Sorcery and the Single Girl (14 page)

I was sitting in a shareholder’s meeting for a witches’ coven. I nearly fell out of my chair with surprise.

As my sister witches droned on and on about endless accounting details and the need for better management of time and money, I tried to figure out what I’d been expecting. A round-robin tournament of spell-casting, perhaps? A potluck of potions? Maybe an exchange of extra crystals, along with examples of how to use the magical stones?

A million hours into the meeting, Teresa Alison Sidney called on Haylee to make the report of the Gardening Committee.

Yes. The Gardening Committee. I felt that I should be dressed for Ascot, wearing colors like cerise and aqua. Haylee stood and cleared her throat.

“The Gardening Committee has been very busy,” she said. She ruffled her spiky hair with her perfectly manicured fingers, and I was shocked to realize that she seemed nervous. How bizarre. The steady, cutthroat witch that I’d met at the midnight Coven couldn’t possibly be upset by a report on rununcula.

She licked her lips and continued. “We’ve selected the plantings for the new safehold’s borders, and we’ve reserved space in the greenhouse so that we can grow everything over the winter. As soon as we’ve moved beyond the risk of frost next spring, we’ll be ready to give the new safehold complete herbal protection.”

“And what did you decide on for the borders?” Teresa Alison Sidney asked. There was true warmth behind the question; the Coven Mother even smiled—a courtesy that she had not extended to any of the other reporting witches. I was reminded once again that Teresa Alison Sidney—Teri—and Haylee were old friends.

“We’ll go with the traditional protective herbs—parsley, rosemary, an edging of houseleek.”

I fought the urge to look toward the front room, where all the warders were gathered in their manly retreat. I wanted to ask how David had known that we witches would discuss herbs tonight, how he had known to train me in the ways of floral defense just that afternoon.

Instead, I nearly yelped as Neko dug his fingernails into my leg, making me focus on the question that Teresa Alison Sidney had just asked. “Does anyone have other suggestions for Haylee? Anything else that should be worked into the border? We’re particularly interested in strengthening the power for the spring, when our new safehold will be most vulnerable.”

“Radishes.”

I heard my voice before I realized I had spoken. In fact, I was only certain that I’d said the word out loud when a score of witches turned to stare at me. I fought the urge to curl my fingers around my sodalite for comfort.

“Excuse me?” the Coven Mother said, and I squirmed like a schoolgirl.

Still, I caught Neko’s minute nod. I took as deep a breath as I could manage, and I repeated, louder this time, “Radishes.”

Teresa Alison Sidney’s eyes narrowed, but another woman actually spoke. “Radishes would be wonderful if we’re inviting people over for tea and watercress sandwiches.”

By the time I tore my gaze away from the Coven Mother’s smirking lips, I was unable to determine which of the women had been so sarcastic. I let my hand drift down to Neko; my fingers barely grazed his shoulder.

I don’t know if he twitched slightly, or if his focusing ability channeled my own unschooled powers. Suddenly, though, I
knew
which sister had spoken. I turned to face the witch squarely, meeting her almond-shaped eyes without blinking. Her lined face showed a long lifetime spent acquiring a tan, and I wondered if she exposed herself to ultraviolet rays or just baked on some Florida beach in the off-season. Her tawny coloring was the perfect complement to her silver hair, and the velvet-wrapped headband that swept back her bangs made her look like the worst type of suburban grande dame.

Her cheeks flushed as I stared. I kept my voice level and said, “If you’re wasting your radishes on sandwiches, then you’re ignoring the full herbal power we witches can harness.”

I put a slight emphasis on the word “we” and then thought about adding more. I considered saying that she might not have the ability to study herb-craft. I debated stating that only an idiot would be unaware of the powers of radishes.

But I remembered how often David had schooled me with a single apt sentence—not to mention the fact that I’d only learned about radishes that very evening. Despite Neko quivering beneath my fingertips, despite the pressure of all those eyes staring at me, despite my heart pounding against my rib cage so hard that I thought the warders in the front room might think I was an attacking warrior, I managed to say no more.

I could hear the pendulum swinging on the tall-case clock. I could hear Haylee James swallow beside me. I could hear Teresa Alison Sidney breathing.

