Capitol Magic

by Klasky, Mindy

  “Just tell me. Who is it?”

  She looked at me oddly, and I realized I must have sounded like a madwoman. “As near as I can tell,” she said, “the person with the vast majority of the missing books is named Richardson. Maurice Richardson.”

  I felt every one of the five syllables, twisting my belly like the fear I had felt when I first met the ancient vampire.

  But there was more than fear. Jane’s pronouncement shattered the neat order of my world. All the control that I had exercised over the Old Library, all the organization that I had imposed in the Night Court files—it meant nothing if Richardson had taken such a large part of our collection.

  It was worse than that, though. Jane’s words made me realize that I was not properly prepared for my job. I didn’t have the tools I needed, the most basic instruction to function as a full-fledged sphinx.

  And I was missing that information because Chris had refused to teach me. Sure, he had promised a lot, offering up enticing tidbits about our sphinx nature, about who we were, about what we could do. But each time I pushed him for more specific information, he put me off. He told me that I needed to focus on my job at the Night Court, that I needed to become more familiar with vampires.

  I knew that part of his reluctance was some twisted form of chivalry—he was giving me freedom to pursue my relationship with James, whatever that might be.

  But there was more to it than that. I didn’t know if he didn’t trust me. Or if he didn’t trust himself, to be my mentor. Or if there were other forces at play—edicts from the Eastern Empire itself, from the supernatural creatures we served.

  All I knew was that I was aching to know more about my sphinx nature. I was desperate to discover who I was, what I could do. And now, an opportunity was laid out before me.

  An opportunity, but a threat as well.

  I folded my fingers around the edge of the table and ordered myself to take a trio of deep breaths. Maurice Richardson was in custody. He was awaiting trial for everything that had happened six months ago. There was no way he could reach me, no way he could harm me. But maybe, just maybe he was giving me the chance to become the sphinx I was truly meant to be.

  I squared my shoulders and sat up straight. “Maurice Richardson stole those books from the Eastern Empire. And I’m going to get them back.”

  CHAPTER 3

  JANE

  I SHOULD HAVE known that David would be waiting for me back at the Peabridge cottage. He sat on one of the hunter green couches in the living room, his legs extended before him, his hands behind his head. When I saw him, I was tempted to step back outside, to lock the door and flee.

  Instead, I collapsed on the opposite couch and let my head loll back.

  I was tired. Exhausted, actually. In preparation for my stint as a night librarian, I had taken a nap the afternoon before but now I felt as if I’d pulled the all-nighter from Hell. I ran my tongue over my teeth and cringed at the film I found there. I would have stumbled in the bathroom and grabbed for my Crest, if that hadn’t seemed entirely too much like work.

  David was going to yell at me. He was going to be furious that I had dismissed him the way I had—and in front of dangerous strangers, to boot. He was going to remove himself from serving as my warder ever again. He was going to tell me that everything we’d been through was a mistake, that we shouldn’t have had any past, that we weren’t going to have any future. He was going to stand up, walk out the door, disappear down the garden path, and I would never, ever see him again.

  “Want some breakfast?” he asked.

  Oh.

  Just the word—breakfast—reminded me I was starving. I nodded, and he led the way into my kitchen. He moved with the familiarity of a man who had conquered those cupboards years before. In less than ten minutes, I was sitting down to scrambled eggs and toast, with a sprinkling of real asiago. (Where had he found that in my fridge?). He raised a box of oolong teabags, but I shook my head. Stirring caffeine into my exhaustion would be a mistake.

  I gulped down half the meal before I dared to meet his eyes. “What?” I asked, unable to parse the thoughts in those grey depths.

  “I thought we had an agreement. I thought you were going to start teaching new witches, show them how to share their powers.”

  Of course, his words brought back the memory of excitement, of the discoveries we’d made in my basement eight months before. Then, I had been nursing a catastrophic degradation of my powers; I had nearly lost everything that made me a useful witch. I’d only found my way back to full strength by working with my mother and my grandmother, by weaving our astral energy together.

