Sorcery and the Single Girl (23 page)

“She’s my friend,” I answered hotly.

“She is
not
your friend,” David said.

“She’s the only person in the Coven who has actually reached out to me! She’s the only one who acts like I might possibly be treated as an equal after Samhain!”

David’s jaw tightened, and I knew from experience that he was barely restraining himself from making some unpleasant observation. He started three different sentences before he settled on, “Did Haylee come down here last night? Did she have any time alone with your collection?”

“Of course not! Neko and Jacques were here, getting ready for their party. Haylee and I left shortly after they did.” I rolled my eyes. “David, Haylee wasn’t alone in the cottage the entire time that she was here.” I flattened my voice, making it absolutely clear that I would not tolerate more discussion about my only witchy friend. “It wasn’t Haylee.”

David sighed and ran a hand through his hair. That motion chilled me even more than the jasper necklace had. David only ran a hand through his hair when he was truly worried. When he actually believed that I was in danger. That something might go terribly wrong.

“I don’t want you staying here.” His tone was flat. Absolute. “Call Melissa. See if you can sleep at her place for a while. Just until after Samhain.”

I shook my head, even before he was through issuing his command. “No.”

“She’s your best friend. She’ll understand.”

Right. We weren’t even speaking to each other. She’d be just thrilled to have me sleeping on her couch, to have my colonial dresses filling her closet. And I’d have a grand time, shlepping up here to the Peabridge every morning, walking the streets like some Revolutionary War re-enactor. “She won’t,” I said. “You can’t make me stay with Melissa.”

David must have heard the adamance in my tone. “Then go to your grandmother.”

I pictured my pink bedroom, complete with little corners of tape that had once held up posters of Kevin Costner and Andy Garcia. “I can’t do that. Besides, how would I explain it to her? She’d worry herself sick.”

“Jane—”

“David,” I countered. “I’m not giving in to them, whoever they are. Let’s just
say
that Neko’s right.” My familiar yelped indignantly, but I rolled forward without stopping. “Let’s say that the warnings are from someone in the Coven. Someone who broke in after Haylee and I left last night. That person wants to set me off balance. She wants to keep me from centering on my witchcraft, from being ready on Samhain.” I firmed my resolve and raised my voice. “But I won’t give in. I’ve got to stay here, to study. To center myself. To learn everything I can.”

“Jane—”

“David, I’ve got less than three weeks.” I did some quick math. “Nineteen days to prove myself. Don’t disrupt that time. Don’t make me turn everything
else
in my life upside down when I should be focusing on magic!”

I could see he was wavering. He looked at the hundreds of books, at my container of crystals. He actually looked at me—for long enough that I started to feel uncomfortable.

“If I let you stay here…” I nodded, encouraging him. He kept his eyes on me and reached into his pocket before he said, “You have to promise me…”

He pulled out his key chain, cupping his Hecate’s Torch in his palm. Both of us stared at the sleek silver lines, at the art deco design that seemed to glow with a light of its own. I realized once again how much I wanted to have my own Torch, how much I longed to be welcomed into the Coven, to have this testing and judging and suspicion behind me.

David reached some sort of conclusion in his own mind. He fumbled with the key chain for just a moment, and then he passed the Torch to me, slipping his liberated keys back into his pocket.

“I can’t take that!”

“Yes, you can.”

“But it’s yours!”

“It’s mine, and part of my warder’s powers are linked to it. Enhanced by it. I can keep better track of you if you’re wearing it. Put it on a silver chain, and keep it close to your heart.”

I felt a blush flood my cheeks, and I tried one last time. “I’m not allowed to have a Torch until the Coven gives me my own.”

“If you don’t take this one now,” David said evenly, “you might not last long enough for the Coven to give you your own.”

I swallowed hard, unable to keep from looking at the now-hidden jasper necklace. Whatever bravado I had mustered to argue against moving in with Melissa, camping out at Gran’s, I really
was
disturbed that someone had broken in the night before.

I closed my fingers over the Torch. I could sense David’s presence in the metal amulet; I could feel his quiet, calm aura emanating from the silver. When Gran had offered me her Torch, weeks before, I had told her I couldn’t take it; I had known that its magic would clash with my own.

