Magic and the Modern Girl (6 page)

The absurdity of that statement made me return to my own breakfast, to a steaming bite of home fries. Uncle George would never be “Grandpa” to me. He was…Uncle George. He’d been there my entire life, and if Gran wanted an official document and a little party to say so, who was I to begrudge her?

Sometimes, Clara tried too hard. (And other times, I immediately thought, she didn’t try anywhere near hard enough.)

Gran patted Clara’s hand and said, “That won’t be necessary, dear, but thank you for the thought. And what was your news?”

Clara set her fork down amid the rubble of her omelet and beamed at both of us. “I’m leaving.”

This time, it was Gran who exclaimed, “What?”

As for me? I just sat there, staring at my plate, suddenly unable to swallow.

Clara. Leaving again. I’d always known that she was going to do that. I’d always known that she was going to wait until I’d gotten used to her, until I’d grown comfortable with the notion of my mother being around, day in and day out. She’d lulled me into a false sense of security and now she was going to walk out of my life, the same way that she had when I was a child, when I was four years old and too naive to recognize how feckless she was.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t
like
having Clara around. I always felt as if I needed to be on my guard with her, as if I might say the wrong thing, that I might make her angry, make her…leave me. But I couldn’t help myself. I said the things that I was thinking. I let my suspicions show on my face. I displayed my heart for all to see.

For Clara to see, even now.

“Oh, Jeanette,” she said. Jeanette. The name that she had given me, before she walked out of my life the first time. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“My name is Jane,” I said automatically, retreating into the comfortable, the familiar, the
me
that Gran had raised.

“It’s been great,” Clara said, “my visiting, and all. But it’s time for me to move on. It’s time for me to head back to Sedona. To the Vortex.”

The Vortex. And all the other New Age crap that Clara had sought, to find balance in her life. She, like Gran, bore strains of the witchcraft that was expressed full strength in me. But she had never learned about her powers, never discovered how to harness them. The astral energy had led her to wander, to wonder, to seek out new experiences her entire adult life.

I searched for a neutral question. “When are you going?”

Clara puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly, as if recognizing the battle we’d apparently decided not to fight. “Not right away, of course. I’d been thinking of wrapping things up in the next month or so. Now, I guess I’ll wait till after Mother’s wedding.” We both looked at Gran, as if we were surprised to find her still sitting there.

Gran looked up from another crab claw. “Well, George and I haven’t set a date yet. We were thinking that we should wait until after the Concert Opera Gala. We’ll be too busy to do anything before then—the Gala takes so much planning, you know.”

“I know,” Clara said companionably, and I fought the impulse to flash daggers at her with my eyes. What did she know? She had never helped plan the Gala. She had never attended the meetings in Gran’s apartment, serving coffee and cake to the assembled operaphiles, putting up with their endless prying questions, inquiries they meant as a sign of affection, but which felt like an invasion of privacy.

Clara merely shrugged and spread her fingers. “Or so I hear. Well, an October wedding should be lovely.”

“An autumn wedding for two people in the autumn of their lives,” Gran said, pushing back her plate.

“Don’t say it that way!” I said.

“Now, dear, it’s true. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging the truth. Besides I’ve always liked fall colors. Crimson and gold and orange. Orange is George’s favorite color.”

I didn’t like it.

Not orange. Well, I’d never liked the color much, but that wasn’t what I was thinking about now. I didn’t like any reminder that Gran was old, that she was ever going to leave me. But she seemed so perfectly content, chatting about shades of fall, that I could only force a smile and nod.

Clara set her palms on the table, as if we had just concluded some grand business meeting. “It’s settled, then. I’ll leave on November 1. Winter in Sedona should be beautiful.”

Of course. This entire conversation
was
about Clara, wasn’t it? I bit my tongue to keep from saying the spiteful things I thought. In a flash, I thought of old King Lear, before the madness overtook him, asking his daughters how much they loved him. Goneril and Regan lied through their teeth, piling on false compliments, even as they plotted to destroy their father. Only the youngest daughter, Cordelia, spoke the truth, saying, “I love your majesty according to my bond; nor more nor less.”

