A Witch's Work Is Never Done

by Kate Moseman

  He shambled over to the bar and laid down some ancient-looking coins. “Pardon me, miss,” he said to Raya.

  “No problem,” croaked Raya, before remembering she wasn’t supposed to speak and clapping a hand over her mouth.

  Cosmo glanced at her and began polishing a glass. “I bet he gave you a whole speech before he brought you here.”

  Raya, unsure of whether to respond, looked back and forth between Phoenix and Cosmo.

  “Let me guess,” Cosmo said, setting the glass down. “Don’t talk, don’t move, don’t even breathe unless he says so.”

  “Cosmo—”

  “Shut up, Phoenix.”

  Raya liked Cosmo more every second.

  “He thinks he’s so funny, scaring the daylights out of people. Like we’re going to eat you.” She poured a small amount of emerald-green liquid into two glasses and topped each one with a slotted spoon and a sugar cube.

  Raya shot Phoenix a questioning look.

  He held up his hands. “I was just trying to be careful.”

  “Since when have you ever been careful?” asked Raya.

  “Must be a new thing,” said Cosmo. She slid the glasses under the spouts of an odd fountain-like contraption that appeared to be filled with ice water. She turned the taps and water dripped out, drop by drop, onto the sugar cubes, through the spoons, and into the glasses. “Besides, you witches pose more danger to us than we do to you. By far.”

  “So why’d you let me come?”

  Cosmo shrugged as she placed the green bottle on the shelf. “I trust Phoenix.”

  Raya scoffed. “This demon right here? Are we talking about the same Phoenix?”

  The bartender smirked. “You must have trusted him if you let him drag you through the streets of this neighborhood blindfolded.”

  “Aha!” said Phoenix. He laughed. “She’s got your number.”

  Raya opened her mouth to respond with a cutting remark, but became distracted as the liquid in the glasses slowly transformed from clear emerald to milky green. “What’s it doing?”

  Cosmo followed her gaze. “The pure absinthe is mixing with the cold water and sugar. The reaction changes the opacity of the solution.” She reached over and twisted the taps closed. “That should be about right.” She placed one glass in front of Raya and the other in front of Phoenix.

  Raya lifted the glass and sniffed. The drink smelled of woody herbs.

  “Now face each other and lift your glasses.”

  “Cosmo, really—” said Phoenix.

  “Do this wrong and you’ll have seven years of bad luck, so stop interrupting and pay attention. Now, look into each other’s eyes.” Cosmo’s eyes glittered in the warm light as she watched the two of them.

  Raya lifted her gaze from the drink to meet Phoenix’s gaze. She’d never held his gaze longer than a second or two.

  This was awkward.

  Were those flecks of gold hidden in his deep brown eyes?

  “À votre santé,” he said.

  “Try again, Phoenix,” said Cosmo.

  Phoenix lowered his glass and shot Cosmo a look.

  Her serene expression, reminiscent of the Mona Lisa, left Raya wondering what on earth was wrong with what he’d said.

  He looked at Raya and raised his glass again. “À ta santé.”

  “Now you say ‘À la tienne.’”

  Raya raised her glass to Phoenix and mimicked the sounds to the best of her French-speaking ability, which wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  “Drink,” said Cosmo.

  Raya lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip of the drink. Strong and sweet, it raced past her lips like cold fire. “Oh, my.”

  Cosmo started setting up a drink for another patron. “Strong, isn’t it?”

  Raya cleared her throat. “You could say that.”

  Phoenix watched her. “So, what do you think?”

  “I’m allowed to speak now?”

  “Within reason.”

  Raya hesitated before speaking. “I’m impressed.”

  He slapped the bar. “Hell’s bells. Finally, I get the better of you.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  “Too late.” He sipped his drink with an air of self-satisfaction, never breaking eye contact.

  Warmth blossomed over her skin as she took a second sip.

  7

  Recovery from a night of absinthe and demons required a recharge in more ways than one. First, coffee and pastries. Then a few more pastries.

  Then to recharge her wand.

  Phoenix had pocketed her wand during the previous night’s outing, leaving her unable to pick up stray currents of magic in the demons’ secret gathering place, which was just as well—if she’d tried to absorb their power, they’d most likely have thrown her out, or worse.

  Luckily, there was more than one way to recharge a wand. Moonlight and sunlight could be picked up just by wearing the wand in her hair. Other methods required a more oblique approach. There were reasons she’d spent years crashing weddings—events that inspired love, laughter, and tears were more than just emotionally charged.

  They were magically charged, too.

  In Paris, however, with her utter lack of language skills, she’d be unlikely to pass unquestioned, leaving Parisian wedding-crashing off-limits.

  One way to recharge a wand—if you could pull it off—was to draw on the ambient power of artifacts, or works invested with great creative power. With dozens of museums within easy walking distance, Raya felt spoiled for choice.

  She’d selected the nearby medieval museum for the sheer age of its collection. The fact that it sat atop an ancient Roman bath, one of the oldest sites in Paris, made it even more appealing. Raya checked the map in her hands, reorienting herself as she chose between turning onto a side street or continuing straight ahead before resuming her walk.

