by Mindy Klasky
At first, she uncurled her fingers only to display an empty palm. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to assure her that no satyr would get in this house, no stag was going to burst through the door, followed by a ravening two-headed beast.
I held my tongue, though. I needed Cassie to concentrate. I needed her to find her own balance.
She dug her fingers into Tupa’s clavicle, tight enough that the familiar winced. A sphere of light finally coalesced, a tangerine glow that glared bright, then faded almost to nothingness before quickening to a creamy, orange glow. I reached for it with my lightest arcane touch, only to find a dense fog, the vague and shapeless manifestation of Cassie’s astral signature.
“Excellent,” I said, and Cassie let her light fade. A sheen of perspiration coated her freckles, as if she’d just worked a massive feat of strength or weathered some agonizing pain in silence.
Glancing at the clock on the mantel, I was surprised to see it was well past noon. The grey light outside gave no hint that we’d spent more than three hours at our magical work. But the clock—and the tight expression on David’s face—let me know I’d pushed my students as much as I reasonably could.
I took a few moments to praise their work, and I suggested they study what they’d learned, focus on each other’s unique magical signatures. When I freed them to return to their dormitory, they reacted like students anywhere, chattering about the day’s lessons, shrieking at the cold touch of the rain, laughing at an unexpected gust of wind.
I let David fix me a restorative bowl of chicken noodle soup before I brought up the matter that had kept me awake most of the night. We were both scraping the bottoms of our bowls when I said, “I need to go out this afternoon.” Something about my tone alerted him. His eyes became as hard as the walnut table between us. “I need more information on the orthros,” I said.
“I’ll help you find the appropriate books downstairs.”
“Books aren’t enough,” I said. “I need to know if there’ve been other appearances of that thing. I need to know if satyrs have been summoned in the past, by other witches, working alone or in unison. Other magicaria. Other covens.”
“No.”
The finality in his tone would have stopped me years ago, would have ended my mission before it began. But I knew that the Osgood collection, as large as it was, had its limitations. It couldn’t match the experience of a community that had worked magic together for centuries. It couldn’t equal the information I could glean from a single conversation with the Washington Coven Mother.
David prodded my stubborn silence. “Teresa Alison Sidney isn’t your friend. She wants to ruin you. She wants you to fail.”
“I’m not an idiot!” My tone was all the sharper because I wondered if I was an idiot for even considering walking into my enemy’s lair. “But I need to find out what she knows. I need to understand the past, so I can protect the Academy now.”
“If you’re on her territory, I can’t be certain I can protect you.”
I heard how much that admission cost him. He didn’t want to imagine a future where he might fail. But I had to go. I pushed my chair back from the table.
“Let’s do it now,” I said. “Before dark.”
But first, I headed down to the basement. I could not approach the Coven Mother empty-handed. I needed to bring her a gift. Something worth trading for the key that might save my magicarium from complete destruction. Something that would hurt me to lose, hurt me almost as much as it hurt my warder to escort me into a known danger that he didn’t have a prayer of controlling.
~~~
In the end, I settled on bringing her an ash wand, one that was inlaid with oak. Ash was known for its feminine power, its ability to aid in communication and to promote curiosity. Oak was the most masculine of woods, supporting bravery and leadership, among many other traits. The ash and oak wand was a symbol of the relationship between a witch and her warder, an acknowledgment that the female gained power from the male.
Regardless of the specific woods the wand was made of, it was gorgeous, a carefully polished masterpiece of intarsia. As I wrapped the gift in velvet, its potential vibrated through my fingertips. I nearly set it aside, opting for a lesser treasure.
But no. I needed Teresa. I needed her encyclopedic knowledge, her memory. And one wand was little enough to pay if I kept my witches safe for the rest of the school term.
David, of course, insisted on driving me. The trip seemed to take hours, the time stretched out by the ribbons of tension that wound around us in the car. But to be fair, he didn’t try to change my mind. Not when we passed the wards at the outer limits of Teresa’s property, the ones that first alerted her to our approach. Not when we were corralled by the safeguards that emanated from her front door, the ones that confined us to our car until she chose to release us. Not when Teresa banished David to the front room, pointedly telling him to close the door so we witches could talk in private.
He looked to me for permission before he left. I nodded my approval, letting him scrape up some semblance of dignity. At least he was responding to his witch’s command, not to the order of a known enemy.
Teresa’s eyes flared with obvious greed as she unwrapped her gift. My palms itched when she stroked the smooth wood; I folded my fingers so I wouldn’t accidentally snatch it back. I tried to take comfort in the fact that she handled it with reverence, treating it like the treasure it was.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” she finally asked, nestling the wand in its velvet. She centered the gift—the bribe—on the center island and waited for my response.
“I need information.”
She set her expertly manicured hands on her hips. “About?”
“Monsters. Myths. You saw the satyr on Samhain. Three days later, my students and I were attacked by a two-headed dog.”
“An orthros?”
She sounded shocked. But tendrils of suspicion wrapped around my arms. How did she know the animal’s name? I’d needed to conduct research to identify the beast. Did she really know her Greek myths that well?
