My Favorite Witch

by Lisa Plumley

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Deuce grumbled, staring up from his magically duplicated waffles. “Can you two get a grip, please?”

  Dayna and T.J. smiled. “Get a grip? Well, I guess we—”

  Another obscenity. “Okay, poor choice of words. What I mean is…Hello?” Deuce clapped. “Jesus, you’re like two halves of a whole, all of a sudden. What happened last night?”

  United, Dayna and T.J. gazed at him. “What didn’t happen?”

  They went back to mooning over each other. T.J. hugged Dayna close. Cooing, she nuzzled her tracer’s jaw, amazed at his impressive overnight growth of beard stubble. T.J. rubbed his cheek. Appearing adorably self-conscious, he gave her a cryptic explanation involving Patayan and strong emotions and razors.

  Evidently, feeling something strongly made him hairier.

  “Kinky.” Dayna laughed, then stroked T.J.’s bristly jaw again. “I guess I’d better buy razor blades in bulk. Because I plan to make you feel a lot of things, starting with this…”

  Subtly, she dropped her hand to his lap. That towel had to go, she decided. And the sooner it did, the sooner she could—

  “So,” Deuce broke in. “Who’s going to repair my sofa?”

  Guiltily, Dayna started. What was the matter with her? She’d been on the verge of jumping T.J. right there, no matter who was watching. Freezing in place, she gazed through the patio door to the living room area beyond. Deuce’s wrecked sofa looked as though a rabid coyote—or two—had chewed through it.

  “I’m sorry, Deuce. I’ll fix it, I promise. Right now.”

  “Oh, Dayna. That’s okay.” Deuce stared meaningfully at T.J., his tone laden with sarcasm. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I do. Besides, it will be good practice for cusping-witch class later.” With an apologetic smile, Dayna set aside her pixilated waffles. “Prepare to be amazed.”

  With a very foreign-feeling sense of gratitude, T.J. watched Dayna slip past the open patio door. She stood in the distance, silhouetted in morning sunshine, and frowned at the sofa cushions that T.J. had destroyed in his abandon last night.

  Mmm. That had been some night. And morning. And today was shaping up to be just as good between them. Maybe it was unwise to trust his bonded witch so quickly. But T.J. didn’t regret it.

  How could he? He’d never felt so free before. So whole.

  It had been years, T.J. realized as he studied Dayna’s newly certain magical maneuverings, since he’d felt this good.

  “Wow.” Beside him, Deuce watched Dayna, too, his expression shuttered. “Our little runaway has come a long way with her magic. She’s gotten downright cocky.” Balefully, he turned to T.J. “Or maybe she’s just gotten a little cock. Is that it?”

  “Hey. Watch yourself.” Instantly tense, T.J. swerved his gaze to his partner. “First, it was a lot of cock. Second, I’m bonded with her. If it comes down to you or her, she wins.”

  “Hey, that’s nice.” Deuce’s face hardened. Hurt feelings whooshed from him to T.J. in a bitter rush, chased by a hefty dose of cynicism. “You get a little witchy action, and all of a sudden you’re a traitor to the rest of mankind. I should have expected as much. Jesus, T.J. That’s so—”

  His voice strangled to a stop. Wide-eyed, Deuce slammed against his chair. The wrought iron scraped across the patio.

  Magic hummed. Deuce stiffened into position, his massive body pinned to his chair. An instant later, T.J. found himself standing over him, hands filled with a buzzing vortex of magic.

  His partner’s gaze shunted to that magic. He grunted.

  Grunted, because he couldn’t say more. Without conscious thought, T.J. had acted to defend his bonded witch. He’d shut up Deuce—literally—and now stood prepared to do even more.

  T.J. didn’t know what. And he didn’t want to find out.

  With effort, he relaxed his hands. Frowning, he kicked the chair. His motion released the spell he’d cast, setting Deuce free. With a gasp, his partner stared up at him. Accusingly.

  “Don’t call me a traitor,” T.J. warned. “Don’t forget I’m not part of mankind—I’m just watching out for it. Your lame-ass human fate isn’t mine. And whatever else you do, don’t fuck with Dayna. She’s mine. I’m hers. That’s it, now and later.”