Of course, Lear learned all about lies and betrayal by the end of the play, and honest Cordelia died a pretty pitiful death. So maybe I should have lied to Clara there in Whitlow’s. Maybe I should have told her how much I would miss her, how much her departure panged me. Melissa would have been able to quote all of
Lear
, lay out a perfect argument about why I must make peace with my mother.

But Melissa wasn’t there. I was. And I wasn’t promising any love to the woman who had borne me.

Clara, that was, and Gran, who were both looking at me expectantly. “Now, dear,” Gran prompted. “What is
your
news?”

I pushed my egg-soaked lox around on my plate. “I’m losing my powers,” I muttered.

“What?” Clara asked. “I can’t hear you, Jeanette. It sounded like you said that you’re using your powers.”

“Losing!” I said, and I probably spoke a little too loudly. Definitely spoke a little too loudly, I amended, when a dozen people at nearby tables turned to stare. “Losing,” I repeated in a softer voice, and then I told them about my search for runes, about the gift I truly had intended to make to Clara, about the cleaning spell that had left me dizzy and dull in my kitchen.

Gran reached out and patted my hand, the eternal picture of loving concern. “Don’t you worry, dear. I’m sure that you just need a rest. And Clara can get new runes elsewhere. I’m sure…” She trailed off, obviously uncertain about just
where
a witch went to acquire the basic tools of her trade. Witch*Mart, maybe?

I shook my head. “That’s just it,” I said. “I’ve had too much of a rest. David says that abandoning my magic is what put me into this ridiculous situation.”

“Ah, David,” Gran said. I recognized the fondness in her voice. She had always liked my warder, always trusted him. He, for his part, treated her with the exquisite courtesy of an ambassador addressing a dowager empress. That respect, along with the occasional well-chosen basket of sweets, had made him a great favorite in Gran’s household. “How
is
David these days? I never hear you talk about him.”

“He’s fine, Gran.” I answered automatically, the same programmed response that I’d used as a sullen teenager, when my grandmother wanted to know who I was hanging out with, where we were going. But then, I forced myself to stop, to think about my answer. “I haven’t seen a lot of him lately. I
think
that he’s fine.”

And yet, even then I knew I was telling something of a lie. Physically, of course, my warder was as well as ever; I had seen that on Friday night. But what exactly
had
my slacking off meant to him? Why, precisely, had he been so angry with me? So abrupt? What
had
he been doing during the past five months? And how had he felt, being rejected by his witch, being forced back into the mundane work of Hecate’s Court?

I’d been too wrapped up in my own drama to ask him.

Gran, never a fool, pounced on my nonresponsive response. “Make me a promise, Jane.”

“Oh, no.” I pushed my plate back with authority, casting an immediate appeal to Clara.
Please
, I asked her silently.
Get me out of this.
It was almost worth it to harness my magic, to face another wave of dizziness and confusion, if only I could get my mother to read my mind.

Clara said, “Oh, a promise! You always have been one for promises, Mother. That’s one of the many things I love about you.”

I gave Clara a dirty look. Maybe Goneril and Regan just had bad publicists. Maybe they had been right to gang up on their stupid, insensitive, uncaring parent. “Gran,” I said, dismissing vengeance on Clara from my thoughts. “I am not making any promises today.”

“This one is easy to keep, Jane. And it’s right. It’s good. You should do it.”

Of course, Gran would think that she was right and good. Gran
always
thought that she was right and good.

And, truth be told, she was.

Oh, she might have gotten a little carried away with some of her promises. She’d made me swear that I wouldn’t lick any
toads
, for heaven’s sake. But I had to admit, I’d come across the situation—or one close to it—given the requirements of witchcraft and a certain potion that Neko had coached me on brewing. And sure enough, I’d stuck by my oath. A vow was a vow, no matter how silly it sounded when Gran got me to say it out loud.

