by Sarina Dorie
She nodded. She wouldn’t go back to Baba Nata. Even if she hadn’t feared the old witch, Lucifer didn’t want to return. She’d asked him.
There had to be another way, Abigail just couldn’t fathom a solution. She started toward the door, thinking about his failures—and hers. She hesitated. “You mentioned rare books, the ones off-limits in the principal’s office.”
One side of his mouth lifted into half a smile. “Mrs. Lawrence, please don’t use Clarissa’s lockpick kit to break into his office. He has wards in place that would detect a burglary.”
Her eyes went wide. “I wouldn’t dream of breaking in.” But she wasn’t beyond persuasion. “Does the principal have a fondness for brownies?”
Mr. Thatch shook his head. “I’m afraid he doesn’t like sweets, but it can’t hurt to try your kitchen alchemy on him.” A knowing smile tugged at his lips.
“You know, then?” She thought she’d been discreet in her use of magic, hiding the flavor with spices and chocolate.
“I do, and I see little harm in such a small amount of kitchen alchemy. You aren’t bending someone’s will to your own; you’re giving out bite-sized morsels of joy.” He leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “Some of us would do anything for a taste of happiness after suffering through years of cafeteria food—even if it means putting up with mood-altering magic.” He removed something from his pocket, a red strip of raw meat. He held it up to Priscilla who pecked it out of his fingers.
His eyes twinkled. “Should you find yourself making food for the principal, you are welcome to bring me any leftovers.”
CHAPTER TEN
Hedge Witches Get Stitches
Abigail juggled the casserole dish in her hands and Lucifer inside her purse on her shoulder as she knocked on the open door. The principal’s office was so cluttered it looked like a hoarder had taken up residence. For all she knew, Jebediah Ebenezer Bumblebub was a hoarder. Stained-glass windows cast a rainbow of light onto the paintings of cowboys wrangling cattle-sized dragons. The Western décor told her the tamale pie she’d baked was probably the right choice.
Every shelf was crammed with books flipped in multiple directions haphazardly. Unlit candles, lanterns, and sconces were scattered among the flammable paper. Abigail spotted the locked glass case right away.
She nearly missed the principal behind the stack of files, sundial, and oversized hourglass on his desk, except that his hat shifted behind the mess.
Abigail stepped around a crate of worn textbooks in a state of disrepair. “Excuse me for interrupting, Principal Bumblebub, but I have a question of a personal nature.”
“You don’t need to be so formal. Call me Jeb, please.” He stood and tipped the brim of his conical hat at her and smiled pleasantly. “What can I do you for?”
Abigail stared at him, uncertain whether he had intended to switch those words.
Lucifer squirmed in her purse. She pinned him to her side with her elbow so he didn’t leap out of the bag. From the way he yowled, she suspected he didn’t appreciate the way she caged him in, but she didn’t trust him to show his dislike of the principal in a way that didn’t involve claws.
“What’s that you got there?” Jeb eyed the dish in her hands. “You need some help, darlin’?” He came around the desk to where she stood.
Once again it struck Abigail how over the top the principal’s accent was, how much effort he put into this cowboy-wizard persona. She wondered what his objective was and what identity he was hiding.
She attempted to mask her suspicions with a friendly smile. “It’s a small token of gratitude for putting up with my presence at the school.” She dropped a potholder on a mountain of files on his desk and set the casserole dish on top. Steam rose up from the dish, filling the air with the aroma of cumin, garlic, tomato, and chilis.
“There ain’t no need for that!” He waved her off, though he inhaled deeply. His eyes were fixed on the tinfoil.
Abigail had quizzed Grandmother Bluehorse about the principal’s culinary inclinations. The herbalism teacher had worked at the school long enough to know the principal preferred spicy food, hence the reason Abigail had made tamale pie.
The old man pried back the tinfoil, his grin growing. Abigail waited to see if he took the bait. Her cooking magic worked best after someone had ingested one of her culinary delights.