  “Oh yeah? Does Dayna know that?” Wearing a pissed-off look, Deuce yanked his T-shirt collar as though fighting for breath. “All that ‘now and later’ bullshit you’re spouting? Because from where I sit, that witch is using you to get off. Period.”

  “That’s your experience with witches. Not mine.”

  The cynicism surrounding Deuce intensified. “All witches are the same. If you’re too horny to realize that—” With a swearword, he broke off. “I’m your friend. I’m supposed to—”

  “You’re a dozer. You’ll never understand—”

  The magical world, T.J. meant to say. But he never had a chance to finish. His partner’s doubt increased, fueled by an underlying fear and a protectiveness he’d never have admitted. Soaking up those emotions wasn’t pretty. T.J. did it anyway.

  “Screw you, T.J. I’m turned,” Deuce said hotly. “Whether you like it or not, I’m your partner. Or did you convert to The Old Ways when I wasn’t looking? Because the way things are changing around here, we’re going to need a scorecard soon.”

  “I’m no myrmidon. And if you can’t keep up—”

  “I can keep up.” Deuce swore. “And I can stay on target. I’ve been with Lily Abbot almost twenty-four/seven for the past few days, trying to find signs that she’s the vixen witch you’re looking for.” He pointed toward Janus, where his mission to trail Lily had taken him. “Can you say the same thing?”

  “I assigned myself Sumner and Francesca. Not Lily.” T.J. scoured his partner with a hard look. “You deal with your work. Leave me to deal with mine. You’re in no position to talk smack about what I’m doing. Without magic, you can’t be expected to—”

  “To what? To do anything?” Looking aggrieved, Deuce slammed his chair to the patio. He stood. “I can still think, dickwad. Which is more than I can say for you.” He jabbed his finger at T.J. “When Dayna dumps you, don’t come crying to me.”

  “Jesus, Deuce. Come on.” Sorrowfully, T.J. shook his head. “You’ve got to let it go. Not all witches are like—”

  “Don’t say her name again.” Deuce wasn’t magical. At times like this, he was fearless enough to make up for it. His burly arms bulged with strength. His jaw jutted with belligerence. His heart and mind tightened with a willingness to make the world’s magical inhabitants suffer the way he had. “I swear I’ll spend the rest of my days making you sorry for it if you do.”

  “Hey.” In ostensible surrender, T.J. held up his palms. They’d been friends too long for this. He grinned. “Don’t let me slow down your revenge plans, pal. You’d be wasting your time on me. I don’t care enough about anyone to matter. I never have.”

  For a long moment, his partner only glared at him. “Maybe that used to be true,” Deuce said. “But it’s not anymore.”

  Then he grabbed his keys and left…probably for Janus.

  If T.J. were smart, he would do the same thing.

  Beaming from ear to ear, Dayna looked up. “Hey, Deuce! Check it out. I totally made the fabric mend itself—without creating a killer cottonseed tornado this time. See?”

  Her roommate delivered her a scathing look. “Nice. Bye.”

  “Hey! Hang on.” Troubled by the atmosphere of fury that clung to Deuce, Dayna chased him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Ask your boyfriend.” Deuce slammed the door.

  This time, Dayna was the one who saved Deuce’s bikini-girls “artwork” from crashing to the floor. With a flash of magic, she straightened the picture. Proudly, she glanced up just as T.J. entered the room. His gaze arrowed to the sofa. He stopped.

  “You have a talent for repairing things that are broken.”

  “Yeah, well…” That was a strange way to interpret th
e situation. “I’ve had a lot of practice fixing mistakes.”

  “It shows.” T.J. frowned. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

  “If that’s your way of saying you’re impressed, you need a better vocabulary.”

  T.J.’s expression softened. “You don’t need me to believe in your magic. You need you to believe in it.”

  Touché. It wasn’t like her to hunt for compliments anyway. Regrouping, Dayna nodded at the apartment’s front door. “What’s wrong with Deuce? He looked ready to kill someone just now.”

  T.J. exhaled. “Let’s just say…” He swore. “The witch who turned Deuce did a hell of a head trip on him. He’s not over it yet. I think seeing us together gets to him.”

