Single Witch's Survival Guide (The Jane Madison Academy Series)

by Mindy Klasky

  “One month before—”

  He looked at his cheap Timex, as if it had some special calendaring function. “Ah, yes. That would be yesterday.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “I wouldn’t be too upset, Miss Madison. Appeals take at least three months to get on the Court’s docket. Of course, you’d need to pursue certification in the meantime. We can’t fall behind on our testing schedule, now can we?”

  I could rant. I could rave. I could tell Pitt to take his bureaucratic claptrap, fold it three ways, and….

  But I was the magistrix of the Madison Academy. I had a reputation to uphold. Besides, I had to make sure David didn’t do anything foolish. He’d been suspiciously silent as I explored the parameters of the Court’s trap, and I didn’t completely trust him not to extract some sort of revenge on Pitt, right there, in the middle of our kitchen.

  Determined to avert that disaster, I threw back my shoulders and extended a hand, as if I’d just concluded a successful business meeting. I looked Pitt in his piggy little eyes and said, “Thank you very much for taking the time to look in on our operations.”

  “No trouble.” He pumped my hand and flushed with obvious pleasure. “No trouble at all. Always glad to be of service.”

  “David?” I asked pointedly. “Could you show Mr. Pitt out?”

  My warder nodded, as if the departure had been his own idea. But first, he extended his hand. “I’ll take the Charter.”

  Pitt showed his teeth and passed the document to me. “Keep an eye on that, Miss Madison. You wouldn’t want it to get misfiled, would you?”

  I took the scroll, with its gaudy yellow ribbon. If David were insulted by Pitt’s remonstrance, he gave no visible indication.

  Pitt turned to my students. He bowed first toward Emma, then made a deeper obeisance toward Raven. As if by reflex, she crossed her arms over her low-cut blouse. “Ladies,” Pitt said, and the simple word somehow sounded obscene slipping off his lips.

  “Norville,” David said, bristling. He set a firm hand on Pitt’s elbow and escorted the Clerk to the back door. Pitt started to reach for another clump of grapes, but Spot rose from the floor with a possessive snarl, apparently tested beyond his even Labrador retriever temper. I dropped the Charter and clutched at the dog’s collar, while David hustled the intruder out the door. I didn’t release Spot until the deadbolt was thrown home.

  Raven and Emma looked appalled. Emma pushed her plate away, as if she’d lost all appetite for any restorative meal. Raven plucked at her blouse, attempting to hide more completely behind its limited offerings. I unlocked my knees and reached blindly for the chair that Neko nudged toward me.

  Astonishingly, though, David seemed unaffected. In fact, he was smiling as he turned back to all of us. He patted Spot on the head and affirmed that the Lab was a good dog. For the first time in days, David’s shoulders seemed relaxed, and he actually laughed as he picked up the Charter from the floor.

  “Am I missing something?” I asked. “Why did you let him in the house?”

  “I knew he couldn’t resist leaving something behind. That’s why I offered him lemonade,” he nodded to the half-empty glass on the center island, “but this is even better.” He gestured to me with the Charter, making the yellow ribbon tremble.

  “Better for what?”

  “I’m going to scan for Pitt’s aura.”

  That sounded like Clara’s kind of crazy talk. “You’re kidding. Right?”

  “Not at all. Oh, it’s not what you’re thinking. To a warder, ‘aura’ has a very specific meaning.”

  “And that is?”

  “The after-image, when a person has worked magic.”

  Once again, I had to admit, “I don’t understand.” And if I was lost, I could only imagine how my students must feel. They had no idea that David and Pitt were longtime antagonists.

  “An aura’s like an astral fingerprint. Pitt produced this document out of thin air. I can trace his power on it.”

  And David could compare that trace to the documents down in the basement. He could identify which Court papers Pitt had manipulated with magic. But wouldn’t the Head Clerk have handled the vast majority of the materials that David had pilfered?

