Girl's Guide to Witchcraft (9 page)

Someone had emptied an ashtray into my mouth. Probably the same someone who had pounded my forehead with a ball-peen hammer. The same someone who had placed ten-thousand-kilowatt lightbulbs outside my bedroom window.

I moaned and rolled over, pulling my pillow on top of my head. My comforter slipped onto the floor (who had tangled it into such a massive knot while I slept?) and the chilly air immediately raised gooseflesh on my arms and legs. I swore and reached down for the quilt. My hand closed on empty air. I stretched farther, but found nothing. Resigning myself to do battle with the evil someone who had sabotaged my sleep—if only to regain my comforter—I sat up in bed.

The clock screamed eight forty-five in angry red numbers.

Eight forty-five.

I needed to be at work in fifteen minutes.

I swore again and threw myself into the hallway. One glance into the living room brought back all my memories of the night before. Had we really mixed another pitcher of drinks? Had we substituted vodka for rum? And frozen orange juice concentrate for lime juice? Screwdrivers, with mint, washing down two remaining Lust bars and not much else for supper? My belly trembled at the thought.

No time to rue the damage.

I splashed icy water on my face and began to attack my furry mouth with a generous swoop of Colgate. I made a face as I scraped the bristles across my tongue.

“I wondered when you were going to wake up,” Neko said, and I swallowed half of my toothpaste in surprise.

“Eye i’nt oo ake ee?”

“What? Sweetheart, are you still drunk from last night? I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

I spat into the sink and whirled to shake my toothbrush in his general direction. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed your beauty sleep. After all, you’re going to be working with David Montrose from here on out, and I’d hardly be a good familiar if I didn’t make sure that you presented at your very best.” He smiled slyly and gave me an appraising look. I could only imagine the glamour that he beheld, with my hair standing out at all angles and toothpaste foaming at the corners of my mouth.

“I have to be at work in fifteen minutes!”

He glanced at his sleek wristwatch. “Ten, now.”

“Arrrr!” I grabbed for a hand towel and wiped my face dry. My hairbrush caught in my tangles and I forced it through the knots as I pushed past Neko into my room. I slammed the door and offered up a silent thank-you to Evelyn’s foresight in establishing our latest get-out-the-patrons effort. At least I wouldn’t have to figure out what to wear. My colonial costume beckoned from my closet.
Fashion Central, here I come.

I tugged open a dresser drawer and fumbled around for underwear. One clean pair remaining. I cast a dagger glance toward the hallway.

“Neko!”

“Yes?” He was clearly standing just the other side of the door. I jumped at the sound of his voice so near and cast a reflexive eye toward Stupid Fish. The tetra was swimming in his tank, oblivious as ever. I sprinkled in a pinch of fish food and reminded myself that I needed to change his water. I glanced at the clock. Five minutes to nine. No fresh water today.

“Neko, you’re supposed to help me, right?” The question came out through clenched teeth as I pulled my panties into place and struggled with the hooks on my bra. Honestly, my clothes fit me better last fall. Last fall, when I was still engaged to Scott. Last fall, before I’d taken solace with my best friends, Ben and Jerry. And about a million pitchers of mojitos. And another one, last night, of minty screwdrivers. Don’t think about it, I told myself, swallowing hard.

“Yes?” He made his answer sound like a question, and I could picture his head turned to the side as he measured out what I was asking.

“What about with things other than spells? I mean, if I don’t have time to study the books downstairs
and
do things around the house, could you help me with chores?” Chores? I sounded like Gran. I tugged my hoops over my head and jerked them into place around my hips.

“What did you have in mind?”

The quilted petticoat settled over the hoops with a few brisk tugs. I jerked on my jacket, momentarily flustered by its fitted back and shortened flare around my hips. The cotton chintz was smooth under my fingers, but I didn’t waste time admiring the floral design. “Laundry!” I called out to Neko as I grabbed my neckerchief.

“Laundry?” His skeptical tone made it sound like a foreign word.