  “Oh. Are you sure that’s it?” Dayna wrinkled her nose in curiosity. “Because I thought Deuce and Lily Abbot were—”

  T.J. stiffened. “What do you know about Lily Abbot?”

  “Just that she and Deuce have been seeing one another.” Taken aback by his intent tone, Dayna frowned. “And that when Deuce talks about her, he seems pretty head over heels for her.”

  “Impossible. Deuce would never fall for another witch.”

  “Well, you should clue him into that then.” Smiling, Dayna crossed her arms. “Because I think he already has.”

  “Deuce is working a mission. He’s helping me. So whatever you think you see…” Tersely, T.J. broke off. “It’s a lot like magic. Whatever you think you see isn’t necessarily there.”

  “But it’s partly there,” Dayna argued. “You just said so. Magic is always based in truth. It can’t come from nowhere. It leaves signs, like pixilation or an aura, right? So—”

  He gave her a long look. “You can’t see those either.”

  Ouch. That hurt. Sharply, Dayna lifted her chin. “Maybe not. But I can feel things just fine. And what I feel right now is you, keeping a secret from me.” Frustratingly, that was all she could feel—the same warning tingle that told a witch there was deception in the air. She couldn’t discern its exact source. Even with her correctly functioning witchy abilities, there was always a loophole. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing you need to know.” T.J. conjured a pair of canvas pants, then yanked a T-back tank top over his shoulders. His Patayan amulets jangled. His tattoos gleamed, enigmatic and enthralling. “I’m putting a charm on this place to keep it hidden. Can you handle learning the spell to release it?”

  Garmin’s warning clanged in her head.

  “Why does it need to be hidden?” Dayna asked.

  Impatiently, T.J. exhaled. “Can you learn it or not?”

  “I guess I won’t get in if I can’t.” Focusing intently, Dayna learned T.J.’s concealment charm. It used magic she’d never witnessed before. “I’ll have to write this down in my notebook to make sure. What about Deuce? How will he get in?”

  “This is an antiwitchfolk charm. It won’t affect him.”

  “Then why bother hiding this place at all? If your charm won’t affect humans, then—” Dayna stopped as the truth struck her. This charm would affect Garmin and the IAB. They were of magical nature—and they were after T.J., too. “Are you sure it’s Deuce’s apartment you want to hide? Or is it yourself?”

  Palming his keys, T.J. looked up. The moment his gaze met hers, comprehension rolled from him to her in a prickly rush.

  So did frustration. He didn’t like her questioning him.

  “I made a promise to the Patayan,” he said in a gruff tone. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it. Right now, this is it.”

  “Hiding?” Dayna asked. “Keeping secrets?”

  T.J. compressed his mouth. His cheekbones stood out in bold relief, a visible sign of his Patayan birthright. Jaw tight, he shook his head. “It’s better that you don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?” Dayna thought about the human murder that Garmin had told her about. She thought about how troubled Garmin had seemed about it. There were a lot of things she still didn’t understand about the new Covenhaven. “Did you do something, T.J.? Is there something I should know? Maybe I can—”

  His exasperated exhale cut her off. Her tracer traversed the length of the living room, then stopped in front of her.

  “Look at me.” Roughly, T.J. cradled her cheek in his hand. He tilted her face upward. “Whatever you think you see in the coming days, you have to believe I’m on the right side of it.”

  We have reason to believe he’s fallen on the wrong side of things, Garmin had told her. Stay away from T.J.

  Wordlessly, Dayna gazed up at him. His face was still exotic to her, his features handsome and of undeniable witchfolk heritage. Everything she believed about T.J. was based on the feelings she intuited through her own witchy abilities. But those abilities had always failed her in the past.

  Could she trust them now? Could she trust him?

  How could she not?

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” she said.

  Briefly, T.J.’s hand tightened on her face. Disappointment flickered from him to her…then vanished, squashed beneath an abrupt wave of determination. “I hope you can,” he said, stopping to give her a rough kiss, “because I’m too far gone to turn back now. Good luck in class. I’ve got to go.”

  Troubled, Dayna stared at the still-shuddering door to Deuce’s apartment. She watched as the whole place went still, then ballooned outward. In a burst of magic that made her eardrums hurt, T.J.’s concealment spell fell over everything.