I tried to shrug away my discomfort. When I was around Teresa, I never knew how to stand, where to put my hands, how to look calm and collected and self-possessed.
It would probably help if I had a perfect wardrobe from Nordstroms, a spotless white blouse and tailored black slacks, ballet flats that seemed molded to my feet and a hairband the perfect shade of crimson, the ideal accent to set off the rest of the outfit. Right. Like I’d be able to wear any of that stuff with the same aplomb as the Coven Mother. Anyone who came to the farmhouse door unannounced was likely to find me in sweatpants and a torn T-shirt. Maybe I should upgrade my slouch-at-home wardrobe.
I recognized my speculation for what it was—a mindless attempt to avoid confronting the only witch within miles who could match my power spell for spell. I jammed my hands onto my own hips and raised my chin in defiance. “Did you know about the orthros?”
As I asked the question, I expanded the field of my magical powers. I attempted to be subtle; anyone looking at us would only see the faintest shimmer of gold in the air between us. But my arcane sphere functioned like a lens; it amplified my perception of the world around me.
I was suddenly aware of a single link in the gold chain around Teresa’s neck, a solitary bit of metal that refused to lie perfectly flat. I could smell honey and lemon on her breath; she’d been drinking tea before we arrived. I could hear the slight rasp in the back of her throat as she swallowed, and I realized she was nursing the beginning of a cold. If I’d had any doubt about Teresa Alison Sidney’s otherworldly abilities, they were tossed out the window—cold or not, she looked as glamorous as ever.
There was no magic spell I could speak that would force Teresa to tell the truth. But when I looked at her through the heightened veil of my power, I could at least have a clearer perception of her physical responses. I became a one-woman lie detector machine, c
ounting on respiration, perspiration, and old-fashioned shifty eyes to tell me if the Coven Mother was lying.
“No,” Teresa said. She looked straight at me, obviously aware of how I was using my powers. “I didn’t know anything about it.”
“It was sent by Norville Pitt.”
Her nose flared, just the tiniest amount. Her eyes narrowed during the heartbeat before she caught herself. She licked her lips before she said, “I’m not responsible for Pitt.”
“But you’ve worked with him in the past.”
“So you and Montrose claim. There’s an entire inquest proceeding to determine that.”
“It will determine more than that,” I reminded her. But Pitt’s legal difficulties weren’t what I wanted to talk about. “So, you had nothing to do with the orthros. Have you ever seen one before?”
“No.”
“Have you ever heard of one being released in the Washington Coven?”
“No.”
“Have you ever heard of one anywhere in the Eastern Empire?”
“No. And to cut short the rest of your questions, I’ve never heard of one existing in real life. As far as I knew, they were legends.”
“Like the satyr.” She hesitated, just long enough to spark my attention. I pressed, “Then you have seen a satyr before?”
Her mouth tightened. “Not here.”
“Where, then?”
“In Kansas City.” Teresa sighed, letting the motion tug her shoulders into a more comfortable position. “I was a child, five or six years old. My mother and I were visiting relatives. The coven met in a member’s home. The group did a working, trying to raise energy for a new series of protective wards. Instead, they called a satyr.”
That was the most Teresa had said to me since I’d stepped inside her home. Perhaps it was the longest speech she’d ever made to me. And it resonated even more because of the emotion behind the words. Teresa remembered the satyr. She remembered being afraid.
“What happened?” I asked softly.
“The Coven Mother used a Word of power to stop it dead in its tracks.”
I shuddered. The Word would have frozen everyone in the vicinity, removed every drop of volition until the casting witch decided to set people free. I’d used a Word once against a handful of humans who didn’t—it turned out—actually mean me true harm. Nevertheless, the experience had nearly drained me. I couldn’t imagine using a Word on an active enemy who was determined to get his way. Teresa’s face was grim. “The Coven Mother mastered the satyr. But not before…”
Not before he’d raped one of the witches.
I could see the truth on her face. I could picture the attack, understand the horror, because Cassie had come so close to becoming a victim herself. A woman had suffered at the hands of that long-ago satyr, and a child—Teresa—had been forced to witness the savagery.
But there was more to the story than that. Because I knew more about the Kansas City Coven. I’d learned about them over the summer, seen their name written on the wall in David’s basement office. I’d read documents and followed paper trails.
The Kansas City Coven built a safehold in 1995. Now I could assume the construction had been in response to the satyr’s attack. They’d paid for a centerstone to be brought from Romania, a transaction facilitated by Norville Pitt. Pitt’s bank account had flooded with extra payments, with bribes to secure placement of the safehold and the election of a new Coven Mother.
I knew all that, because David had traced the records, detailing the case against the man who had lined his own pockets at the expense of the Kansas City Coven. David had unmasked Norville Pitt’s crimes. But not before Pitt had spent decades perfecting those exact same crimes against other witches.
Kansas City had been attacked by a satyr, they’d built a safehold to defend themselves, and Pitt had profited. Pitt’s astral signature was on the satyr that attacked my magicarium. How many other witches had been subjected to monsters so Pitt could have his way?
“You know what Pitt is capable of,” I said to Teresa. “How can you work with him?”