She was staring at me across the table, her eyes sharp and curious, like a bird’s. I knew from past experience that she had all the patience in the world. She would simply sit there and wait until I agreed to whatever promise she was going to demand. I might as well give in to the inevitable and wrap this thing up quickly. “Fine, Gran. I promise.”

Her smile was so quick that I almost missed it. “Talk to David about this witchcraft problem of yours.”

“Gran, I already did that! David was the first person I called when I realized what was happening.”

“And how did that conversation go?”

I took a sip of cold tea, manufacturing a break to think some more. Gran knew me so well. She had clearly discerned that things had not gone well when I summoned David. Exactly how much had she read between the lines? Did she know how dismissive David had been? Did she believe that I had actually hurt his feelings by ignoring him for so long? I thought back to my mandate that he answer me, my pulling rank on him. Maybe, just possibly, in a teensy, tiny way, I had overstepped my bounds as his witch. Or at least as his friend.

“Jane,” Gran said. “Do you remember last year? When you promised that you’d speak with Melissa after you two had your disagreement?”

Of course I remembered last year. I remembered how things had spun out of control for a long time, before they’d come back to normal. I remembered how much I had missed my best friend, how much I had needed her. I’d promised Gran that I’d reach out to Melissa, and it had taken me weeks to swallow my pride.

But as soon as I had done it, I’d felt infinitely better. Melissa and I had slipped back into our old friendship patterns with barely a hiccup. I sighed. “Okay, Gran,” I said. “I promise. I’ll work this out with David.”

Gran nodded, as if she’d been certain I would see the wisdom of her ways. “Go to him, Jane,” she said. “Don’t make him come to you.”

I hesitated. Before I could say anything, Clara said, “You do know where he lives, don’t you?”

“Of course, I know where my warder lives!” I snapped.

Gran merely nodded, as if she hadn’t heard the roughness of my tone. “Perfect, dear. Now, how about ordering some dessert?”

“Dessert sounds good,” I said. “But I want to heat up my tea.” Gran started to turn around, to seek out our waitress. “No,” I interrupted. “Using magic.”

My mother and grandmother cast twin skeptical glances toward me. Clara spoke first. “Jeanette, it’s really not a problem, to get another cup of hot water.”

I shook my head. “David said that I should use my powers. That I should get back into the habit of working magic.”

Gran looked doubtful, but she equivocated, “Well, if David says…”

That fired me up. My own grandmother didn’t trust me to make decisions about my magical powers, but if my
warder
said to…If my absent, judgmental warder said to…If the warder I had just promised to reach out to said to…I’d show her. I could do magic any time and any place. Of my own volition.

I folded my fingers around the clear glass mug, closing my eyes to concentrate better. As soon as I decided to work magic, I became aware of the noise surrounding us in the restaurant. A small child was screaming at a table across the room. A man was trying to get a waitress’s attention by bellowing, “Miss! Miss!” over and over again. A fire engine drove by outside, siren wailing.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to center myself for the working. Hurriedly, afraid that I would call embarrassing attention to what I was doing, I touched my fingers to my forehead, offering up the power of my thoughts. I brushed my palm against my throat, offering up the power of my voice. I fluttered my fingers over my heart, offering up the power of my spirit.

I remembered the words from one of my first spell books. They were originally meant to be used by a nursemaid, to raise the temperature of a healing draft or a poultice. My Lemon Lift was nearly as medicinal, I justified to myself.

“Fire and water, water and fire,

Combine now in gentle heat.

Hear this witch who does inquire

After an easy healing feat.”

The mug trembled in my fingers. My eyes flew open, and I caught a shudder in the air, like a shimmering reflection on a sunbaked summer road. My mind told me that my fingers should be burning, that my tea should have risen to the boiling point.

My body, though, told me something else. The tea
was
hotter, that was true. But my magic was nowhere near as powerful as I’d expected, as it should have been. My fingers tingled as I set the mug back onto the table, as if I’d fallen asleep in an odd position. I sighed and took a sip from the mug, faking a grin in response to Gran and Clara’s concerned smiles.

“There we go,” I said, anxious to shift their focus. “Well, which dessert were we going to order?”