  The accomplishment had been more than a personal relief. For centuries, witches had been solo workers. Sure, each of us had a familiar. We had warders to watch over us. We gathered in covens—at least most of us did—and shared information about the spells we worked, the crystals and runes and herbs we plumbed for magic.

  But in the past, every witch stood alone when she actually called upon her powers.

  Until me. Until I created an entirely new system.

  David waited patiently as feathers of panic started to tickle inside my belly. “I know we said that,” I managed. “I know we talked about my finding a student or two.” I pushed my plate away, suddenly unable to swallow another bite. “But now that just seems so … final.”

  “Final?” I could hear him stretch for patience. “Jane, it will be a beginning.”

  I shrugged and looked around the kitchen, trying to put my thoughts into words. “It’ll be the end of my career, though. I’ll be walking away from everything I’ve accomplished on my own. School, then finding my job at the Peabridge, then keeping that job. I’m a good librarian, David, a really good one. And even though I gave notice, I’ve realized that I don’t want to leave that all behind. I don’t want to give up being a successful, independent woman.”

  There. I’d finally said it. I’d finally voiced the fears that had kept me awake late at night.

  If I moved in with David, if I devoted myself to the school for witches, then I would be forfeiting an essential part of myself. I would be admitting that my value as a witch was greater than my value as … me. As everything I’d been for the twenty-five years I’d lived before I cast my first spell.

  My warder wasn’t an idiot. I saw his comprehension in the bob of his throat as he swallowed. I felt it in his slow blink. His voice was impossibly gentle. “You won’t stop being independent, just because we work together.”

  Work together. Live together.

  It all felt too claustrophobic. Even though my relationship with David was everything I had longed for, everything I had hoped for when I reached out to him so many months before… The prospect of moving in with him should have made me feel like new doors were opening, not like old ones were slamming shut.

  “Please,” I said, hating the grim lines my words etched beside his mouth. “It really isn’t you. It’s me. I just need a little more time. Some space.”

  As if on cue, my phone rang. Grateful for the interruption, I reached for the handset, but Caller ID announced that I was out of luck. Evelyn. My former boss at the Peabridge. My landlady. I let the answering machine pick up.

  “Jane, we really have to speak about your departure date from the cottage. The Board of Trustees is quite concerned about the insurance implications of your living there if you’re no longer an employee of the Library. Please call me at your earliest convenience.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes as Evelyn broke off her call. Why couldn’t I make this easy? Why couldn’t I just move out of the cottage, move in with David? Why couldn’t I get on with my life?

  “You look exhausted,” David said, when the silence became unbearable. He stood and held out a hand.

  “Don’t you know you’re never supposed to say that to a woman?”

  “There are lots of things I’m not supposed to say,” he said, and he pulled me close for an embrace. “Or do.” His lips were warm on
mine—smooth and easy and utterly non-demanding. “Come on. Let’s get you some sleep. We can talk more about this later.”

  I let him guide me into my bedroom. He lowered the shade, cutting out the brilliant morning sunshine, while I slipped off my shoes. He folded back the covers on my bed as I fiddled with the zipper on my professional-looking trousers. He fluffed my pillow while I shrugged out of my blouse. And he looked appreciative as I stood before him, wearing nothing but my underwear.

  “Into bed with you,” he growled.

  “David —” I said, awash in guilt.

  “I know, I know.” He handed me my pajamas. The man wasn’t entirely selfless—he watched closely as I changed into the nightclothes. But he waited for me to climb into bed. And he pulled my comforter up to my chin. And he smoothed my hair back from my face.

  I was already fading toward sleep, but a sudden thought made me giggle.

  “What?” David asked.

  “You. You and Mr. Morton, when you left the library. It was like watching you at a Coven meeting, retreating into a room with all the other warders.”