  She recognized the museum by its steep roof and tiny turrets, which peeked over a castle-like wall enclosing the courtyard. To her relief, entrance to the museum required no conversation with the attendant. She paid the minimal fee with a few wrinkled bills and proceeded into the exhibits.

  The trick would be twofold: to find the best sources of power, and to quietly absorb enough to recharge her wand without tipping off any nearby witches. Everyone did it, but it didn’t pay to draw attention to yourself while doing so.

  The room of stained glass stopped her in her tracks. The jet black walls and low lighting made the glowing glass appear to float in midair. She gazed up at one of the circular pieces depicting a red-faced demon abducting a woman. A smile slid across her lips as she caressed the wand in her hair, delicately encouraging it to take in the sparkling light.

  Oh, the irony.

  Feeling the magic of the art prickle her skin, she turned her gaze to other pieces. Most depicted men in states of sin or exultation. A stained glass angel drew her eye with his golden wings and an oversized flaming sword.

  She could feel the touch of time on her shoulder, her lifespan a butterfly’s in comparison to Phoenix and his immortal kin. Why did she allow him to stay near her even as his presence reminded her of her own mortality?

  Perhaps it was because of his power. She’d summoned him, after all, and bound him to her will for a while, when she needed assistance—but those days were past.

  Someday, when he became bored, he would leave her.

  On closer inspection, the scenes depicted in the glass struck her as foreboding, even sad. Her stomach twisted.

  Time to move on.

  Raya entered the echoing rooms of the Roman bath. Her quiet footsteps took a meandering path to carvings of Jupiter, Vulcan, and the heavenly twins, Castor and Pollux. She lingered before the likeness of Cernunnos, the Stag Lord of the druids, before entering a room full of Christian altarp
ieces and sculptures.

  So many millennia, so many beliefs. She touched the crystal on her wand and felt it tremble. The effort to draw lightly, to restrain from inhaling the latent power too fast and falling senseless on the floor, left her light-headed.

  Gripping the guardrail, Raya paused to catch her breath before climbing the stairs to the final exhibit.

  The narrow stairwell opened to a dimly lit circular room with strategically placed spotlights aimed on six massive tapestries.

  Raya took a seat on the center bench facing the tapestries.

  The vivid colors filled her vision. She removed her wand from her hair and set it in her lap, folding her hands over it as she concentrated on the tapestry panels.

  The same woman appeared in each scene. Raya imagined herself in the woman’s place, surrounded by the sumptuous details worked into each tapestry. In her mind, she touched the horn of the unicorn. She selected candies from a delicate serving dish and fed them to the parakeet that perched on her finger. The flowers in the lady’s wreath were her own, filling her senses with their sweet scent.

  Raya shuddered in ecstasy as the creative magic of centuries past trickled through her.

  The final tapestry, and the most mysterious, featured the words “À Mon Seul Désir” written on the lady’s tent, under which she held a jeweled necklace as she either removed it from its box—or put it away.

  Raya took hold of her wand and stood, a little wobbly at first, to examine the tapestry closer. She read the plaque just off to the side.

  According to the plaque, the meaning of the words remained a subject of debate.

  To My Sole Desire.

  What did she desire?

  Was it the sparkling jewels she held in her hand? Or did “desire” refer to an unseen love?

  Raya sought the truth of the tapestry from the magic it radiated, but as she coaxed the enchantment to reveal itself, it slipped away—leaving behind only the faint and silvery sound of a woman’s laughter.

  8

  Raya stood in the plaza in front of the Eiffel Tower. The crowd swirled around her as she pivoted to each cardinal direction in search of Phoenix.

  Where was he?

  Late, of course. She regretted resolving to tell him about her upcoming field trip. It wasn’t like he needed to know, anyway. But considering she didn’t know a single soul in France, it probably wasn’t a good idea to take off into the woods without letting someone know where she was going.

  The Eiffel Tower loomed over her, taller and more massive than it appeared in photos.

  She could almost feel the weight of it in her bones, a weight with its own gravitational pull.

  “Well met, Your Witchiness,” Phoenix murmured behind her.

  She jumped. “Damn it, Phoenix. Stop sneaking up on me!”

  “But it’s so much fun.”

  “And you didn’t even apologize for being late.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t.”

  She waited.

  He crossed his arms and regarded her, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re infuriating, you know that? I don’t know why I let you follow me to Paris.” She started walking, forcing him to jog to catch up, then rounding on him as he drew near. “For that matter, why did you follow me here?”

  He put his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugged. “Because I was bored.”

  “You were bored? That’s all?”

  Phoenix stared at the Eiffel Tower. “Forever is a long time. You have to find amusement where you can get it.” His gaze turned to her. “I suppose it’s the same for you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but my forever isn’t as long as yours.” Her hands clenched and released. She made a conscious effort to still them.