“I’m not working with Pitt,” she said. “Not now. Not with the satyr or the orthros.”
Because of the lens that my powers focused on her words, I knew Teresa was telling the truth. She might have chosen her words carefully, she might have excluded the possibility of her working with Pitt in the past, on other matters. But she was innocent of the actions that had nearly derailed the second semester of my magicarium. I believed her.
Just as I believed her when she said, “Don’t waste your time accusing me. Any magistrix worth the title could tell you Pitt has help on the inside. In Kansas City he used one of the old witches, a woman who’d been passed over for Coven Mother. Find out who he’s using with you. Find out which of your students is a traitor to the Jane Madison Academy.”
~~~
David drove away from Teresa’s house, tracing the winding lane with perfect accuracy. We didn’t speak until we were past the wards that marked the edges of her property.
“What did she say back there?” he asked, feeding the car more fuel than was strictly necessary.
I was still reeling from Teresa’s disclosure, from her accusation. “This isn’t the first time Pitt has used monsters to get what he wanted.” I gave David the CliffsNotes version of the Kansas City saga. “But that’s not all. She says Pitt must have someone on the inside. One of my students is working with him.”
David’s jaw clenched in automatic protest. He had reviewed my students’ applications with me. He had cleared each of them, reviewing every possible security risk. Now I could see him working through scenarios. The satyr had penetrated the warders’ cordon; someone had invited it into our circle. And the orthros had known to find us on the beach.
David’s face was grim by the time he reached the freeway. “We’ll have to test them.”
“Before we do that…” I said, trailing off.
“What?” He was accelerating in the fast lane. I could feel his urgency, his need to get back to the farmhouse before any other disaster could strike. He’d missed something, and he wouldn’t rest until he’d corrected his mistake.
I needed to make absolute sure, though. Before I tore the magicarium apart looking for a traitor, I needed to know there was absolutely no other source for the monsters. Because if I accused my students and I was wrong, I would never have authority as a magistrix again.
I said, “The Academy will be destroyed if we’re wrong.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“Do you remember that woman I met over the summer? Sarah Anderson?”
David shot me a dry look right before he braked to avoid an eighteen-wheeler that was chugging along at forty in the fast lane. Of course he remembered Sarah. As Clerk of Court for the Eastern Empire Night Court, she’d been my first—my only—client when I’d considered a career as a library consultant. Something about getting imprisoned by a raving lunatic of a vampire had made me decide I should follow another career path. Sarah had shared that cell with me, and we’d found our way out together.
“If there’s a supernatural creature this side of the Mississippi who’s used a satyr or an orthros to break the law, the Empire will have records.”
“You’re clutching at straws.”
“I’m trying to keep from accusing one of my students unnecessarily. I’m trying to keep the magicarium together.”
David must have heard the pleading in my voice. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go to the courthouse. But you better get started mapping out Plan B.”
We didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. He was probably focusing on traffic. I was praying to be delivered by a legal clerk.
It was nearly midnight by the time we pulled up in front of the District of Columbia courthouse. David walked around and opened my door for me, and we navigated the court’s security together. Things were quiet. The Night Court didn’t seem to have a lot of takers.
We walked down an
antiseptic hallway, moving beneath the watchful eyes of two dozen judicial portraits. Before long, we stood in the deserted clerk’s office. A bell sat on the counter, with a crisply lettered sign: “Please ring for service.” David tapped it once, and the chime echoed off the walls.
A woman hurried in from the back office. “May I—Oh.” Her auburn hair was a little longer than I remembered, but her green eyes were every bit as bright. She still wore the same coral ring and hematite bracelet. “Jane,” she said with a smile. “David. Is everything okay?”
I answered with my own quick grin, even as I shook my head. “Not really. It’s a long story, and we don’t have time to go into details now, but we’re looking for any cases involving a satyr or an orthros. Assaults, batteries, things like that.”
“An orthros?” she said, automatically reaching for a slip of paper and scribbling down notes. I spelled the word for her and described the beast. She nodded and said, “Our records aren’t really set up that way, but let me see what I can find. Can you give me an hour?”
“Sure,” I said.
“There’s a cafeteria down the hall. Or you can sneak into the back of Judge DuBois’s courtroom. He’s hearing an interesting case tonight, a water rights dispute between a dryad and a naiad. I’d bring an umbrella, though, if you’re going to spend any time in there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “The cafeteria sounds fine.”
And it was. It looked like every other institutional lunchroom I’d ever seen—rows of plain Formica-topped tables flanked by scads of uncomfortable plastic-and-metal chairs. Half a dozen vending machines hummed against the wall, offering a million calories and nothing nutritional.
David and I knew each other well enough that we didn’t need to make small talk. Instead, he sat at one of the tables, his hands folded as he studied the poster about our rights under the Family and Medical Leave Act. I became restless after about fifteen minutes, so I stood to pace.
Every time I reached the end of the room, I hit the reset button on the vicious cycle in my head. The warders had raised a cordon to protect our Samhain working. A satyr appeared on the centerstone before the cordon was broken. Someone must have summoned the satyr from inside the circle. Reset.