Jeb chuckled. “Why, Mrs. Lawrence, you’re going to spoil my appetite for dinner! I swear you are the devil’s temptation.”
She smiled sweetly. “Is that such a bad thing?”
Lucifer hissed. She hugged her bag to her chest.
Jeb’s grin faltered as his gaze settled on Lucifer. “I see you brought that ornery cat out of the dungeon. Don’t let Mr. Khaba see him, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“That’s actually what I came to speak with you about. My cat.” She pushed Lucifer to the side so she could dig the plate, spatula, and cutlery out of her purse.
Lucifer took advantage of her loosening hold on him to leap out. He scurried into the mess of the office, hiding under a giant globe of the earth.
Abigail shook her head at him in silent warning before turning back to the principal. “Would you like a slice of tamale pie?”
“I shouldn’t.” He eyed the golden cornbread of the crust, looking like he wanted to.
Abigail served him a slice. She kept Lucifer in her peripheral vision.
“I wanted to speak with you about my familiar. He wasn’t always a cat. He used to be a boy, and I want to turn him back. I couldn’t do so while I lived in the Morty Realm because of the rules about using magic. And even if I hadn’t been drained and had access to the full use of my affinity, I was never a master of animal magics, only plants. From what I understand, you’re a highly skilled Witchkin—a Merlin-class Celestor—and you have access to many powerful spells. Do you think you would be able to fix him?”
“Fix him?” Jeb eyed the casserole on the plate, though he didn’t pick up the fork. “Why wouldn’t you just take him to a Morty doctor if you want him neutered?”
Lucifer yowled from where he prowled closer to the principal’s desk.
Abigail shook her head. “No. That’s not what I was asking. I want to turn him into a human being.”
The principal set down his plate. “What’s that? What kind of bean?” He cupped his hand to his ear as if he hadn’t heard.
Abigail stared at the untouched plate in disappointment. Perhaps he knew she’d enchanted the food and that was why he wasn’t eating.
Abigail spoke louder. “I want to turn him into a boy. I need someone to help me.”
The principal wiped his nose with the bandana around his neck. “A boy bean? I haven’t never heard of that. Wait. Is that in the lima bean family?”
This was going nowhere. Abigail tried not to let her impatience show. “I wondered if I might be able to borrow a book on animal magic.” She waved a hand at the bookcase on the other side of the room.
“Where are my manners? I’ll blame it on your cooking distracting me from hospitality.” Jeb marched over to the glass case of books.
His choice of words didn’t match what Abigail had asked. She waited with anticipation for him to open the glass cabinet of the bookcase.
Instead, he passed the shelves and the fireplace, and he moved on to a minibar. “Pick your poison, Mrs. Lawrence. Scotch? Tequila? Whiskey?”
Lucifer hissed.
“No thank you.” She didn’t know how this man ran a school. Unless, of course, this was all an act. She walked over to the glass bookcase, speaking loudly and slowly. “I would like to borrow one of your books on animal magic.”
“Darlin’, I’m afraid that would be impossible.” He took her by the shoulder and steered her away from the case. He loomed over her, his towering hat making her feel even smaller. “Those books are off-limits to students and staff.”
She noted the peculiar exaggeration of his accent, almos
t masking another dialect. Perhaps it was Eastern European like the woman who had mentored her.
Abigail forced herself to speak slowly and clearly, raising her voice for the old man. “I’m not a student or a staff member—as you told Mr. Khaba.”
He chuckled. “Nice try.” He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
She realized he was examining her wedding ring. She withdrew her hand, wondering if he had a thing for gold. Or he simply wondered if she was still married.
“If you want me to give the magic a try, I’m happy to solve this May hay involvin’ your cat . . . for a price.” His eyes raked her up and down.
Heat flushed to her face at the implication. “Isn’t a delicious casserole enough temptation?”
