My Favorite Witch

by Lisa Plumley

  He snorted. “If you mean a fairytale ending…hell no.”

  “All right. That’s understandable.”

  “Oh hell. Don’t give me that soothing tone of yours either. It won’t work.” Cynically, he eyed his magus’s easy smile and relaxed position. He dragged his fingers through his hair, unable to withhold a frustrated sigh. “You haven’t read her file. I have. This witch is trouble. She’s intelligent, I’ll give you that. She’s amazing to look at.” He lapsed for one shameful second, remembering her transparently wet shirt. “But she’s also impulsive, stubborn, and rebellious.”

  “She sounds perfect for you.”

  “She ran at the first sign of difficulty in her life.”

  “You’ve done your share of running.”

  “But she didn’t just run.” He felt his shoulders stiffen as he admitted the worst of it. “She turned her back on everyone she knew. She left her family behind without a thought.”

  A pause. “You think she betrayed them.”

  It wasn’t really a question. He knew his magus could read his jaded expression. “Of course she betrayed them.”

  It was the worst charge he could have leveled. His magus appeared suitably troubled by it. All Patayan were irredeemably wounded by betrayal. As an interconnected people, they needed trust as much as they needed breath. Being deprived of that trust hurt them deeply…but only for those stupid enough to be vulnerable. T.J. knew better than to go down that road.

  “She’ll probably do it again, given half a chance.”

  “No one is without flaws, T.J. Witchfolk, humans, Patayan…we all make mistakes. Dayna must have had a reason.”

  “There’s no reason good enough.”

  “You can’t say that for certain.”

  “I’m pretty sure I just did.”

  His magus appeared amused. “Is there anything more?”

  “She refuses to use her magic, but it escapes her all the same. She’s a menace to everyone around her.” T.J. accidentally stirred up the soil in his magus’s potted plants. It lurched upward in moist clumps, ready to race toward him and perform whatever action he needed next. With an impatient gesture, he tamped it down again. “She shuns enchantments in favor of filing cabinets and computers. She uses human-made things!”

  “You’re reaching at straws now.”

  “She made my magic malfunction.” He glowered, newly pissed at the memory. “I charmed those damned handcuffs myself. They should have been impervious to trickery.”

  “Your bond was not a trick. It was fate.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, this time fate screwed with the wrong warlock.” He’d come here for solace—for wisdom and instruction. Instead, he’d found more confusion. In the space of one day, his life had become a million times more complicated. “I’ll be damned if I’ll be fate’s bitch, to kick around at will.”

  “T.J.” His magus pursed her lips sorrowfully. “Falling in love is not the same as being kicked around.”

  “If they both hurt, what’s the difference?”

  With a muttered good-bye, he made ready to leave.

  “That’s it?” his magus asked. Her wolfhound scrambled to its feet. “You really won’t complete your bond with Dayna?”

  The mournful tone in her voice got to him. Against his better judgment, T.J. released the starlight he’d just plucked. He needed it to light his way back to his hated car, but he could always capture more when he stepped outside.

  “I have work to do.” At the thought of failing his people, T.J. felt his usual steeliness crack—just for a heartbeat, but even that long was intolerable. He blamed Dayna; her witchy influence had already affected him. It had already softened him. “I have to prepare for the conflict that’s coming. I gave my word that I’d find the juweel, and I will. Before it’s too late. If this disaster can be averted—”

  “It must be. I can’t argue with that.”

  T.J. stood silently. They both knew that an event, once prophesied, was unlikely to be altered. Still, it was comforting to behave as though it could be. Even magical folk needed hope.

  “But I still would have liked to see you happy with someone. I would have liked grandchildren someday.”

  With a laughing shake of his head, T.J. headed for the door. He pet the wolfhound, then snatched more starlight.

  “Someday soon,” his magus persisted.

  Smiling, T.J. grabbed the door. “I won’t promise that.”

  Almost there…but his magus spoke again.

  “Ahem. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  She couldn’t be serious. Yet T.J. knew she was. He pocketed his starlight and doubled back, then shoveled in his last bite of butternut squash pie and chewed furiously.