  That did it, then. With trembling knees, she headed for her bedroom. Her gaze dropped to the unmade bed she and T.J. had shared, then to the clothes still scattered on the floor. Her open backpack lay in the same place she’d left it, beside the bureau; library books stood in a pile on the room’s only chair, the topmost volume opened to a chapter on conjuring familiars.

  Shaking her head, Dayna knelt beside her backpack. After a little rummaging, she pulled out an embossed business card.

  It felt strange in her hand, laden with importance and imprinted with an identity she didn’t particularly want to be associated with. With a sigh, she withdrew her cell phone, too. She carried them both to the bed, then sat on its messy sheets.

  Before she could dial, a plaintive sound reached her. Going instantly still, Dayna listened, her cell phone held to her ear.

  The noise came again. It sounded like…a meow?

  Searching for its source, Dayna swiveled her head. She spotted a tentative movement near the closet. Its door stood open a few inches. There in the gap, a sleek tabby kitten stood watching her. Its paws were ungainly, its posture unsteady. Its dark gaze gleamed with intelligence…and uncertainty.

  She could hardly believe her eyes.

  She’d done it. Somehow, she’d conjured a familiar!

  It must have happened yesterday, when she’d been trying to study, Dayna realized. She’d left her meeting with Garmin, her mind whirling with all he’d asked of her, then arrived home with her books…and apparently been successful with at least one element of her homework. How had she not realized it before?

  Her (multiple) encounters with T.J. must have scared away the kitten. They’d gotten pretty loud. The poor creature had probably taken refuge in the closet almost immediately.

  “Wow. Usually all my familiars run away,” Dayna told the kitten in a soft voice. “You must be braver than all the ones who came before you.” Moving as slowly as she could, Dayna sank to the floor. She motioned to the creature. “You must be very, very brave to answer my call. And to come out now to see me.”

  The kitten took a cautious step closer.

  “That’s it. Come here and let me look at you.”

  Another meow. She’d swear it sounded reproachful.

  “I can’t help it if you didn’t like being conjured. You’re here now, and you’re mine.” She wiggled her fingers. “Are you hungry? I’m pretty sure I can dredge up some waffles.”

  The kitten perked up. It padded a few inches closer.

  �
�That’s it,” Dayna cooed. “Don’t be afraid. Come here.”

  The moment she said the words, the kitten sat. Stubbornly.

  Dayna almost laughed. It figured. She’d conjured herself a familiar with an attitude problem. That was so her.

  Stricken by an idea, she squinted at the business card, then dialed her phone. She glanced deliberately away from her familiar, feigning disinterest. The phone rang. It connected. A male voice came instantly over the line, startling her.

  “I didn’t think you’d answer your own phone,” she said.

  Garmin sounded unfazed. “I’ve been expecting your call.”

  “Oh.” Biting her lip, Dayna hesitated. An instant later, a small, soft weight bounded onto her lap. The kitten purred and rubbed against her knee. Its small body vibrated with the force of its joy. Taking that as a magical sign, she smiled. She spoke into her phone again. “I have something to tell you.”

  At quarter past six that evening, T.J. strode down the deserted hallway at Covenhaven Academy. The place smelled like floor wax and sneakers and cheap perfume. It vibrated with the aftereffects of beginner spells and teenage enchantment pranks. Ahead at a row of lockers, a rogue memory flicker bounced off a door, babbling its story with high-pitched feminine zeal.

  With a frown, he dispatched it. The memory flicker fizzled. In a spurt of acrid smoke, it flopped onto a locker that was embellished with a homecoming poster. It slid down, then died.

  “Wow. Nice work,” came a voice from ahead of him. Francesca Woodberry nodded from her languorous position at Professor Reynolds’s classroom doorway. She leaned against the door with her arms full of witchcraft books and her gaze full of witchery, looking beautiful and spoiled. “I wish I could make all the annoyances in my life go up in a puff of smoke. You’re amazing.”

  “You have annoyances?” Clad in a disguise fashioned of Professor Reynolds’s likeness—based on the surveillance he’d done already—T.J. ambled toward her. He adopted the bookish demeanor Reynolds used. “I’m surprised anything dares to bother you.”