I didn’t feel that danger from my own warder’s charm. It wasn’t opposed to me. In fact, it felt as if it had already melded with my own magical abilities. “All right,” I said.

David did not look happy, but he managed a nod. “Silver,” he said. “Chain. Now.”

I tried not to watch as he pocketed the jasper and the herbs. I did not breathe easily until I had his Torch around my neck, warming a spot above my fast-beating heart.

D
avid sat back on my couch, the hunter-green fabric enveloping him like a cloak. He sighed like a man who had just finished consuming a porterhouse steak. With a loaded baked potato. Along with a bottle of aged cabernet. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him pat his belly in contentment. “Perfect,” he said, favoring me with one of his rare grins. “I don’t think we have anything left to review.”

The past two and half weeks had flown by—the fastest eighteen days of my life. Things had gone smoothly—surprisingly smoothly.

I hadn’t found a single jasper ornament anywhere in or around the house. While I
did
continue to receive e-mails from my anti-witch stalker, I’d been able to set up a filter program to block them from my computer screen. (After all, there weren’t any work-related reasons for anyone to send me messages with the words “coven,” “safehold,” or “centerstone.”)

I knew David remained wary, but he had not policed me unfairly. He’d probably been reassured when I’d committed to working with him on a daily basis. Tonight, though, was the first time I’d heard him express actual contentment with the progress that we’d made. I felt a bit like a lost little girl, uncertain about the kindly rescuer who was offering me a free ride home.

Even as Neko executed an elaborate, spine-twisting stretch, I asked, “Are you sure? I’ve still got fifteen minutes before I have to get back to the library.”

While David glanced out the window toward the back of the Peabridge, Neko hissed his disapproval. My familiar was less than pleased with the amount of time we’d spent working, even if he understood exactly how much rode on my Samhain magic. “Why don’t you astonish Evelyn?” David suggested. “Get back from your lunch hour on time for once.”

I spluttered, but I could hardly come up with a snappy reply. In the past few weeks, I’d become an absolute star at stretching out my midday break. Anyone could tack on five or ten extra minutes by claiming to lose track of time, or blaming traffic, or complaining about slow service at a restaurant. But with the final phases of preparing for the centerstone working, I had routinely dragged lunch out to two hours.

I
had
tried to make up for my extravagant lunch hours by going in early. Not that I was hugely successful with that gambit. But it’s the thought that counts. By good fortune, Evelyn had let slip the fact that she loved a shot of cinnamon syrup in her morning coffee. Like the wicked witch that I was, I’d used that knowledge to the utmost of my ability. Five minutes early, cinnamon syrup and a dollop of whipped cream served with a wink and a smile—so far, I’d had no problem finagling the extra time that I’d spent studying to set the centerstone.

But now David said that we were through. I couldn’t believe him, couldn’t accept that truth. “Shouldn’t we go over the spells one more time?”

David shook his head. “You know them all by heart.”

“How about reviewing the ingredients for the herbal wash?”

“You memorized them weeks ago.”

“Practice casting a circle, for protection?”

“You can do that in your sleep. Have done, since the jasper necklace. Right?”

I nodded, crossing my fingers to exclude the evenings I’d spent with Graeme. I wasn’t going to cast any circle that would keep
him
away from me.

David went on, obviously unaware of that little duplicity. “Besides, I’ll be there. Me, and all the other warders. You don’t need to worry about protection.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I was ready. Me. To face the Coven and join with my sisters once and for all.

When I was in elementary school, I had dreamed of this moment. Not of joining a group of witches—I hadn’t even known witches existed then, for real. But of joining the in group. The popular girls. The ones who were chosen first for the softball team, for homecoming court, for the dance team and all the other measures of popularity that we ate, drank and breathed every day of our fraught existence.

I had never been one of the popular girls. Sure, I had friends. I’d spent enough hours on the telephone to drive Gran to distraction. I’d gone to my share of slumber parties, and I could always find someone to hang out with at the mall.

But I’d never been part of the inner circle. The special core. The girls who set the trends and led the way and made all of the rest of us jealous, no matter how much we’d protested to the contrary.