  He swallowed. “Thanks for the pie.”

  Her smile was beatific. “You’re very welcome, T.J.”

  She rose, her flowing garments whispering their witchmade enchantments as she moved. Knowing what would come next, T.J. stiffened. He visited often but was never prepared for this part. Trying not to wince, he took a single step nearer. That was his duty. He was not a man who shirked responsibility.

  As he’d expected, his magus hugged him. Her embrace was as warm, as caring, and as inclusive as ever. She smelled of squash and sugar and arthritis ointment. She smelled almost like home.

  Almost…but not quite. He’d lost his home at fifteen and had never found a place to belong to since. That didn’t stop his magus from acting as though she could heal him somehow.

  Uncomfortably, T.J. shifted. “Are we done yet?”

  “Yes.” Her smiled appeared all too knowing.

  “I’ll be back when I have news.”

  Or when I need you.

  Damn it. He blocked the thought as rapidly as he could.

  “All right. Be well, T.J.” With a confidently maternal gesture, his magus put her thumb on his chin and tilted his face downward. She studied his keep-away beard stubble and surly expression, then sighed. “Be happy. And be very cautious when you’re searching for the juweel. The magical elements in Covenhaven are in flux now. That makes them unstable.”

  “I’m a rock, remember? Nothing can get to me.”

  “You seem to truly believe that.” At his assured smile, she arched her brow. “And yet a single witch scares you silly?”

  T.J. couldn’t help laughing. “You never quit, I’ll give you that. Nice try, but I’m still not giving you grandchildren.”

  “Someday?”

  “Hell. I was right, wasn’t I?” He shook his head. “A woman can win any argument, just by persisting long enough.”

  “Thank you.” His magus smiled. “And? Grandchildren?”

  Without a word, T.J. leaned forward. He kissed his magus on the crown of her head, lingering a moment longer than he meant to.

  “That arthritis ointment is fucking hypnotic,” he said. “I don’t know how you keep the geezers from swarming this place.”

  Then he pulled out his starlight and headed alone into the night, feeling no more reassured than when he’d arrived…but feeling a little less empty, all the same.

  Chapter Nine

  Stepping onto the grounds of Covenhaven Academy for the first time in eleven years, Dayna held her breath. She didn’t know what to expect, how to feel…or where to go. As usual, she’d wound up on the outside of things, clueless where other witches were magically adept. But after a restless night spent at the curiously roommate-and chaperone-free apartment she’d been assigned by the IAB, she’d finally made her way to her first (and everyone else’s third) cusping-witch class.

  Gathering her nerve before going inside, she examined the school. Like most of Covenhaven, the academy looked about the same as it ever had. Cast in the glow of an autumn sunset, its redbrick buildings rose two stories high. Patches of graveled landscaping surrounded it. Both areas were prefaced by a walkway and a tarnished sign announcing the site’s establishment in 1879. New solar lighting lined the walk; a banner announcing the Samhain Festival stretched
across the double entryway.

  GET A TASTE OF THE OLD WAYS AT THE COVENHAVEN HALLOW-E’EN FESTIVAL! MAGICAL FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY! OCTOBER 31ST AT JANUS RESORT AND SPA.

  Taken aback, Dayna stared at it. Any humans glimpsing the banner would have thought nothing of it. But to witchfolk, it contained the same coded message she’d seen on posters and signs and bumper stickers all over downtown: THE OLD WAYS ARE BACK.

  And they were meant to be enjoyed by “the whole family.”

  She didn’t remember there being any special enthusiasm for The Old Ways in Covenhaven. Her parents, for instance, had never been especially traditional or culturally aware. Neither had her friends’ families. But since she’d been away, witchy nostalgia seemed to have swept through the town like a fever, filling its residents with a new pride in their witchfolk heritage.

  Somehow, all that pride had gotten attached to the Hallowe’en Festival. It made sense, in a way. Samhain was important to witches; parties were important to humans. The festival filled both niches—and kept Covenhaven’s local economy hopping.

