaction after assisting us this evening. Of course, the Jane Madison Academy follows all the strictures of Hecate’s Court. Therefore, we yield to the claim, and offer up our dearest possessions in eternal gratitude for the risk our sister took on our behalf.”

The words made perfect sense, following a long-time formula. But I made sure no one would hear a drop of gratitude—eternal or otherwise—in my tone. I pushed past the unflappable Teresa and led the way to the basement, palming on the overhead fluorescent lights as I stalked down the stairs.

I could still remember the first time I’d seen the Osgood collection of magical goods. They’d also been housed in a basement then, in a groundskeeper’s cottage in the garden of the library where I’d worked. The vast array of books had made my librarian’s heart beat fast. I’d hardly noticed the other items—runes and crystals and wands, cauldrons and casks and a host of hand-held knives made sacred to Hecate. Neko had been there too, in the form of a giant statue of a cat.

I hadn’t known it on that dark and stormy night, but I’d been looking at one of the greatest hordes of arcana ever assembled.

Now, I swept my hand toward the shelves, inviting everyone to look around. I’d intended to wait a while before showing the collection to my new students. I wanted them to build confidence in their own magical abilities, to explore their unique relationships to the witchy world we shared. But Teresa had forced my hand, and now I had to make the best of things.

The collection could have been used for a graduate seminar on the history of bookmaking. The oldest works were on scrolls, vellum or sheepskin wrapped onto rowan rollers, onto yew. Titles hung from tags on the ends of wooden bars, dangling testimony to ancient wisdom. There weren’t many scrolls in sight, though, none of the truly ancient texts, the obscure ephemera of the magical world.

I’d arranged all the books by topic, then by author. There were hundreds of handwritten books, copied out long before the invention of the printing press. Many of the books were simply pages bound between heavy cardboard covers, with slips of paper pasted to the spine to identify the treasures within. Leather bindings were reserved for rare titles. Some sported gold leaf on the cover and on the spine. A handful had semi-precious stones bonded to the leather—turquoise and amber, even a garnet or two.

Teresa studied the shelves as if she were a customer in an exclusive organic market, tracking down the latest in gluten-free, cruelty-free, non-GMO, paleo-certified foods.

I studied her as she shopped. Had she plotted with Pitt to release the satyr? If so, it had been a risky plan. She’d had no way of knowing I knew the banishing spell. She could have been the satyr’s next victim, as easily as any of my students.

Besides, Teresa had to keep her distance from Norville Pitt. The inquest was a serious matter. Teresa was already on the hook to explain payments she’d made to Pitt, bribes intended to cripple the Jane Madison Academy. No sane witch—and whatever else she was, Teresa was coolly, coldly sane—would purposely draw even closer scrutiny from Hecate’s Court by intentionally sabotaging my magicarium’s Samhain working.

I had to believe Teresa’s only goal had been to delay me, to gain access to the Osgood collection.

But even
that
wasn’t entirely accurate. She longed for the riches of my arcane holdings. But she also disliked me. She disliked my warder.

Dislike
was too soft a word. Teresa wanted to torment David. He had once been tied to her coven, warding a Washington witch. He’d challenged his witch’s ethics, questioned her use of the Shadowed Path. Ultimately, David had been cashiered, detailed to work in Hecate’s Court. But not before he’d brooked Teresa’s authority. And for that, she’d never forgive him.

“Ah!” Teresa breathed when she reached a particular section on the far wall.

Of course. I should have known. She stood in front of the section about warders. I watched her finger a dozen titles, all classics in the field:
Warders’ Ways: What Works for Women.
Warders and Witches, a Historical Analysis of Successful Pairings. Who Wards the Warders?
And the most valuable book I had on the subject, a first edition bound in ostrich, with hand-colored tipped-in plates:
Warders’ Magic: A Complete Guide to Managing Your Protector
.

Teresa slid the book from the shelf. I had to give her credit. She knew her way around rare books. She didn’t tug at the top of the spine, didn’t stress the binding in any way. Instead, she cradled her prize like the treasure it was, carrying it to the reading stand I always kept prepared at the center of the room. She eased it onto the baize-covered surface, slipping velvet wedges beneath first the front cover, then the back. She carefully turned to the title page.

She was good at hiding her reaction. A casual observer would think she was simply interested in an old book. But I saw the quick flare of her nostrils, the sudden dilation of her pupils as she studied the colophon, the early printer’s mark that indicated she held a first edition.
Warders’ Magic
excited her. She was thrilled.

She closed it with the same precise care she’d given to taking it from the shelf. “I claim this book as benefaction.”

I swallowed hard, not adverse to heightening my role-playing a bit. I let my teeth scrape my bottom lip. I glanced at the empty space in the collection, the darkness that now gaped like a missing tooth. I dripped a little of my real fatigue into my voice, letting my words quaver as I said, “I grant your claim. Let balance be restored between us. May we share perfect trust from this day forward.”

“From this day forward,” she said, and then she intoned “Ethan.” She passed the book to her warder, like a 1950s heiress handing off a hatbox to her chauffeur. She actually snapped her fingers to summon Connie. The nervous familiar jumped as if she’d been shocked with a live electric wire. Then Teresa processed past David, climbing the stairs like Queen Elizabeth taking the throne.

Not to be outdone, I followed her through the kitchen, past the spread of food in the living room, all the way to the front door. I waited for Ethan to reach for the doorknob. Only when he’d recognized the extent of the locking spell David maintained as a matter of course did I reach out a commanding hand. One brush of my fingertip, and the lock shifted back to an ordinary Yale deadbolt.

I nodded once, granting the trio permission to leave. Teresa forced her resentful features into a mask of cool disdain, and then they were gone. I hadn’t seen a car on the driveway. Ethan must be transferring them back to Teresa’s home using warder’s magic.

Before I could summon the strength to restore the lock to its supernatural appearance, Neko reached around me. He set the protective spell, one of the few magic workings a familiar could complete on his own. With the same gesture, he cupped his palm against my elbow, lending me physical support even as he pushed a bolt of pure energy past my tattered defenses. The solicitous gesture reminded me of Tupa and Cassie. I glanced up the stairs, ready to try once more to convince my student to get medical attention.

Neko shook his head, though, offering up a plate with his free hand. Slices of apple and pear were spread in a sweet fan, alternating with wedges of sharp Cheddar. A trio of Bunny Bites set off the healthy snack. I gulped down the first miniature carrot cake like a starving woman, barely taking time to chew. I managed a little more restraint with the second, and by the time I devoured the third I barely resembled a starved prisoner.

Neko grinned and passed me a mug. The smell of fresh cider was so intense I thought I might faint. Instead, I held the cup with two hands and forced myself to take careful sips to the end.

When I looked up, Clara was standing in the arch that led to the dining room. It took me a moment to parse the expression on her face: Concern.

I couldn’t remember my mother
ever
being concerned for my welfare. In my exhausted state, I thought I might cry. Instead, I let Neko pass me a chunk of sourdough bread, spread thick with butter.