Magic and the Modern Girl (38 page)

There was nothing sexual in the motion. Nothing seductive. He was a warder caring for his witch. He was a doctor treating a patient. He did not ask for more; he did not look to see if anything else was offered, wanted, needed.

“You have to sleep,” he said.

“Soon.” The one syllable cost me more than I had expected. I was exhausted in my bones. Dully, I wondered where Neko was, whether my familiar would help in any way, could banish even the slightest bit of my exhaustion.

Before I could summon the energy to say anything, to think anything, there was a rattling sound from the front of the library. Someone had discovered that the doors were locked. I knew that I should tell David to open the door, to let them in, but I couldn’t remember the words. A note of good-natured dismay rolled over the crowd outside, and I heard someone suggest circling the building, searching for another door.

Then, sooner than I expected, there was laughter and the smooth sound of a key fitting into the lock. Kit led the way back into the Peabridge, brandishing the ring of keys that Evelyn had entrusted to her for the evening. “Didn’t you hear us knocking?” she said. “We got locked out!”

“How did that happen?” Clara interceded and I took another deep breath, trying desperately to regroup. David placed a plate in my hands, guiding my fingers to a slice of cheese. I put the food in my mouth. I moved my jaws. I swallowed.

Happy wedding guests surged back into the library. The break had reminded everyone that the hour was late, that they needed to return home, that they were going to have a terrible time fighting the Georgetown Halloween traffic.

Will tumbled in with the rest of the guests. I saw him register David’s jacket around my shoulders, acknowledge the plate that shook in my hands. I barely had enough presence of mind to lean forward on my desk, to drop the hem of my dress, to camouflage my naked feet. I forced myself to smile as he crossed the room to brush a kiss against my cheek.

“Halloween, and they scare the neighborhood half to death with scrambling jets. Can you believe it?” He didn’t really need an answer, though. He shook his head in disgust before fishing a key ring from his pocket.

From a distance, I remembered that he had agreed to play chauffeur to the newlyweds, to drive them across town to their honeymoon suite at The Hay-Adams hotel. Across the street from the White House. I swallowed hard. Borrowedcar.com had come through with a luxury town car for the night, the best eight dollars an hour I ever could have spent.

Concern creased Will’s face. “You look exhausted! Do you want me to stay here? I can help clean up.”

“I’m okay,” I said. I needed Will to leave. I needed to get him away from here, away from me, so that I could think about what had happened. So that I could sleep. Sleep and recover from everything that had taken place in the space of a few heartbeats, beneath a magical golden dome.

“I can call a cab to take Gran and Uncle George,” he said.

“No!” Calm down, I told myself. That was too sharp. “I can’t do that to them,” I explained. “Not a regular cab on their wedding night. Besides, it’ll take forever for one to get here, through the Halloween parade.”

He still wasn’t convinced. “I’ll come back afterward, then, and help clean up.”

I stifled a yawn. “Kit will do it. Really. There isn’t very much to do. By the time you get back, I’ll be sound asleep.”

I put my hand on top of his, squeezed my fingers gently around the keys. I could work a spell. I could make him leave. Instead, I forced myself to meet his eyes with a wan smile.

He said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow. That would be perfect.”

It wouldn’t be. It would be far from perfect. But I didn’t know what else to say.

“You did a wonderful job tonight.” He gestured toward the decimated deli trays, the scattering of champagne flutes. He had no idea what other job I’d worked tonight. He never would. Even if I told him, he’d never understand.

“Thanks,” I said.

His kiss was quick, chaste. He frowned at the charcoal jacket, though, as he drew back. His hand cupped my jaw, spreading a familiar warmth down my spine. I felt as if he was reminding me of a secret I had forgotten. “Sleep well,” he said. “I’ll bring the car around to the front.” And then he left.

In moments, Uncle George had collected Gran, placing an arm around her waist as they posed in front of the Peabridge doors. They took their leave like a couple at a classic 1950s’ wedding; Gran standing straight and proud in her suit. She clutched her sweetheart roses to her chest, raised the blossoms to her face to breathe deeply of them one last time.