  Here in the red rocks country, the annual festival was a major tourist draw. It was visited by thousands over the course of a single autumn weekend. Each year, the Arizona Republic devoted a special newspaper supplement to it; state TV news stations sent satellite vans and on-air reporters to cover the event in gushing detail (and usually in costume). So while the Hallowe’en Festival wasn’t new, its emphasis on The Old Ways was. And their incorporation into the festival made Dayna uneasy.

  A revival of witchy purism probably didn’t bode well for someone like her—a lapsed witch who’d spent the last decade living among humans—and not practicing magic…at least not on purpose. Any Follower would have thought she was crazy for abandoning her “gifts.” But she didn’t have time to worry about that now. To her, the Samhain Festival meant graduation day from cusping-witch classes…and graduation day meant being tested.

  She’d never felt less ready for a test in her life.

  Too bad her readiness didn’t matter.

  Because her magic was here, stronger than ever.

  Which meant she’d done enough procrastinating. It wasn’t like her to hesitate. Sucking in a deep breath, Dayna strode straight to the school’s looming double doors. At her approach, they crashed open with a resounding bang. Yikes. Her renewed magic appeared eager for this training program.

  Hoping that was a positive sign, Dayna entered the school. Instantly, she felt catapulted into her past and her future at the same time. The academy, with its labyrinth of classrooms and ever-shifting magical room numbers, looked the same as it ever had…yet it felt strangely different. Stuck in a real-life walk-through of that nightmare she’d had so often—the one where she was late for school, hadn’t studied all semester, and now faced a final exam—Dayna searched for the correct classroom.

  Typically, she couldn’t find it.

  Walking faster, Dayna grabbed her backpack. With her free hand, she dug out the map she’d received with her IAB paperwork. It didn’t help. She passed several empty classrooms, casting frustrated glances inside each one. Damn it. More than likely her inability to see through witching eyes had failed her again.

  This was one area where devising a new filing system, developing an original coding rationale, or creating an analytical research database—all the detail-oriented work that was her specialty at DRL—could not help her. Damn it again.

  All at once, Dayna just wanted to go home. Home to Buffy and Spike (whom she’d left in the temporary care of her kindly landlady). Home to Jill and the rest of her friends. Home to discipline instead of magic, reliable systems instead of tricky talismans, and certainty instead of The Old Ways, with all their pro-magic, pro-witch, antihuman, anti-Dayna rhetoric.

  But the stakes were too high to bail out now. If she didn’t succeed, she might never be able to return to the human-style life she treasured. So stubbornly, Dayna kept moving.

  Finally a handwritten sign directed her to CONTINUING EDUCATION: NEW AGE STUDIES down the next hall. Decrypted for witchfolk, that meant cusping-witch classes. Even an outsider like her recognized that much. Maybe she was getting the hang of this after all, Dayna told herself with a sigh of relief. Maybe being back in Covenhaven was helping already.

  Tugging her backpack higher on her shoulder, she turned the corner. She sighted a beam of light coming from beneath a closed door, then headed straight for it.

  Barefoot and chilled to the bone, T.J. scrunched his toes. The tiny motion solidified his position atop a second-floor ledge outside the Covenhaven Academy. Framed by the window behind him, he flattened his palm against the glass for leverage. With his free hand, he shook out a hearing charm, grateful for his Patayan ability to cloak himself in stolen shadows.

  A flick of his wrist sent the charm sailing across the academy’s now-deserted quad. It coasted in midair, then landed on a lighted window opposite T.J.’s position.

  With a barely audible snick, it attached itself. Satisfied with its connection, he nodded. Until now, he’d been able to hear everything that went on in the room. A few minutes ago, though, the last of the sunlight had faded from his sheltered position. Since then, he’d felt his magic diminishing…just when he needed it most to hide his surveillance.

  That had never happened to him before. But he didn’t have time to worry about magical fuckups now. He had work to do.

  With effort, T.J. turned his mind away from thoughts of his erratic magic—and the seductive witch who’d caused it. He inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes—precarious on the high ledge, but necessary. Just when he was nearly centered, his mind wandered again…offering up an image of Dayna as she’d looked while straddling him. With a hoarse oath, T.J. gave up on prudent preparation. Centeredness was not coming to him tonight.

