Single Witch's Survival Guide (4 page)

Formulaic responses given and received, I led the way into the house, automatically brushing my fingers against the door jamb. I didn’t whisper any spell to the marble stone, though. I wasn’t ready to spill a drop of power—not without a bit of grounding first, some food and drink to restore the prodigious amount of energy I’d spent.

David’s concern was tangible as I passed in front of him, even though he didn’t say anything. Subtly, he brushed his palm against the small of my back, lending a touch of physical support before he stepped back to let our guests follow me inside.

Spot stayed between me and the newcomers, as if he were under specific orders from David. No matter how he might have begged for a meaty second supper earlier in the evening, he understood his true role now—he was my protector, my guardian. He provided a service as important as any offered by my warder.

I leaned against my loyal canine companion as I opened the cupboards. It took more concentration than I was willing to admit to count out additional plates. I jumped when Emma whispered up to my side and said, “Well, that went a bit pear-shaped, didn’t it? May I help?”

Before I could answer, she handed off the dishes to Caleb. “Here,” she said to him. “Lend a hand.” There was a smile behind her clipped words.

I pointed Emma toward the silverware, on my way to retrieving wine- and water glasses. We were definitely going to need more than the single bottle of pinot noir. In fact, we might want to break out the hard stuff, to restore everyone’s shattered nerves. Right. As if David would let a sip of alcohol mar his reflexes now, with strangers in the house.

I couldn’t help but notice that half those strangers—Raven, her warder, and her familiar—were hanging back in the doorway to the kitchen. Their unease was infectious. Spot eyed them warily from his place by my side, and I felt more than heard the growl deep in his throat.

“Spot,” I warned, reluctantly pointing toward his bed. He obeyed, but only after glancing at David for confirmation. Canine traitor! So much for my believing I had any actual power over the beast.

It turned out that the dog was smarter than I was. I actually swayed without his support against my knees. I needed food. Food, and something to drink. And a chair. A chair would be wonderful. A chair would be heaven on earth.

I stared across the chasm of the kitchen, trying to calculate whether I could reach the table without fainting. I needed David
now
.

He reacted as if I’d shouted, taking three quick strides into the kitchen and pushing past Caleb as if the husky man were nothing more than a cardboard cutout. Darkness surged along the edges of my vision, roiling, pulling me down.

Before I could fall, though, the back door crashed open, and I was assaulted by a wave of sultry summer heat. I knew I should clutch at the tattered strands of my powers. I should brace myself against this new threat. I had to react, had to work some spell.

But somehow my subconscious brain managed to process the actual scene before me.

Spot was leaping from his bed, his entire body wagging in joyous greeting. David was looking relieved at my side. Our six guests were caught in various stages of astonishment, shock, and disbelief.

Silhouetted against the moonlit night was a dressmaker’s dummy, clad in pantaloons and a fur-lined robe, with padded shoulders and a fake breastplate large enough to fill the entire door. Henry VIII, my mind stuttered. King of England, Ireland, and France. I’d recognize the clothes from the Holbein portrait anywhere.

Clutching the costume, needle and thread ostentatiously in hand, was a shadowy figure. Anne Boleyn, if I had to guess. Almond eyes. Hair slicked back beneath a lace headdress. A floor-length crimson dress, cut absurdly low and showing way too much flesh for historical realism. Way too much
waxed
flesh. Way too much waxed, male flesh, belonging to none other than Neko.

My familiar looked up, took in the astonished audience in the kitchen, and promptly belted out, “’E’s ’Enery the Eighth, ’e is”, in the worst parody of a cockney accent I’d ever heard. As we all gaped, Neko sashayed across the kitchen to drop into a curtsey before me. He took my hand with the same laughable formality, pretending to kiss some royal ring.

As our flesh met, Neko shoved a burst of mental energy into me. The power felt like an electric shock, brilliant and searing and pure. I stood a little straighter and breathed a little deeper before I said, “You seem to have forgotten someone.”

Neko shrugged. “Jacques was in the other room when David called.”

So David has issued the astral summons that had carried my familiar across the miles. My familiar’s boyfriend was probably standing in the middle of their D.C. apartment at this very moment, blinking and wondering where Neko had gone. I attempted to sound nonchalant as I said, “Nice costumes.”