“You know, washing machine, dryer? Little fabric softener sheets that smell like mountain meadows?” I whirled back to my bureau. My dress might be colonial, but I was still wearing contemporary shoes and panty hose. I could see the run in the first pair before I even pulled them out of the drawer. I couldn’t risk Jason glimpsing any slovenly behavior on my part. After all, he might drop by the library any time.

“You want me to do laundry?” Neko sounded scandalized.

“I want you to help me so that I have time to study the books downstairs.” I tried to sound reasonable. “Time to be the best witch that I can be.” That sounded like an army slogan. Was there an army of witches? The uniform had to be better than the one I was wearing now.

The second pair of hose looked fine until I worked my fingers down to the right toes. There were three little scabs of nail polish, each blocking a run. As I tried to maneuver my toes around the polish, I managed to tear open the entire leg.

“Where?” The cat-man was no fool. He was wary of accepting this new responsibility. I didn’t blame him.

“Up by Dupont Circle. There’s a laundromat on P Street. You can take a cab there and back. My treat.” Third time was the charm—my last pair of panty hose actually made it onto both feet. I tugged at the waistband, trying to stretch the hose higher, and I sighed when I realized that I might need to graduate to the dread “Q” size. I grabbed my mobcap and plopped it onto my unruly hair before I opened my bedroom door.

“You’ll throw in coffee?” Neko bargained. “I have to have something to sustain me while I wait for the clothes.”

I lugged my hamper into the hallway before closing my door and locking it behind me. I turned back in time to catch Neko’s blatant disappointment that Stupid Fish would be beyond his reach. “Fine. One venti coffee. Or latte. Or steamed milk. Whatever you want.” I dug in my purse for a crumpled five-dollar bill. “Here. And there are quarters in the pottery bowl, for the washing machine.” I gestured to the kitchen counter. I was about to open the front door when a thought occurred to me. “You
have
done laundry before, haven’t you?”

“I’ll check with the Coven,” he said.

“Neko—”

“They knew how to make a mojito, didn’t they?”

Well, I couldn’t argue with that.

The Presbyterian church on the next block began to toll the hour, and I rushed around to the front of the Peabridge. I was digging around in my purse as I climbed the three stone steps. I had to have a lipstick in there somewhere. It was too late to do full makeup, but Gran always said that lipstick made a woman look put together.

Gran. I hadn’t spoken to her since leaving the Four Seasons. Her name had come up on caller ID both at home and at the office, and I’d heard four of her messages: “Jane Madison’s grandmother,” but I hadn’t called her back yet. I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I didn’t know what I wanted to do about Clara. I had enough going on in my crazy, mixed-up life without that problem to solve.

My fingers closed on a tube of Cover Girl. I squinted at the bottom of the barrel. Pick-Me-Up Pink. Was that an offer to put out? Or a plea for someone to brighten this already hideous day?

“Good morning, Jane!” I looked up to find myself face-to-face with Harold Weems, our all-purpose janitor, maintenance man, security guard and—apparently—greeter. Usually, Harold was too shy to mumble a hello. This morning, though, he was holding the door open for me. I was more than a little surprised as he looked me over, studying my outfit from head to toe. After all, we’d both been dressed to the colonial nines for a week now.

He sported stockings and emerald breeches, with an embroidered waistcoat and a close-fitting frock coat. A tricorn hat, currently tucked under his arm, completed the ensemble. He nodded earnestly as I approached and said, “That skirt is a lovely shade of brown.”

I glanced down at my costume, incredulous. When I looked up at Harold, I was surprised to see him blushing. I said, “Um, thank you?”

He blinked and swallowed hard. His face was usually pale, but now it flushed nearly crimson. The strands of his hair were stringy across his scalp, and for just a moment I worried that he might suffer a heart attack right there on the Peabridge steps. He blurted out, “I really wanted to say that you look nice today, but I know that I’m not supposed to say that. You know, with harassment laws and everything.”

I glanced over my shoulder, just to make sure that he hadn’t been put up to this by someone else. Was he making some sort of joke? Could he have seen me tearing around the corner from the cottage, frantic about being late, yet again? But no, he was smiling shyly when I looked back at him. “Thank you, Harold,” I said again, palming the Pick-Me-Up to apply as soon as I got inside.

“Are those new glasses you’re wearing?”