At last, the Coven Mother said, “Where have you learned about radishes, Jane?”

“From Hannah Osgood’s collection. From the books in my safekeeping.” I set the words down carefully, trying not to boast about the materials, but conveying that I was in control of a great deal of witchy wealth. I tried not to think about the fact that all my wealth would pass from me if I failed to set the centerstone on Samhain.

Teresa Alison Sidney’s eyes were even more intimidating than the matron’s. But when she nodded, I knew I had won this round. “Radishes, then. We’ll use them for edging, to bolster our protection in the spring.

I exhaled slowly, trying not to let anyone see how stressed I’d been. The rest of the meeting crept by—there were more reports from more committees. Neko curled up against my chair and—for all I could tell—fell asleep.

At last, the Coven Mother asked if there were any other matters to discuss. When no one responded, she stood and led us through the closing ritual, walking in a great circle around the room, gathering up the energy that we had laid out to protect us. She sketched a spectacular pentagram in the air, tracing silver light with her fingertips, and then she intoned, “So we were met, Daughters of Hecate. Go forth from this circle with peace in your heart. Go forth with the power of your sisterhood.”

“We go forth,” the women responded, and I remembered enough from my first visit to join them.

I waited until a thunderclap had echoed through the room and the silver light had faded before I dared to lean back in my chair, closing my eyes for just a moment. I wanted to rub my temples, to curl up and take a nap.

“Would you like some tea?” I heard from closer at hand than I expected. “No watercress sandwiches—with or without radishes—but there’s some killer crab dip.”

My eyes flew open, and I saw Haylee James, extending a cup and saucer like a formal peace offering. I took the caffeine gratefully but was unable to ignore Neko’s anxious glance toward the serving table. “Go,” I said to him. “But leave some for everyone else.” I turned back to Haylee as Neko darted away. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry Kate was so nasty.” Kate. She must be the matron. Haylee shrugged. “You’ve stirred up a lot of the Coven. Many witches thought they’d be asked to set the centerstone.”

I smiled wanly. “I don’t suppose I could forfeit the responsibility?”

“You don’t mean that.” She flashed me a toothy smile. “You’ll do fine. Really.” She sipped her own tea. “And radishes are an…interesting idea. Quaint, actually. A throwback to the herb gardens where so many Wyrd Women got their original powers.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous—” I started to defend my knowledge, but another quick smile implied that Haylee thought no defense was necessary.

“Lots of plants have power.” She shrugged. “That’s why I like the Gardening Committee. There’s so much history in what we do. Have you ever looked at medieval paintings? Or Renaissance, with all those flowers and herbs? Each one was supposed to protect the subject—and the artwork itself—with magical power.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’d recognize half the plants I’ve read about. I’m pretty good at things in the colonial era, but going that far back…”

“We should go down to the National Gallery of Art some time. We could compare notes from your colonial collection with the paintings there.”

Her words were offhand, but I recognized the thrill that jolted through my belly. It was like being chosen for an elementary school kick-ball team. Or standing in the high school cafeteria, tray in hand, and seeing a friend wave toward a nearby seat. Or staying up until dawn, clutching pillows and eating nacho cheese Doritos and gossiping about all of the cute boys.

“I’d like that,” I said.

“Oh, God!” she said. “I shouldn’t have said anything! My schedule is
insane
for the next week, week and a half.”

“That’s right. You’re an interior decorator, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and I’m finishing up a kitchen renovation for a major client. Can you wait till a week from Sunday? We could get to the gallery at two and avoid the morning tourists?”

I nodded. “That would be wonderful.”

Haylee matched my shy grin with another one of her stunning smiles. Her fingers flickered to the Hecate’s Torch at her throat, as if she were grateful for my agreement. “Fantastic!”

Eager to continue the conversation, I nodded toward her Torch. “I can’t wait until I have one of my own. Just hearing about Gran’s the other day made me realize how much I want one.
Need
one. It was so hard not to accept Gran’s as a gift! As
if
that would work for me!”