“Why, Mrs. Lawrence, I think it’s gonna take more than a savory pie to bribe me. I need somethin’ a little sweeter, if you know what I mean.”
Lucifer hissed. Abigail didn’t see him in the room. She prayed he wasn’t raking his nails over a sofa or some priceless magical artifact.
“I can make brownies,” she said quickly, but she knew that wasn’t what he wanted.
His grin grew larger. “I reckon you can think of somethin’ more temptin’ than that.”
She would do anything for her familiar, even if it involved an unscrupulous cowboy wizard. And yet, maybe she didn’t have to.
“Where are you really from, Jeb?” she asked sweetly. “Not Texas. Europe perhaps? Russia? Germany?” If she couldn’t bribe him with food, she was left with blackmail.
Jeb muttered under his breath. She thought he was swearing at her, but the language wasn’t English. It was an ancient dialect she wasn’t familiar with.
Stars flickered in Abigail’s peripheral vision. The air grew so thick with magic it was difficult to breathe. Abigail realized her mistake right then. She shouldn’t have tried to blackmail someone with powers far greater than what she could fight.
Dizziness washed over her. She found herself having difficulty concentrating. Something tugged at her pants, and she looked down to find Lucifer’s claws hooked into the fabric, shaking her. He was trying to warn her about something, but she wasn’t sure what. She’d been thinking about something important just moments ago.
“Don’t try to change the subject, Mrs. Lawrence.” Jeb waggled his eyebrows. “You give me some sugar, and I’ll fix your cat.”
Lucifer screeched with indignation. He launched himself at the principal. The old man ducked and dove away with more speed than most elderly men were capable of. Lucifer sprang off the wall with one of his cat-ninja moves and sank his claws into Jeb’s back.
“No, Lucifer! Stop right now!” Abigail rushed forward.
The principal was the only person she’d met thus far who might provide a means of freeing Lucifer from his curse.
Jeb shook himself like a bronco attempting to unseat a rider. His hat went flying. Lucifer held fast. Abigail shouted and dodged back. The secretary came rushing in, aiming her wand at the principal and cat as she raised her voice to use a spell of her own.
Jeb unleashed a fireball from his palm, trying to swat the cat away, but he couldn’t reach. The fireball smashed into the side of his desk. Another flew toward the secretary, who quickly ducked. A stack of papers caught on fire. Jeb swore. He released a spray of water that arced across the room, missing the fire he’d started. Instead, he doused cases of books as well as Abigail. Lucifer yowled.
Abigail attempted to dive forward, but Jeb released another fireball.
“Stop!” Abigail screamed. She couldn’t get close enough to pry Lucifer free with the magic Jeb was flinging around in random succession.
“Just wait till I get my hands on you. I’ll fix you for good!” Jeb hollered.
The cat twisted away, raking his claws against the old man one last time before rushing out the door.
That hadn’t gone as planned.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
To Turn the Cat in the Pan
When Abigail tried to think back to the moment Lucifer had attacked the principal, her memory was hazy. There was something about the principal, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She’d said something to him before he’d tried to cure Lucifer. She knew she’d gone to him for help. Magic was as at work, keeping her from accessing her memories. Perhaps Jeb had tried to dissolve Lucifer’s curse, but the magic had backfired. It wouldn’t have surprised her if it had. He was absentminded and didn’t come across as being magically competent.
Abigail hoped his spell hadn’t harmed Lucifer. She regretted going to see Jeb at all.
Lucifer didn’t return to the room where Clarissa was recuperating. Abigail searched for him in the other rooms nearby, but without luck. Mr. Thatch was out running errands after school, so she couldn’t ask for his assistance. She couldn’t find Lucifer elsewhere in the school.
Most of the students and staff were in the cafeteria at dinner. The room was round, with arches like Stonehenge, but the walls were painted in jarring mustard yellow and avocado green that must have been a leftover of the seventies. The cacophony of cutlery on plates and students shouting over one another made the environment an unlikely place for Lucifer to wish to hide.