Neko flushed with pleasure. “The fur’s a bit much for summer, but Jacques insisted. I think buttons make a much better decoration this time of year. Don’t you agree?” He took my fingers and forced them to the row of pearls that framed his chest.

Another blast of astral energy cascaded through my palm, up my arm, throughout my body. I could have soaked it up for hours, but Neko pulled back in poorly-acted surprise. “Oh! I didn’t know you were
entertaining
!” Then he whispered in a
voce
that wasn’t anywhere near as
sotto
as he apparently believed. “Jane! I thought we’d talked about ‘summer casual.’” He glared at my shorts and T-shirt. “And that hair! Girlfriend, what
were
you thinking?”

Self-consciously, my fingers flew toward my unruly curls. Neko reached out at the same time, encircling my wrist and pouring a third burst of magical energy into me. Finally, my own power kickstarted, leaping steady and bright inside my chest. With the ease of long practice, Neko reflected that energy back at me as if he were made of a million mirrors.

“Thanks,” I breathed.

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

David finally seemed to realize this would be the perfect time to distract our company. He barked out a few commands, barely disguising them as invitations. “There are two leaves for the dining room table in the hall closet. Grab those chairs from the kitchen table. No, let’s move the dining room chairs back so there’s enough room.”

Who would have thought it would take three warders, two witches, and two familiars to prepare for an impromptu dinner party? David played his role well, though. No one even thought to watch as Neko kept his fingers wrapped around my wrist for another minute, monitoring my steadiness, calculating my returning strength. Only when he was completely satisfied that I was restored did he say, “It looks like we’re going to have quite a party.”

“Can Jacques spare you?”

“He already has.”

Against his will, I thought. And not for the first time. “Won’t he need his costume?”

A momentary scowl marred Anne Boleyn’s high brow. “He’ll find something else to wear, I’m sure. And someone else to wear it with.”

“Neko! If you need to go—

He shook his head and gestured at his gown. “This was a calculated risk. It was fifty/fifty whether Jacques was going to shout ‘Off with his head’ by the end of the party. And don’t get your hopes up. That isn’t code for some new bedroom game.”

“Neko—

“Forget about it.”

His dismissive wave was charming, but I saw through it like a lace mantilla. I clutched his hands between both of mine. “Thank you.”

He nodded once. And then, he tore off his fancy headdress. The scarlet gown was equipped with Velcro strips for a hasty getaway, and I steadily forbade myself from speculating about Ms. Boleyn’s intended disrobing during or after the evening’s now-canceled festivities.

Neko wore his usual attire beneath the dress—a sleek black T-shirt and matching jeans that left nothing to the imagination. He draped his Tudor costume over the dressmaker’s dummy and stowed both in the corner. Dusting his hands together decisively, he stepped up to survey the food on the center island. His resulting sigh was gusty enough to shake the rafters of a lesser home. “You’re going to need a
lot
more than that,” he said.

“Oh, will we?” David asked as he returned from the dining room. His voice was resignedly dry.

“Bread,” Neko ordered. “That loaf over there. And a green salad—you have all the makings in the back of the fridge. I saw everything at lunch. Don’t forget the cheese either—the Saga Blue will be nice. And bring out the Irish butter, while you’re at it.”

Spot came to stand beside my familiar, whining as if he understood the feast that was being composed. Neko stopped just short of snapping his fingers as he issued his commands. Under any other circumstances, David would have told him exactly what he could do with his Irish butter.

But now David pulled the salad and cheese and butter from the fridge. And then he filled one of his handblown Riedel goblets with the whole milk we kept on hand solely to satisfy Neko’s cravings.

My familiar took the glass with a flair before he whirled into the dining room to explain to Raven that she absolutely, positively could
not
sit beneath the painting on the far wall—the art would clash with the purple stripe in her hair. Even Tony was bemused as his witch was made to switch seats not once, not twice, but three times.

David shook his head as he met my eyes. “You’re all right?” he asked, keeping his voice low enough not to steal attention back from Neko.

“I’m fine.”

“That was dangerous.”