“As if,” Haylee repeated, and she reached out to pat the back of my hand, making my fingers tingle as if she were sprinkling them with magical pixie dust. For just a moment, I thought that I must look ridiculous to her. I must seem petty, jealous of my weak witchy grandmother. What had even made me bring up Gran? There was no reason to dwell on the Coven’s dismissive attitude about my distaff relations.

“It’s normal for a witch to want a Torch,” Haylee said. “Almost as normal as getting hungry at one of these meetings. How about another cup of tea?”

I laughed and offered to fetch drinks for both of us. Maybe this Coven thing was going to work out after all.

“H
ave another muffin, dear.” Gran pushed the plate of lemon-poppyseed treats closer. I shifted a little on her kitchen chair, grateful that I hadn’t yet donned the whalebone corset that would keep me sitting straight for the rest of the day.

Corsets. Whalebone. We
had
come a long way, baby.

Consciously deciding to celebrate my liberated sisters’ battles, I helped myself to a second muffin. It was still warm from Gran’s oven.

I’d been skipping enough desserts (I’d still been too busy to wander over to Cake Walk) to justify the additional breakfast. I even thought I might have dropped a couple of pounds. Before I knew it, I might start to look like the svelte Teresa Alison Sidney. Well, at least I might have a touch more confidence the next time I met with the Coven for committee reports. What more could a girl ask?

I reached for the butter—it would be rude not to celebrate fresh-baked muffins, right? It wasn’t every day that I got invited over to someone’s house for a home-cooked meal.

Gran cleared her throat and said, “Your mother and I have been trying to figure out the best way to talk to you about something, and I’ve convinced Clara that we should just broach the topic instead of beating around the bush.”

So much for the loving care of a home-cooked breakfast.

I should have realized this was something big. Something major enough to make Gran actually
leave
a message on my answering machine. When I’d returned from work last night, the light was flashing. Instead of the usual “Jane Madison’s grandmother,” Gran had actually steeled herself to say that she was expecting me for breakfast the following morning, that she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I pushed my plate back, ignoring an inviting trickle of melted butter over the crisp muffin crust. I tried to convince myself that I’d never been a big fan of lemon poppyseed—the seeds always got stuck in my teeth. My stomach growled, though, as restless as my mind had suddenly become.

“Yes,” I prompted, when no further confession seemed forthcoming.

“It’s just that we’ve been worried about you. About us. It’s been difficult enough for the three of us to get to know each other, and now…”

Irritation pricked at the back of my throat. I’d been a fool to think that Gran and I would chat like lighthearted friends. I should have realized I would end up sulking here like a sullen teenager. What
was
it about coming back to Gran’s house that pushed me into this long-abandoned role?

“What have I done to upset Clara now?” I heard the obnoxious tone beneath my words, but I felt no need to modify it.

“Now, you shouldn’t automatically blame your mother. I’ve been concerned, too.”

“So, what? The two of you get together to talk about me when you don’t have anything else to manipulate? Did you bake for Clara also? Set out the fine china, so that both of you could figure out exactly what I’m doing wrong, and how you want me to change?”

Okay. The vehemence of my tirade even surprised me. I mean, I’d come to realize during the past year that Clara
was
my grandmother’s daughter. Gran was going to do everything that she could to help Clara on her quest to return to the normal world. Clara herself was trying—she
had
moved back to the D.C. area, leaving behind her meditation group and the Vortex near Sedona, and all the strange New Age concepts where she’d learned to express her true witchy nature.

But I really didn’t want to feel any sympathy for Clara. Not now. Not this morning, when Gran was practically admitting that the two of them had been plotting against me.

Gran tsked and lifted the tea cozy to top off her cup of Earl Grey. She settled the quilted cover back over the china teapot before she met my eyes. “Make me a promise, Jane.”

Gran and her promises. Over the years, I’d promised any number of outrageous things to ease her ever-more-bizarre fears. I’d sworn not to eat fugu the first time I’d gone to a sushi restaurant; Gran apparently thought that poisonous Japanese blowfish would be the only thing on the menu. I’d vowed not to go ice-skating on the Potomac during one of the rare winters when the river had frozen over—as if I’d ever consider taking my weak ankles out on the ice. I’d promised not to sneak into the National Zoo at night, and I’d even offered up a special, auxiliary oath not to try feeding the pandas—because they only
looked
like people in panda suits, and they were actually dangerous wild animals with claws and a temper to match Tyrannosaurus rex. And just last year I’d promised not to lick any toads—an oath that proved surprisingly challenging, in light of my more obscure witchcraft paraphernalia.