I managed to climb to my feet, then, catching her eye just as she turned her back on her guests. I shook my head once, a tiny, mute denial, and then the flowers arced through the air, flying on a precise path that might have been boosted by a little communal magic.

Melissa laughed as she clutched the roses against her velvet jumper. Rob was standing beside her. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but then he leaned in and kissed her, and they both nodded their heads before the affectionate applause of all the guests.

Gran and Uncle George’s departure primed the pump. Guests flowed away quickly, waving farewells, stopping by to plant fond kisses on my cheeks. Everyone had had a wonderful time. Everyone was so thrilled to see such a happy couple. Everyone so appreciated everything I had done.

Clara collected Nuri and Majom, telling the familiars that they could both stay with her for the night. For all her sangfroid, I could see that my mother was exhausted; her hands were shaking as she pulled Majom close to her side.

I scrambled at my throat, lifting the delicate chain of silver that I’d barely remembered was there. Clara’s pink kunzite glinted in the overhead light, capturing just a sliver of the blue-white moonlight that streamed through the library door. “This is yours,” I said, holding it out to her.

“I want you to have it.”

Our fingers met as I tried to put it in her palm, as she handed it back to me.

“Don’t go,” I said, before I had a chance to think about the words. “Don’t go back to Sedona.”

“Ah, Jane,” she sighed, and I almost forgot to be pleased that she used the correct name. “I’m no good here. I’m not meant to be in the big city. I belong somewhere where I can talk about crystals and auras without people thinking I’m crazy. Where I can mention the Vortex, without people rolling their eyes.”

“I don’t—”

“Jane, your grandmother taught you not to lie.”

Clara was shrewd. Shrewder than I’d given her credit for. I spoke without thinking about the words. “But Gran and I need you. We—” I barely hesitated “—we love you.
I
love you.”

She raised a hand to my cheek, and for the first time ever, I saw Gran’s tenderness in my mother’s eyes. Gran’s tenderness, and her steel. “Jane, I love you, too. But this is something that I have to do. It’s not about you. It’s about me.”

My tears had to be from my exhaustion. That was it. Exhaustion. I closed my fingers around the kunzite crystal, let the pendant sink into my lap. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Clara was every bit as tired as I was; I could read her fatigue in every line of her sagging body. “David,” I said, calling him to my side with the softest of words. “Can you make sure that they get home safely?”

“I’m here for you.”

“You’re here for all of us. You’re their warder, too. I’m fine. I just need to walk across the garden.”

He wanted to argue with me. He wanted to tell me I was wrong. He wanted to tell me that I was a stubborn witch, a difficult witch, the most challenging witch he’d ever heard of. I could understand all that. I could read it through the energy that sparked between us, crackling along the taut links of our recharged astral bond.

But he had to concede. He
was
bound to Clara. And to my command. Stiffly, he walked across the room, gathered together all three of our companions and herded them out the door.

I smiled. Majom would have a field day with the buttons on the sleek Lexus dashboard.

Kit came back from a trip that she’d taken to the Dumpster, already making short work of the cleanup. “I’m just going to make sure everything’s taken care of downstairs,” she said.

“Good idea.”

“The last thing we need is a piece of cake left down there, bringing in mice.”

“Always thinking like a librarian,” I said, and she laughed.

Then I was alone in the reference room. I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. For the first time since unmaking Ariel, I became aware of a shadow at the edge of my vision, a blank spot in my astral perception. I shook my head, trying to clear the defect, but the disturbance remained.

I looked around the room. There was a crumpled napkin that Kit had missed. A serving plate with the remains of the wedding cake. A champagne flute on the coffee bar, half-full. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But there, in the shadows by the stacks. Black on black. And one very pale face.

“Neko,” I whispered.

He slinked across the room, a curious sideway walk, as if he wanted to come to me but was afraid to do so. Despite everything that had happened that night, his leather pants were immaculate. His silk T-shirt looked as if he had just taken it from a dresser drawer. His hair was perfectly arranged, each short strand gelled to its proper place. He looked exactly as he had the night I first transformed him from a statue of a cat.