  I wanted to ask more questions, but I couldn’t. Not with my students watching. Not with Neko paying far too much attention.

  I hated the entire idea of David working with those stolen documents. I worried they were only going to bring him grief. But I wasn’t ready to be the one who blew his cover. Yet.

  “If you’ll excuse me?” David asked. I nodded acquiescence, and he crossed to the basement stairs. Before he headed down to his office, though, he turned back to look at all three of us witches. “I wasn’t joking before. No more magic, for the rest of the day. You all need a break after your working this morning.” He looked down at the Charter he held lightly in his fingertips. “Your Class Two working.”

  I shook my head as he disappeared down the stairs.

  * * *

  Up in my bedroom, I wondered if David would count a little fatigue-banishing spell as magic. I had to drive down to D.C. to help Melissa review watercolor artists that evening.

  Yeah. Right. Who was I kidding? David would go ballistic if I used magic to prepare for the trip.

  Better to leave early and take my time on the drive. And if I ended up with extra time in D.C. I could swing by Gran’s apartment. Which was why I knocked on her door halfway through the afternoon.

  “What’s wrong, dear?” she asked, as soon as she saw me.

  Wow. Maybe I should have used the fatigue spell. “Do I look that bad?”

  “Not at all sweetheart. I just can’t remember the last time you showed up, unannounced, on a Friday afternoon.” Well, she had a point there. “Tea?”

  “Anything with caffeine.”

  She tsked and led the way into the kitchen. In minutes, I was soothed by the routine of making tea with my grandmother. She put the water on to boil while I took down two of her delicate teacups. Matching saucers, a sugar bowl, spoons—Gran did things properly, or she didn’t do them at all. It wasn’t long before she was spooning enough sugar into her Earl Grey to knock out a Clydesdale, and I was sipping pure, caffeinated heaven.

  “How are things going at the school, dear?” she asked.

  And that was all I needed. I told her about our weeks of frustrations, our attempts to work with my new model. I outlined our great success of the morning. And I filled her in on Pitt’s ominous visit.

  Frowning, she put down her teacup. “That man sounds like a menace.”

  I barely stifled a yawn as I agreed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t been sleeping all that well.”

  “Why not?”

  Her concern warmed me more than any hot drink ever had. “I’ve been worried about the magicarium, of course.”

  She correctly read my tone. “But that’s not all?”

  “You have to release me from my promise, Gran! Let me send the familiars back to the greenhouse!” I really was tired. I hadn’t planned on bringing that up at all. As long as the proverbial cat was out of the bag, though…. “Gran, you have no idea how crowded the house is. Whatever room I go into, there’s already somebody there. Last night, Caleb finally had time to get back to roughing in walls in the basement, and the whole house shook. Half the time, there isn’t any hot water, and I can’t find anything in the refrigerator or the pantry. You’ve got to help!”

  She nodded wisely. “Bring the warders into the house.”

  “Gran!”

  “You told me yourself, your ritual worked this morning because you recognized the familiars’ power. You’ve finally gotten to know your students and their assistants. You need to work even more efficiently to meet the Court’s new challenge? Bring the warders into the house.”

  “We’ll kill each other!”

  Even as I protested, though, I started to think things through. Tony already spent a lot of time in the house, in Neko’s
corner of the basement. Surely, we could find some place for Caleb. We were talking about less than a month.

  Tony. Caleb. That left David.

  If all the warders moved back from the barn, then David would live in the house again. We’d have to work things out—everything—and return to life before the Fourth of July.

  The thought excited me. I couldn’t deny that.

  But it frightened me, too. David’s obsession with Pitt was only growing stronger. At least if David stayed in the barn, he’d be forced to keep some distance between himself and the stolen materials. He’d have to think about them before he used them, before he slipped deeper into their sway. If he moved back into our bedroom, the temptation in the basement would be that much closer, that much easier to embrace.

  “Gran, I really don’t think that’s going to—”

  She cut me off. “Do we have to talk about promises again, Jane?”