Gran had perfected her promise extraction, making each one seem simple and straightforward and logical, even as I rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth at the absurdity of her disaster scenarios. In all the years that Gran had raised me, she had never made me promise to refrain from doing one single thing that I was even remotely inclined to do. (Yes, there was that one unwelcome promise that she’d successfully extracted—my affirmative agreement to meet my mother—but when it came to
prohibiting
behavior, I’d always been secretly proud to have an unbroken record of control.)

So, I should just go ahead and agree. Forget to fight. Move on with my life.

I dug in my heels.

“What are you asking, Gran?”

She stopped fiddling and looked me straight in the eye. Uhoh. This was going to be a doozy. “Stop seeing the Coven.”

“What?”

“Don’t see those women anymore. Clara and I don’t think that they have your best interests at heart.”

“Of course they don’t have my best interests at heart!” I sighed in exasperation. “They’re
witches,
Gran. They’re a Coven. They’re a sisterhood, banded together to protect the magical group, not the best interests of any single individual. And
definitely
not the interests of someone who is still an outsider, like me.”

Gran blinked. I don’t think she had expected me to agree with her. “Then why are you so intent on meeting them? On working with them?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

I shook my head. “Not this time.” I tried to think of how I could phrase this, how I could make Gran understand. “This isn’t a group that I’ve chosen to belong to. It’s not like the concert opera guild, or the Friends of the National Zoo. This is
more.
It’s deeper. I was born a witch. It’s in every fiber of my being.”

“But you don’t have to associate with those women!”

“I do, though.” I clenched and unclenched my hands, frustrated by the search for appropriate words. “I’ve been trusted with great power. Now, I’ve got great responsibility.”

Wonderful. I was reduced to quoting Spiderman to justify myself.

“Gran, I don’t have to agree with everything they do. I don’t have to be involved with every project they undertake. But I do have to work with them—or I’m going to be forced to work
against
them. They’re the only game in town, quite literally. David says that there aren’t any other witches in D.C., Maryland or Virginia. Teresa Alison Sidney is the strongest Coven Mother that any American coven has ever known, and her territory has grown as she has matured.”

“That Teresa Alison Sidney—” Gran said, and she shook her head in disapproval.

“What, Gran? I thought you liked her?” Wasn’t Gran the one who had been so enamored of the Coven Mother? Hadn’t Gran contemplated inviting her to join the concert opera guild? What had changed?

Gran pursed her lips. “She was rude to me. And to your mother. You might not think that we care about this witchcraft nonsense, but we do, on some level. And we don’t like to be made fools of in front of everyone.”

Her voice was trembling. Tears had actually gathered in her eyes. My heart clenched, and I felt truly miserable, like I was leaving my family to seek my fortune, like I was turning my back on the woman who had raised me. “What happened, Gran?”

My question flustered her. She removed the cozy and lifted the china teapot, gently sloshing it from side to side to test how much water remained. “Do you want some more tea?”

“No, Gran.” I waited for her to tell me.

“Now, you’ve let that muffin get cold. Let me pop it into the microwave, freshen it right up.”

“No, thank you, Gran.” I tried to keep an edge from my voice.

“Maybe you’d like some fruit? I’ve got some lovely pears—first ones of the season. Let me slice one for you.”

I settled my hand on her wrist, keeping her from flying off to the kitchen counter. “Gran, what did the Coven do?”

She fretted at the edge of her napkin. “Clara got a phone call yesterday afternoon.”

Yesterday. The day after the Coven’s business meeting. “Who was it?”

“One of the witches. She didn’t give her name, but her voice was older than Teresa Alison Sidney’s.”

“How did Clara even know it was someone from the Coven?”

“Who else begins a conversation, ‘I speak as the messenger of Hecate’?”

Well, Gran had a point. I asked, “What else did she say?”

“She said the Coven had reconsidered. Teresa Alison Sidney had spoken. The witches decided to take back the jewelry that they gave us.”