  He used a warlock spell to activate the hearing charm.

  The noise struck him at once. Recoiling, he jerked himself out of position. His toes scraped the ledge. One foot dangled in midair. Wide-eyed, he struggled for balance. Then he swore. He should have known that two dozen chattering witches would blow his ears off. Sloppiness like this could get him killed.

  With renewed concentration, he regained his position, arranging his hands and heels against the window glass. Its cold surface made him wince. He was made for sun and sand. But there was no help for that now. He needed to find the juweel. The three likeliest vixens were in the cusping-witch class about to begin across the quad. If he was to have any hope of making contact, he needed to gather more information first.

  Through the space and thin-paned glass dividing him from the classroom, T.J. listened. He watched as the witches milled around. A few tossed off spells to fix their hair or makeup. Others talked nonstop while they whirled their fingers in the air to conjure memory flickers—enchanted moving pictures—for one another. Some practiced minor spells, most likely homework assignments, then laughed uproariously as their friends sprouted quickly vanishing tails or wings. One witch had brought a ferret, probably her familiar, in a pink sequined pet carrier. She cooed in baby talk to the creature, who wore a flashy rhinestone collar and had the same watery gaze a trout did.

  Flattening his mouth, T.J. removed his palm from the cold glass. Without taking his attention from the distant classroom, he tucked his hand inside his shirt. Blissful warmth flooded his skin, returning sensation to his fingers. He groaned with relief, then switched hands. This grunt work was necessary, but it pulled on his warlock abilities and his Patayan instincts alike. It divided his energies in a way he didn’t trust or enjoy. Fortunately, that division was nothing a restorative session of nude sunbathing wouldn’t cure.

  Promising himself exactly that after sunrise tomorrow, T.J. sharpened his focus. The remedial magic instructor had arrived, making all the witches snap to attention. The warlock, assigned by the IAB, was unfamiliar to T.J. But he could tell at a glance that he was a typical, by-the-numbers witchfolk academic: good-looking, solidly built, and arrogant to the
point of irritation.

  But his class was T.J.’s key to getting close to the juweel—at least if all went well. With that fact in mind, T.J. melted farther into the shadows he’d pulled. Mindless now of the cold infiltrating his skin and muscles, he began his study.

  Dayna opened the door with a thud, revealing a classroom full of witches seated primly at rows of individual desks—a blur of faces she didn’t have time to register. Out of breath and defiantly late, she took a quick survey of her surroundings, then marched toward an empty seat with her head held high.

  Detecting the lingering smell of magic in the air, she wrinkled her nose. Usually that faint sulfurous odor wasn’t noticeable; over the centuries, witches had devised incense, candles, a variety of flowery aerosol sprays, and (more recently) plug-in air fresheners to disguise it. But when many witches practiced their craft at once, even the most powerful spray or gel couldn’t completely contain the aftereffects.

  After being so long in the human world, Dayna had forgotten that smell. Experiencing it now made her instantly regret the microwavable burrito she’d made for dinner before leaving for class. Sulfur made her queasy; it always had. But she was a witch who believed in preparation—who lived to research and loved to organize. The logical side of her had insisted that she’d need sustenance to get her through her first night of remedial witch school…and she’d been right. At the moment, she was so nervous that she could scarcely think—or see—straight.

  No, wait. That was caused by a blindingly bright light, shining right over her head. Confused, Dayna stopped and looked around.

  At least two dozen witches stared back at her, some of them surreptitiously, others with open curiosity. Nearby, two witches in matching cashmere sweaters and pencil skirts leaned across the aisle between desks. They exchanged whispered comments.

  A burble of witchy laughter floated toward her.

  In that moment, it became obvious to Dayna that she was way underdressed for this experience. All around her, the gossipy witches wore cute cropped jackets, skinny black pants, sleek shirts or sweaters, and skirts with high-heeled boots. Some of their clothes were probably from well-known designers’ collections; that didn’t mean they weren’t witchmade, as Dayna well knew. Either way, one thing was clear: Their fashionable wardrobes stood in stark contrast to her vintage T-shirt, wrecked jeans, Converse sneakers, and corduroy jacket.