  She was serious. And I’d spent twenty-five years caving every single time Gran asked for a promise. I wasn’t going to change now.

  Even if the thought of more bodies in the house drove me mad. Even if I had to complete a Major Working in less than a month. Even if Gran was insisting that David move back into my bedroom, into the life we’d been building together.

  Actually, that last point made the hassle all worthwhile.

  “Fine, Gran,” I conceded. “I’ll move the warders into the house.”

  She smiled and dusted her hands, as if she’d just completed a Major Working of her own. Excellent, dear. Now, would you like another cup of tea?”

  * * *

  My fingers were actually trembling from caffeine overload as I made my way up the street to Cake Walk. Ordinarily, I imagined Melissa’s bakery treats before I even opened the door. Now, though, I craved protein—a nice, lean chicken breast or a turkey sandwich would absolutely hit the spot.

  I stopped short as I got to the bakery. The sign said Walk On By.

  I looked at my watch. It was barely 4:00. Usually, Friday afternoons were Melissa’s busiest time. People cut out of work early, stopping to buy a cookie for the road. They headed home for weekend celebrations, cupcakes in hand. Office warriors gave themselves a treat just for surviving another work week. I don’t think Melissa had ever closed the store early on a Friday.

  I took out my phone and punched her number, but the call shifted immediately to voicemail. “Hey,” I said. “I thought we were meeting up with watercolor artists tonight. Call me when you pick this up.”

  I shrugged and walked around the side of the building. The gate hung open, and the air was heavy with the scent of basil, rosemary, and mint. A quick glance at the plants confirmed that someone had been stealing herbs from the garden—there were fresh gashes on the stems. The hum of bees seemed ominous as I closed the gate behind me, taking care to fasten the latch.

  I fed some of my nerves into my stride, taking the steps two at a time. When I knocked on the door, there wasn’t any answer. I tried to lean out over the railing, to peer into the living room window, but the curtains were pulled.

  Adrenaline danced in my veins. Melissa kept a key under one of the flowerpots up here. Was it the impatiens? The begonias? In between pots, I shook my fingers, barely remembering not to wipe them on my skirt.

  No key.

  I ran over our plans in my head. It was Friday. We had definitely intended to meet with watercolor artists on Friday.

  Should I call the police? What could I tell them? My best friend shut up shop early on a summer afternoon, and someone has been cutting herbs in her garden? Yeah, I’m sure D.C.’s finest would speed to the scene of that crime.

  Melissa had been frustrated when I’d spoken to her in the middle of the week. She’d been putting on hated makeup, getting ready for dinner with Rob’s parents and a gaggle of his aunts, uncles, and countless cousins. What if things hadn’t gone well? What if she’d finally put her foot down over one more ridiculous wedding request? Maybe Rob had told her that he couldn’t take it any more? I could see Melissa ripping off her engagement ring, throwing it in his face as she fought back tears. Now she could be standing in her kitchen, surrounded by sharp knives, by the tools of the trade she’d practically ignored for months as her wedding spun further and further out of control.

  “Melissa!” I shouted, knocking hard on her door. “Melissa! Open up! We can talk about it! Whatever it is! Melissa!”

  I stopped pounding and scrabbled for my phone—maybe the fire department would be better. They could break in, couldn’t they? What did it matter? 911 would send everyone.

  I steadied myself against the door, fighting down panic as I punched the nine and the first one. I was just starting to hit the one again when the door flew open, and I collapsed onto the floor in Melissa’s living room.

  I blinked, staring up into my best friend’s face. She was wrapped in a gigantic towel, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a terry turban. “What the hell?” she asked, as I scrambled to my feet.

  “I thought you were dead!”

  “That’s why you were screaming my name?”

  I brushed off my skirt. “Well, I thought you weren’t dead yet.” I cleared the two digits from my phone before I accidentally summoned the city’s emergency response team.

  “Get in here,” Melissa said, laughing. “All the cold air is getting out.”