  “I assure you, that vampire is nothing like a warder.”

  For just a heartbeat, I remembered the flash of Morton’s fangs, the glint of light off teeth that were prepared to rip out my throat. I shivered, more afraid now than I had been in the high emotion of that moment.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “For what?”

  “For coming to save me,” I said. “And for making me breakfast. And for waiting…” I wasn’t sure if I meant waiting for me on the green couch, or waiting for me to move on, to leave behind the cottage and the life I’d worked so hard to build, my life as a librarian.

  I was asleep, though, before I could figure out the difference.

  * * *

  Everything seemed much more manageable when I awoke.

  David had left me a note, saying that he was heading back to his house, but I shouldn’t hesitate to summon him if I needed anything. He’d underlined anything—conveying more emotion with that one stroke than in any other note I’d ever received from him.

  Evelyn had sent over a stack of empty boxes from the library, along with a half dozen rolls of packing tape. Subtlety had never been one of her virtues.

  I’d just toasted an English muffin and spread on a thin layer of peanut butter when my phone rang. After a cautious glance at the incoming phone number, I picked it up.

  “I hope you weren’t in trouble on my account,” Sarah Anderson said.

  I smiled. “Nope. And you?”

  “I haven’t seen James yet.” That would be Mr. Morton. “But I’m sure I’ll catch an earful.” She didn’t sound too concerned.

  I thought about my encounter with David. I hoped that Sarah would get off the hook as easily as I had. A part of me knew that I should call things off with her, that I should set aside my consulting plans and get back to my school for witches. After all, that’s what I had planned on doing for the past six months.

  But didn’t twenty-odd years count for anything? Wasn’t I allowed to make the choice that let me be me? At least for a little while longer? I pushed my one and only consulting client. “So, we left things up in the air a bit last night, er, this morning.”

  Sarah laughed. “Sorry. The schedule takes a little getting used to. That’s why I’m calling, though. I wanted to talk about the best way for us to proceed.”

  “Us?” I felt a wave of relief. I hadn’t been entirely sure there still was an us. But my reaction to Sarah’s easy offer of partnership made me certain that I was making a good choice. I needed to explore this option, this opportunity to pursue my librarian career.

  “As you probably gathered,” Sarah said, “I have a bit of a history with Maurice Richardson. I’m virtually certain that the Eastern Empire’s missing books are in his house, up in Northwest D.C., off Foxhall Road.”

  That was an expensive part of town, where mansions sat on actual acreage. I immediately pictured a building that was a cross between Tara and Disney’s Haunted Mansion. “As an outlaw in a castle keeps,” I muttered.

  “What?” Of course, Sarah had no clue what I was talking about. She wasn’t like Melissa; she didn’t have every play by William Shakespeare committed entirely to memory. If she had, she would have known that the rest of the line was, “And useth it to patronage his theft.” What could I say—massive house in Northwest D.C., stolen books. The quotation from Henry VI, Part I made sense to me.

  “Nothing,” I said, feeling a little foolish.

  “Anyway,” Sarah continued, after only a brief pause. “I figured we could split up the work. I’ll research the exact legal status of Richardson’s house, according to the Eastern Empire. You can figure out how he’s hiding the books. Like the catalog was hidden in the Old Library.”

  I heard bitter anger in her voice. She clearly suspected Maurice Richardson had worked the magic in the courthouse basement, had secreted the catalog in its brass-bound trunk. Nevertheless, I was reluctant to get involved with anything shady. “Um, I don’t know what sort of ‘legal status’ you’re talking about.”

  “Maurice Richardson is a criminal,” she said flatly. “His house was the scene of a number of crimes for which he is currently being prosecuted.”

  In my mental picture, I added yellow tape to the columns on the Haunted Tara porch. There would be stickers on the door, too, guaranteeing that the place remained secure. Untouched by human hands. “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling uneasy. “I’m just a librarian, here. I can’t break D.C. law to enter a crime scene.”