“I couldn’t have my magicarium getting off on the wrong foot! Not when Clara worked so hard to get my first students out here in the first place. I haven’t even had a chance to find out what my witches are capable of.”

David’s smile was tight as he nodded toward Raven. “
That
one is capable of a lot of trouble.”

I shrugged. “Everyone’s trouble,” I said. “One way or another.”

Before David could respond, Neko called out from the dining room. “David? We’re really going to need the camembert, to round out this meal. And the cheddar wouldn’t be a bad addition, either.”

My warder rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said to me as he turned toward the refrigerator. “Everyone
is
trouble.”

I could tell he wanted to say more. He wanted to extract a promise from me, a pledge not to use any Word of Power ever again, at least not without proper arcane support. He wanted to protect me and keep me safe from any possible hint of danger in the future.

Instead, he settled for brushing his hand down my arm, and then he turned to do Neko’s bidding.

CHAPTER 3

I HOPED EVERYTHING would somehow be perfect in the morning. I would awake with a flawless understanding of my role as magistrix of the Madison Academy. A perfect class schedule would have appeared out of thin air, transcribing itself on my calendar. My witches and I would thrum with energy, ready to work all sorts of powerful spells in dedication to the glory of Hecate.

Alas, I spent a restless night jerking awake from an endless series of bad dreams. Three separate times, I startled David out of a sound sleep, and it took him longer to settle back each time. When I finally crawled out of bed at dawn, my boyfriend had abandoned me. I had a crick in my neck, a fog over my thoughts, and a nasty taste in my mouth.

At least toothpaste solved the last problem.

I tried to convince myself that a long shower would banish my other woes, but I started sweating even as I tried to towel myself dry. The farmhouse’s air conditioning simply could not compete with the heavy blanket of June humidity.

When I opened the bedroom door, Spot was lying in the hallway. He raised his massive head from his front paws and pounded his tail against the floor. I assured him he was a good boy, and he pranced as he accompanied me down the stairs. Leading the way into the kitchen, he kept himself between me and the witches who were seated at the table.

Raven had exchanged her tight blouse for an even more body-skimming black T. Her skinny jeans made me wonder if she actually had room inside her body for all her organs. She’d wrapped a deep purple scarf around her waist, and the fabric matched the streak in her long, wavy hair. She looked more like a sexy pirate queen than an up-and-coming student of witchcraft.

Emma, on the other hand, looked cool and composed and utterly, completely ordinary in denim shorts and a loose-fitting pink blouse. The guys—both warders and familiars—were lounging around the living room, keeping conversation down to a dull roar.

Raven lifted her phone as soon as I set foot in the kitchen. “Okay if I film?” She was already moving her fingers over the control buttons.

“Absolutely not.” I needed caffeine in my bloodstream before I could even consider being ready for my close-up. I could just make out the ghosts of bruises around Raven’s wrists, evidence of where David had gripped her the night before.

As my cinematographer pouted, Emma spoke up. “We helped ourselves to brekkie. David said you’d want a cuppa.”

And that explained Spot’s watchful presence upstairs. The dog must have been under strict orders to guard me. After all, it was decidedly un-warderlike for David to leave me alone, sleeping, while half a dozen visitors took over the downstairs of our home.

Emma pressed a mug into my hand. “David said to remind you he had some sort of confab in the village? A meeting with an estate agent?”

I ran a rapid English-to-American translator over her words. David was meeting with a realtor in Parkersville? First I’d heard of it. A twist of anxiety rippled through my gut.

To disguise my concern, I took a sip of tea. Emma had brewed it to her English standards—strong enough to melt a spoon. I stumbled to the refrigerator and fished out the cream. Or, rather, I excavated an empty cardboard carton. I dropped it into the trash, silently cursing Neko.

“Oh,” Raven said, looking up from her own mug of some delectable ecru beverage. “I guess we finished off the cream.”

I cast a silent apology toward my familiar and fortified myself with a slug of bitter tea. When I looked up, Raven and Emma were staring at me with curious eyes. I tried to put myself in their shoes. They’d traveled halfway across the country, on Clara’s word that they’d find a magicarium waiting for them in Maryland. Whether they were paying their own tuition or not, they’d made sacrifices to be here. At the very least, they’d left behind their home. Probably family. Friends.