Now I was a little more than twenty-four hours away from my first real chance to join that clique. Tomorrow night, I would set the centerstone. Tomorrow night, I would join the Coven that would support me and comfort me for all the rest of my witchy life. If I succeeded, of course.

Without conscious thought, my fingers fiddled with David’s Hecate’s Torch, which was hanging freely outside my colonial shift. I’d grown accustomed to the soothing feel of its sleek lines, its simple, swooping design. Soon, I’d have my own.

When I did, I could use it to nudge the Coven in directions I thought worthwhile. Once I’d settled in, I could question Gran’s status, and Clara’s. I could explore giving them back their own Torches, working with them to build their skills. It only seemed fair that they should have
some
place in the Coven, even if it was around the edges. Not everyone could be in the absolute center of the Popular Snobs.

I rubbed the Torch again and realized that I was putting the magical cart before the enchanted horse.

I needed to set the centerstone before I started changing the slightest direction of Teresa Alison Sidney’s Coven. David’s eyes tracked my hand, and then he shook his head. “I have to admit it,” he said. “I didn’t think you could make these lunchtime meetings work. But you were right.”

“And?” I prompted, matching his slow smile with one of my own.

“And?” he asked, seeming confused.

“I was right, and…? You?”

He actually laughed. Out loud. Like an ordinary man, instead of a grouchy, hypersensitive warder. He truly
must
be pleased with my accomplishments. “I was wrong. You’ve been better prepared for our sessions than I could have dreamed. I can only imagine how hard you’ve been studying each night.”

I cast a quick glance toward Neko, who could blow my cover with a single misplaced word. He tilted his head to one side, and his eyebrows raised in that way he had, just before he asked the most annoying questions in the world. The last thing I needed to hear now was some wry speculation about “Nate Poindexter.”

I rushed out an explanation. “I told you before. This is important to me. The most important thing I’ve ever done. If I have to spend my nights preparing for our lunchtime sessions…”

David nodded, accepting my words at face value, but Neko piped up, “I can’t believe you didn’t need to spend every evening here, though. Studying the books in the basement.”

I refused to glare at him—showing my anger would only tip my hand. Instead, I flashed a smile that was only a single shade too tight to be sweet. “I’m a librarian. I study best in a library. It’s habit, I guess. It’s much quieter, and there are
far
fewer distractions.”

I gave a pointed glance to Neko’s throat, and the gold links of the necklace that Jacques had given him only the night before. He had the good grace to blush and look away.

Distractions. If only they knew.

I shivered as I thought about how I had seen Graeme almost every evening since he’d returned from London. Some nights, he arrived at my doorstep holding a paper sack from Dean & Deluca; others, he treated me to one of my favorite Georgetown hot spots. Three different nights, he’d taken me out to his place in Virginia, where he’d wined me and dined me and had his wicked way with me.

Or I, with him. Whatever.

I much preferred the nights that he
didn’t
actually appear on my doorstep. I was still perpetuating the Nate Poindexter charade—pure luck had intervened to keep Neko from meeting Graeme so far. Luck, and Jacques, who knew of more parties in the Washington, D.C., metro area than any other ten people I could name.

Not that I was ashamed of Graeme, of course.

It’s just that I still felt obligated to Melissa, bound by her stupid Friendship Test. Old loyalties died hard. I’d kept my promise despite the fact that I hadn’t spoken to her in over three weeks—the longest time we’d gone without communicating in all the years that we’d known each other.

I’d started to pick up the phone dozens of times, to just call her and make everything right. Every time I started to dial, though, I remembered the way she had dismissed my concerns. I thought about how she had paid attention to everyone in her bakery, reaching out to them, helping them, before she even considered reaching out to me.

I thought about her having a phone, too. She could have called
me
any time in the past almost-a-month. Told me about more of her disastrous dates. Asked for commiseration, for an alliance against the men who broke her heart.

Demanded it, even, with a Friendship Test.

(Okay. When I was honest with myself, I silently thanked her for helping me keep my love life secret. I could only imagine what my overprotective familiar and warder would say when they learned about the new man in my life. There’d be time enough to deal with
that
disaster after Samhain.)