  Sarah’s voice was grim. “D.C. law isn’t involved at all. And it won’t be. I promise you that.”

  I shivered at the determination in her voice. What crimes could a vampire commit that would bring him before a supernatural court? I mean, the whole drinking human blood thing had to get a pass, right? That was what vampires were expected to do. So whatever Richardson was accused of doing was worse than that.

  A lot worse, apparently.

  “Jane,” Sarah wheedled. “I’ll pay you for your time, of course. You have to understand how much this means to me. I’m responsible for the Old Library. Even if those volumes disappeared on someone else’s watch, I can’t just forget about them. I can’t walk away, knowing what I know now.”

  She sure knew how to get to a librarian.

  “Please,” Sarah said. “Just look into how Richardson might have hidden the texts. If you decide not to join me in the end, I promise I’ll find someone else for the actual recovery. No questions asked.”

  And that’s what made up my mind.

  I could back out at any time. I could avoid any actual confrontation with Richardson, or with any other vampires. I could help preserve rare materials, return them to their proper home. And I could use my unique skills, my knowledge as both a librarian and as a witch.

  This one case could help me to decide which was more important to me—the life I’d lived before I came into my powers, or the magic that I’d embraced for the past three years. Working with Sarah would help me decide what I was going to do with my future, once and for all.

  Of course, I was pretty sure David wouldn’t see things that way. But I’d already learned that it was easier to ask my warder for forgiveness rather than permission. David’s warderly permission-granting default was firmly set to “No.”

  “All right,” I said to Sarah. “I’ll do the research.”

  I heard her sharp exhale, and I realized she had been hanging on my every word. We made plans to meet the next evening, after we’d each had a chance to get some work done.

  I smiled as I hung up the phone, pleased to have made a professional decision. But a prickle walked down my spine all the same.

  Shrugging away the sensation, I headed down to the basement. I had to go through my books, review all my resources about locating hidden belongings. As I passed through the living room, Evelyn’s empty boxes and rolls of packing tape caught my eye. I sighed an
d brought them downstairs with me.

  As much as I wanted for nothing in my life to change, I had set the wheels in motion when I spontaneously quit my job at the Peabridge. I was going to be thrown out of my home. I was going to have to pack up everything I owned.

  Even if I put my plans on hold to start my school for witches. Even if I delayed moving in with my warder.

  I sighed. Melissa would let me crash with her for a while. After all these years of hearing me fight to become the woman I wanted to be, she would understand. She had to. She was my best friend.

  I might as well start packing up my most precious possessions, my witchcraft collection. And while I worked, I would try to put myself into the mind of a thieving, blood-sucking criminal. What could possibly go wrong with that?

  CHAPTER 4

  SARAH

  PUTTING OFF THE inevitable for a few moments, I paused to look at the colonial garden around me. I didn’t know a lot of flower names, but I could identify a few stands of daffodils, their spent flower stalks folded over and tied up with their flourishing leaves. Hyacinths bloomed, the tiny purple blossoms sending out their fragrance into the warm spring afternoon.

  I hefted the white paperboard box in my hand. The Cake Walk sticker made me smile automatically; I could already imagine the flavor of the cupcakes inside. But the treats were not just for fun. I had brought them as a bribe, to smooth over a difficult conversation. I had brought them to convince Jane Madison to accompany me into danger.

  I clutched my tote bag closer against my ribs as I approached the cottage. The touch of hard metal beneath the canvas tripped my heart into an even faster rhythm, and I forced myself to take three calming breaths before I knocked on Jane’s door.

  And when no one answered, I feared my entire trip had been made for naught.

  I should have phoned before I just came over. I should have had faith that Jane would trust me, that she would accept my desperate plan. I should have believed in my sphinx ability to arrange things, to make things happen.

  But I had been nervous. Afraid. Nearly overwhelmed by what I had already done, what I intended for us still to do that night.