At a dais on the far end of the room was a table elevated above the others, where teachers sat eating dinner. Abigail scanned the adults but didn’t find Grandmother Bluehorse among them. She recognized her daughter’s friend, Josie Kimura, a woman who taught Morty Studies. She was an Amni Plandai, a Witchkin with a plant and animal affinity who might be able to assist in finding a lost cat. Abigail made her way through the chaos of students. The young witch wore a loose bohemian dress of patchwork lace that matched her lavender witch hat.
The young woman waved to Abigail, her face so open and friendly Abigail could see why Clarissa liked her. Josie shouted over the students to be heard, but her voice was lost until Abigail got closer.
“Hey, Mrs. L, how’s Clarissa? I fixed her a bowl of curry, though I can’t vouch for its flavor.” Josie handed her a bowl.
“That’s so thoughtful of you. Perhaps you could bring it down to her.” Abigail scanned the cafeteria. Lucifer didn’t like people, but surely someone must have run into him. “I’m searching for my cat, Lucy. Have you seen him?”
“No, I’m sorry.” She frowned. “When did you lose him?”
“Almost an hour ago.” So much could happen in that amount of time. “Where do you think he might have gone? Somewhere quiet. Where is it quiet in the school?”
“There’s the library. The classrooms are quiet this time of day.” Josie ladled curry into another dish. “How about we get some dinner for ourselves and Clarissa, and I’ll help you look.”
Abigail was about to say she didn’t have time to eat, but another teacher strode between them.
“Out of the way, midgets.” A tall woman with a short bob haircut pushed Josie aside with her hip to get to the table. She waved a hand toward the student tables. “The kiddie table is over there.”
Abigail suspected the woman must have been a teacher, but she wasn’t a very nice one. The woman had the build of an athletic flapper, and her selection of clothes were somewhere in between Gothic and twenties business attire. Her hair was as black as night and her face so pale she could have passed for a vampire.
The woman glanced over the array of food at the teacher’s table, lifting her nose up at it. “I only see meat curry. Who ate the last of the vegan curry?” She whirled, eyeing Josie.
Josie backed away with the two bowls she had just filled and nodded toward one of the student tables. “There’s more over there.”
“It’s bad enough I’m forced to eat overcooked mush, but I’d at least like mush no one has spat into.” The other teacher eyed the bowl in Abigail’s hands.
Never one to pass up an opportunity to make a friend, Abigail held her bowl out to the woman. “You can have mine if you’d like.” She composed her face into a friendly smile. “I don’t believ
e we’ve met. My name is—”
The woman put up a hand. “Don’t know. Don’t care. As long as you aren’t a new teacher the principal is forcing me to share a room with, I’m willing to overlook your presence.” She perused the salad at the table. There was no salad dressing to accompany it.
“Vega!” Josie shouted. “You are being rude to Clarissa’s mom.”
“Oh? Are you here for the funeral?” Vega’s dark brows lifted in interest. “I suppose I should at least pretend to be nice to you if someone in your family has died.”
“What funeral?” Abigail asked. “No one in my family has died.” Not recently anyway.
Josie shoved one of the bowls at Abigail, rounding on the other woman who managed to dwarf her, even with her conical hat. “Clarissa isn’t dead. I told you that already.”
“Yes, well, I heard her condition was critical. I was being optimistic that she might have died in the middle of the night.” She shrugged and sauntered off.
“Well, that was just. . . .” Abigail was at a loss for words.
Josie leaned in closer. “That was Vega Bloodmire. Clarissa’s roommate. Lucky her.”
Abigail could see why her daughter was recuperating elsewhere.
* * *
Abigail paced the room where Clarissa sat in bed, stirring her mush of vegetables around in her bowl. Abigail wished she’d made two tamale pies. At least they could have enjoyed one of them. Josie sat beside Clarissa, waving her wand over a yellow curry stain she’d gotten on the bed.