Before I could dwell more on my distractions, the phone rang. Neko perked up and said, “Jane Madison’s grandmother.”

I gave him a dirty look. Yes, Gran had been calling a lot, and she always left the same message. She’d never trusted answering machines, and I’d always cooperated by calling her back promptly. I just hadn’t had time in the past three weeks to listen to more demands, to make more promises.

As the phone made another insistent ring, David waved me toward the handset. I guess we really
were
through with my training. The notion still sat oddly in my mind, as I answered a cautious “Hello?”

“Jane!”

“Oh. Hello, Gran.” I looked at Neko, wondering if he had truly known she was on the other end of the line. I didn’t think that familiars could do that, but who could really say? He smiled innocently and resettled on the couch, folding his legs beside him like a proper Victorian lady at a picnic. He and David started talking in quiet tones, and I took advantage of their conversation to concentrate on my grandmother.

“Jane, I am so glad that I caught you on your lunch break! It has been
ages
since we’ve talked. Didn’t you get my messages?”

“Yes, Gran.” I sighed. “I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to return a phone call?” she asked tartly.

I made a face, feeling like I was about five years old. “David and I have been working together. A lot.”

Gran liked David. Invoking his name was usually enough to make her forget extracting another dozen promises from me. True to form, her voice softened, and she said, “Well, dear, I was only calling because I found a great recipe for you.”

“Recipe?”

“Weren’t you going to start baking for the library?” All of my grandmother’s hurt feelings rushed back into her voice. So much for the magic elixir of David Montrose. “I could have sworn that you said you were going to start serving baked goods on the first of November. I wrote it down on my calendar. In peacock-blue.”

Peacock-blue. Gran always marked special events in the bright shade—my birthday, hers, the opening night of the school play. How could a shade of ink make me feel like a kid caught writing on the walls? With crayon. After several warnings.

“Yes, Gran, you’re right,” I hastened to respond, even though I had completely forgotten about the bottomless pit that threatened to become the Peabridge Restaurant, with a mere side room of dingy books for the occasional well-fed researcher.

“Then don’t you think you should practice? Bake one or two things now, so that you know what will work best? It’s practically November, you know.”

Damn. I was running out of time to launch my Freedom From Cappuccino campaign on the first. Well, I’d just have to get some baking done tonight. It would be soothing. Keep me from worrying about the Coven too much. What could be easier than whipping up a batch or two of brownies?

I took a deep breath. “So, Gran, what’s the recipe that you have for me?”

“It’s called Homemade Turkish Baklava with Rose Water and Pistachio Cream.”

I felt ill just hearing the name. “Baklava?”

“Homemade!” Gran enthused. “It takes forty sheets of filo dough, can you believe that? And a cup of butter. And a cup and a half of walnuts. Lucky for you, there are plenty of nuts in the store now that it’s autumn. It shouldn’t take too long to shell them. You’ll be able to save money that way. Help out the Peabridge’s bottom line.”

Yeah, there were plenty of nuts in the store, and another one on the other end of the phone. Did Gran really think I was going to turn my kitchen into a baklava factory? She had raised me—didn’t she realize the disaster she was proposing? Me? Cook anything more complicated than hard-boiled eggs? “Um, Gran,” I said, trying to break the news to her gently. “I was thinking of starting off with something easy. Like brownies, the way we talked about at brunch.”

“But Clara was over here when I found the recipe! She agreed that it sounds wonderful. She even cast her runes when she got home, and they came up Jera, Perthro and Sowilo. It’s destiny!”

I cast an exasperated look over at David and Neko, but they were carrying on a perfectly friendly conversation without me. There’d be no escape from that quarter. I scowled and said, “I’m afraid I’m not quite up on my rune interpretations just now, Gran.”

She clicked her tongue at my smart tone. “Jera is based on the harvest, Clara says. And Perthro is a sign of the feminine. Sowilo is the sun.” She waited for me to say something, then continued with a touch of exasperation, “You should use harvested grains to pursue the feminine tradition of baking. In a hot oven.” When I remained silent, Gran said, “Sowilo?”