  I slipped inside. Her window unit air conditioner was roaring, loud enough that I could barely hear myself think. “What were you doing?” I asked.

  “Um, taking a shower?”

  “Someone raided your garden!”

  She gestured toward the kitchen counter. “Let me guess. They were going to make pesto? And rosemary foccacio? A pitcher full of mojitos?”

  “But you didn’t answer when I knocked!”

  “Hello!” she said, gesturing to her towel. “I was taking a shower!”

  Okay, so I felt a little foolish. A lot foolish. I said defensively, “You never shut the bakery early in the summer. It never gets too hot for you.”

  “I needed a mental health day. Mental health afternoon, anyway. It was either close Cake Walk, or take a chance on murdering the next innocent customer who walked in the door.”

  I winced. “What happened now?”

  “Rob’s mother called this morning. His Great-Aunt Deanna decided we should release a pair of matched white doves the instant we complete our vows. The whole time I was on the phone hearing about the Marvelous Symbol Of Our Eternal Love, I just kept thinking about how that poor bird’s heart would feel, fluttering against my fingers. That, and how it would probably crap all over me as it flew away to freedom.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  Melissa shook her head. “She didn’t give me a chance. Another call came in, something about the menu for the rehearsal dinner. When she called back fifteen minutes later, I pretended not to be there. She’ll call back tomorrow, I’m sure. With some other lunatic idea from a relative I’ve never met.”

  I made sympathetic noises, but I was laughing at the same time. I nodded toward her towel-wrapped head. “Shouldn’t you get ready?”

  “For what?”

  “The watercolor artists? I thought we were supposed to be at the gallery by seven.”

  “Oh!” Melissa swore. “I’m so sorry! Mom canceled the watercolor artists last night.”

  I stared in disbelief. “Wait a second. You had a chance to ‘get in touch with the emotions behind the things we see’ and to ‘reach out to the people we truly love in new and unique ways’ and she canceled?”

  Melissa nodded. “We’re hiring a silhouette artist instead.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nope. Cousin Caroline’s idea. Black paper, sharp scissors, and silhouette portraits for two hundred.”

  “How the hell are you going to tell apart two hundred silhouettes?”

  “Write the names on the back in chalk?” Melissa shrugged. “It turns out silhouette artists are a lot more
rare than watercolorists. There’s only one available for our wedding date, so there’s no need to make an artistic decision.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m really sorry. I totally spaced on calling you.”

  And that admission, more than any of the other wedding insanity, made me realize how crazy Melissa’s life had truly become. She didn’t forget things. Not rock, paper, scissors victories that had committed me to a trip to D.C.

  I shrugged. “Well, I’m here now. You can cook me dinner before I head back home.”

  “Why don’t you stay over? It looks like you could use a little Mojito Therapy yourself.”

  My best friend always was perceptive. But I couldn’t take her up on the offer. Not with warders moving back into the house, and a suddenly escalated training schedule for a Mabon working.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I have to get back to the farm tonight.”

  Melissa accepted my verdict with equanimity. “Fair enough,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable while I get dressed.” She gestured toward the overstuffed couch and its accompanying coffee table. “Oh, you can look at paint chips while you’re waiting!”

  “Paint chips?”

  “Rob’s grandmother decided our rented chairs should match the flower arrangements. We’re going to paint them all the morning of the wedding and paint them back after.”

  “That sounds like a recipe for disaster. What if the paint doesn’t dry in time for the reception?”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “Maybe that’s her underlying plan. Make the guests match the flower arrangements. Can you imagine the cleaning bills?”

  She was still able to laugh as she headed back to her bedroom. Me, I had to admit that I didn’t see the humor. Was she planning a wedding or a Broadway play? Or a military operation more complicated than D-Day?

  Maybe I’d have a single mojito after all. It was going to be a long evening, deciding between paint chips ranging from Constant Rose to Gracious Coral. The Great Warder Relocation Project could wait until the morning.