I pushed my old tortoiseshell frames higher on the bridge of my nose. “Um, no. They’re the same ones I’ve always had.”

“Maybe you got your hair cut?”

This was getting creepy. “Nope. Same old me. And, as always, I’m going to be late, so I really need to get inside.”

“Oh. Sure.” Harold stepped back as I walked past him, but I heard him catch his breath. Almost like he was excited to see me.

I flipped on the power button to the espresso machine as I crossed to my desk. Once there, I palmed on my computer and waited for it to run through its start-up routine. On my chair, I found a pink “While You Were Out” note, meticulously completed. Jane Madison’s grandmother had phoned at 8:57 that morning, asking me to return her call. The message had been taken by HW. I glanced back at Harold and caught him staring at me across the library lobby. He started and shook his head, as if he were just waking up after some strange dream, but then he waggled his fingers at me with a goofy grin across his lips.

It wouldn’t have surprised me if he spouted verses about my beauty, caught up in some Forest of Arden fantasy where I was Rosalind. Or maybe I had just read
As You Like It
once too often. Utterly puzzled, I waved back. I waited until he headed downstairs to his maintenance closet before I returned to my desk.

Seven reference questions, a dozen brewed lattes and three explanations of my costume later, I still hadn’t called Gran back. I knew that I needed to talk to her. I needed to come to grips with Clara.

Clara. I couldn’t call her my “mother.” I couldn’t think about her as my mother, because my
mother
was a beautiful woman with flowing red hair and porcelain skin. She was surrounded by banks of clouds, and she sighed softly whenever she thought of losing me, of being torn from me in the terrible car crash that had taken her life.

My “mother” was not a selfish woman who had ignored me for twenty-five years, only to come back and ruin my life just as I was finally getting things under control.

Yeah, right. Totally under control. Every girl who agrees to private tutoring in witchcraft has her life under control.

Private tutoring. Starting with dinner tonight. I fumbled in my desk and dug out a container of Advil, swallowing two and wishing my hangover headache would go away.

The more I tried to avoid thinking about Gran and Clara, the more I worried about David, Neko and the collection of books on witchcraft in my basement. As much as I couldn’t believe that I had let Neko fool me into working another spell, I was more amazed that I had agreed to have dinner with David. Maybe he had a point there, about not mixing alcohol and spellcraft.

Friends don’t let friends work magic drunk.

What
was
the spell that Neko made me read? “Wrap my face in power hidden; Spark a love from man unbidden.”

Love from man unbidden? I glanced back at the front door, to the site of Harold’s bizarre morning greeting. Harold, who had never shared two words with me.

No.

It couldn’t be.

I could not have cast a love spell on poor, helpless Harold Weems.

My heart clenched tight inside my chest, and I sucked in my breath. I needed to get away from my desk. I needed to get out of the library. Now.

I glanced at the clock on my computer and saw that it was not even 10:30 a.m. I couldn’t go home yet. I couldn’t even really take a break.

I did the next best thing. After collecting my purse from its locked desk drawer, I gesticulated wildly to get Evelyn’s attention. When she nodded across the lobby, I half walked, half ran to the restroom at the back of the Peabridge. I slammed closed the door to one of the stalls and thumbed on my cell phone.

Melissa took four rings to answer, and then her voice was as heavy as her Mocha Mud Bars. I suspected that things were busy at Cake Walk that morning, and if she felt anywhere near as terrible as I did after our night of mojito therapy…I got right to the point: “The spell worked.”

“What?”

I hissed into the phone, even though I knew that the other stalls were empty. “The spell. The one I did last night. It worked.”

“What are you talking about?”

I told her all about Harold, about his questions. When she told me that I must be imagining things, I thought about my first coffee patron of the day, Mr. Zimmer. The sour octogenarian had been coming to the Peabridge for decades. He never ordered coffee; he disapproved of our launching the espresso bar in the lobby. But he had asked for one that morning,
and
he had left me a two-dollar tip. By the time I finished recounting the details, my voice had squealed into Mickey Mouse’s supersonic range. I raised my free hand to my mouth and started tearing at a ragged cuticle with teeth that were close to chattering.