  “I bet you won’t be bored if I do this.” He grabbed her by the hand and waist, then swept her into a mad waltz across the plaza.

  “Phoenix—” She couldn’t speak for laughing. “Phoenix, let me go!”

  “Never! Or boredom will set in, and we can’t have that.” He dipped her so low her hair nearly touched the pavement.

  “Don’t you dare drop me.”

  “Or what?” He held her in the position as passersby parted around them like an island in the stream. “Will you bind me to your service forever? Make me do your lawn work and paint your toenails? Never let me go?”

  She giggled helplessly.

  He relented and pulled her upright. “See, you’re not bored anymore. I told you, didn’t I? When I want to make a spectacle of myself, you’ll know it.” He released her and walked away, toward the base of the tower.

  This time, she had to jog to catch up. “I meant to tell you something.”

  He hummed a tune.

  “You’re not listening,” she said.

  “Were you saying something?”

  “I’m leaving Paris for a day.”

  “Jolly good.” He continued the tune by whistling.

  “To meet Nathan and some other witches.”

  “Mr. Glowing Eiffel Tower? I have to say, I’m unimpressed. In fact, I’ll do him one better. Watch this.”

  “Phoenix—”

  “Wait for it.”

  “Are you listening to me at all?”

  “And … now!” He snapped his fingers.

  The Eiffel Tower lit up with flashing lights all over, as if swarmed by a thousand tiny paparazzi.

  “You didn’t do that,” said Raya. “It’s on a timer. It does that every hour.”

  “And yet”—he leaned in—“it’s still more impressive than your new friend.”

  “It’s better than I could do.”

  They walked on, slowly circling the tower.

  “So what? Is that what you want? Drawing pretty lights in the air?”

  Raya sighed. “It’d be a start.”

  “You have more power in your little finger than Nathan has in his whole body.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “So you’re going to take lessons from him or something? Is that it?”

  “We’re going into the forest of Fontainebleau.”

  Phoenix stopped cold. “Why?”

  “They’re looking for a source of magic. He’s letting me go with him.”

  “So you’re going into the woods with some random witches.”

  Raya ignored the fact that he’d echoed her own private concern. “What are you, my mother?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Far from it.”

  “Then try to understand, Phoenix. I live in a small town. I work as a school librarian. I don’t even know any other witches. Everything I learned, I learned from a book. This is my chance to finally become the witch I’ve always wanted to be.”

  “So you get more powerful? Is that it? What does it matter?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.” She dug her fingers into her hair and tugged, the discomfort a distraction from the unease rippling through her.

  “Maybe I don’t understand because you don’t bother to explain it to me.”

  “Who said I owed you an explanation?”

  “You think because you can conjure me or banish me at will, I can’t ask you a question?”

  Holding eye contact in anger felt like channelling electricity through her body. “Why should I share anything with someone who’s only going to hang around until he finds something better to do?”

  Phoenix ran his hands through his own hair in a movement that mirrored hers. “Do you think I’m jealous? Is that what this is? I’m not jealous, you idiot—I’m worried.”

  She looked at him, thunderstruck. Phoenix didn’t know the meaning of the word “worried.”

  His voice became softer. “Not all witches are like you. You know that. You know there are some who will go a lot farther to get what the
y want.”

  “I—”

  “Just be careful.” He turned and walked swiftly away into the crowd, fading into the darkness before she could stop him.

  9

  Verdant green fields flashed by as the regional train carried Raya through the French countryside on the way to the forest of Fontainebleau.

  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and shifted in her seat to lean her head against the window.

  Sheer willpower had dragged her out of bed before dawn to catch the early train out of Paris.

  It would be worth it.

  The view flickered as the train passed through a forest, the rays of the rising sun piercing the trees like arrows of light.

  At the station, she alighted on the platform and dodged the commuters who surged forward to board the train. She did not expect anyone to meet her, but it felt lonely all the same. Deciding she should save her feet for the hike ahead, Raya found a taxi outside the station and gave the driver the address of the cafe where she was to meet the rest of the group.

  The city buildings—some old, some new—marched by as the little car made its way through the little city.

  The driver pulled up alongside a cafe in the vicinity of the grand chateau of Fontainebleau.

  Raya patted her hair and tugged her shirt straight before exiting the cab and stepping carefully onto the sidewalk. She peered through the windows in search of Nathan and his assistant, but saw no one she recognized.

  Instead, a quiet contingent of townspeople started the day with mugs of café au lait.

  Charming, but not quite the three-egg omelet she’d been hankering for, considering she needed a good, solid breakfast to start the day. Raya examined the menu board with the help of her phrasebook.

  Fruit.

  Toast.

  Coffee with milk.

  The French had style in spades, but they had a lot to learn about breakfast.

  She settled for café au lait, examining the passersby through the window in hopes of spotting a familiar face. When more than half an hour had elapsed, a small amount of worry tickled her thoughts. She pushed it aside and waited another fifteen minutes.

  No sign of Nathan.

  Raya opened her bag and retrieved the directions he’d left for her at the convention, scanning the words that filled the page.