“The Torches?” I immediately thought of my conversation with Haylee. Had
I
said something to make the Coven act? But there had been no indication that my longing for Gran’s Torch was anything out of the ordinary. Besides, the witch who had phoned couldn’t even
be
Haylee. Not if her voice was old. And Clara had received the call. Not Gran. Not the grandmother I had inadvertently framed when I said I longed for a Torch.

No. I remembered Haylee’s tingling fingers on my hand. Haylee was my friend. She would not turn the Coven against me. Against Gran and Clara.

Gran shook her head and sighed. “I mean, neither Clara nor I thought they were so important in the first place. You know that I was willing to give you mine.”

“But they shouldn’t just be able to ask for them back, for no reason. Did the witch give Clara any explanation at all?”

“She only said that the Coven had reconsidered. That the two of us aren’t worthy of membership. That our powers aren’t strong enough.”

I went back over the secret meeting. Maybe this had nothing to do with me at all. Had there been any mention about rescinding membership? Had anyone said anything about getting back jewelry that had already been distributed? I could have missed the details, if they’d been buried in some committee report when my attention was wandering.

No. Gran and Clara’s status with the Coven had not been part of the meeting. It must be separate. Personal.

But I still couldn’t yield to Gran’s request. This was one promise I just couldn’t make. I took her right hand between both of mine, squelching a moment of surprise when I realized how thin her bones were, how papery her flesh had become. “Gran, I’m so sorry. But I can’t promise. Not now. Let me try to make this right, from inside the Coven. Let me explain to them that they’ve been wrong.”

Gran sighed. “Jane—”

“Gran, you have to let me go ahead with this. Once I’m in the Coven, I can learn things. And I can teach them, too. They were wrong to have treated you the way they did. They should have been more respectful. And once I’m inside the group, I can work to change that. I can work to build a group where all witches are welcome, even ones who—” I caught myself just in time, barely stumbling before I completed my sentence. “Even ones who are newly come to their powers.” No reason to rub in Gran’s and Clara’s limited abilities.

Gran sat back in her chair. She took her eyeglasses from the bridge of her nose, spending an inordinately long time polishing them against her apron. “It’s just that I love you.
We
do, Clara and I, both. And we want what’s right for you.”

“I know that, Gran. I truly do.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “And now, what’s right for me is that I get to work. Evelyn will kill me if I’m late.”

Gran took a deep breath, and then she pushed herself up from the table. “Take her some muffins, dear. She’ll forgive anything with a fresh-baked muffin on her desk.”

Yeah. A fresh-baked muffin and a half caf, half decaf latte with an extra-large cap of whipped cream. I sighed and wrapped up a treat for my boss. After Gran walked me to her front door, I stopped with my hand on the shiny brass knob. “Are we all right about this? You and me? And Clara?”

“We’ll be fine, Jane.” Gran flashed me an unsteady smile. “We always will be.”

The conversation bothered me as I walked all the way home. I could have taken a cab and saved some time, but I wanted a chance to think about what Gran had said. Besides, it had rained the night before, and the city streets shimmered with the first hint of true autumn chill. (And Gran was absolutely right about one thing—Evelyn
would
forgive my late arrival if I sweetened that news with a treat.)

Did I really want to be a member of a club that intimidated my closest family members? That invited people to join and then took away their membership on a whim? Did I want to be one of the Popular Snobs?

The problem was, every time I asked myself the question, the answer kept coming up yes. I could still feel the thrill of realizing that Haylee James was asking me to go to the National Gallery. (Me! Silly, new-witch, me!) My fingers tingled as if she were still touching me with her cool, steady hand.

And aside from the new friendship, I could remember the power I had felt at the midnight Coven, the silver-traced energy that bound the women together. There was strength in their rituals, traditions that gave them roots. My entire body could still remember the
pull
of the tall-case clock, the expectancy that grew out of its deep chimes.

A part of my witch’s soul longed for that sense of togetherness, that bonding with others. I began to realize there was a reason that witches came together in covens. We
were
Wyrd Women. We did experience the world in strange ways. We needed to share those experiences with one another, order them, make sense out of them. We needed the sisterhood to sustain us.