I reached out for the bond between us, the magic bond, our link. Nothing.

That was impossible, though. I had worked with him. I had brought him into the circle, joined him with Majom and Nuri, with Gran and Clara.

But then I realized the true power of the working that we had completed that night. Neko had belonged to Ariel. He was not rightfully a part of our commune, and yet we had brought him in, included him in our working. We’d been powerful enough to work with anyone, even with a familiar who was foreign to us, separate from us, apart.

I extended my powers around him. I could sense his astral strength, measure that strange, reflective power that no witch could ever master on her own, that every witch desired. He was unbound. He was available. He was a familiar without a witch.

“What do I do to bring you back?” I asked.

He shook his head, feinting a look at the library doors. Moonlight still streamed in, cold silver spilled across the floor. “It’s a full moon. You should wait until tomorrow. Wait until you can bind me to you fully.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t do that to him. To us. “How do I set the bond?”

His expression was flat. “You know the spell. Nothing’s changed.” He trembled like a feral cat, tempted to snatch food from my palm, but ready to run at my first misstep.

Without ceremony, I took my three deep breaths. I offered up my thoughts, my voice, my heart. I could have recited the words in my sleep.

“Awaken now, hunter, dark as the night.

Bring me your power, your strong second sight.

Hear that I call you and, willing, assist;

Lend me your magic and all that you wist.”

The flash of darkness was more stunning than usual, maybe because of my exhaustion, maybe because of the depth of longing I dripped into every word. I shuddered as the working slipped into place, as some subtle balance changed between us.

And then I reached out with my mind. The familiar bond was there, filling the channel, filling the gap. The mental linkage was smooth and supple. I ran a mental touch along it, watched Neko stand straighter, taller. Prouder.

“Go to Jacques,” I said.

“You bound me. I’m here to work with you.”

“Do I look like I’m in any condition to play with more magic tonight?”

He smirked, snapping back to his old self. “You look like someone who needs some help with your makeup, girlfriend. Honestly, did you think that bronze eyeshadow would
complement
that dress?”

“The dress is your fault. You’re the one who let Gran go with orange.” I smiled.

“And you still haven’t done anything with your hair. You need to see Jacques more than I do.”

“I doubt that,” I said. “I really, truly doubt that. Go.”

Neko rubbed a hand across his face, looking like he was washing away fatigue, or the memory of a nightmare. He paused by the library door, settling a hand on his hip and casting one more critical glance my way. “That dress does look better without the bow. There’s hope for you yet, girlfriend.”

“Get out of here!”

Before he ducked out the door, he grabbed the serving plate from the reference table, collecting the last generous wedge of wedding cake. He dipped his finger into the buttercream and sampled it before disappearing into the night.

I staggered toward the stairs that led to the auditorium. “Kit!” I called. “I’m ready to head home.”

She came to the foot of the stairs. “Go on. I’ll close up. I just found a box of papers down here. I think they’re extra invoices. There’s some great stuff here—I’m just going to finish going through them.”

“Don’t work too late,” I said, shaking my head at the enthusiasm in her voice.

“I won’t. Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

I pulled David’s jacket closer and ducked out of the library, making myself ignore the chill of the garden path on my bare feet. I barely bothered to strip off the horrible orange dress before I tumbled into bed. The comforter was heavy on my shoulders as I pulled my pillow over my head, determined to block out the slightest sliver of the moon’s cool light.

20

I
turned the brilliant orange matchbook around, corner to corner to corner, tapping it against the table on each rotation. Four orange votive candles sat on my kitchen table. Three wicks stood at attention; the fourth was tilted over, leaning against the wax. With a flicker of thought, I made it stand as straight as its companions.

Twenty-four hours later, I was still marveling at the power that filled me.

I couldn’t say, precisely, how Ariel had grown my magic. She’d deepened it, broadened it. When I reached inside myself, there was
more
there, more than I had ever invested in her. It felt as if someone had ripened my powers, turned them from grape juice into wine, from simple cow’s milk into heady brie.