by Mindy Klasky
But that wasn’t all. Bree opened her mind to me.
We’d already worked together. I knew the feel of her magic, its rich brown light, as if the most fertile earth in the world glowed from within. But this was more than weaving a spell, more than meshing our arcane forces into a single stream.
Bree let her consciousness expand between us, filling the astral space around her. Her awareness floated like dust in a sunbeam, each particle charged with her unique feel, with the warmth of sun-lit stone rubbed smooth by a lifetime of wind and rain.
If this was a trap, I could not see how she intended to spring it. She was completely vulnerable to me. If I chose, I could sweep her powers away entirely, obliterate her magical consciousness with a single swipe. Her astral awareness could be dispersed so thoroughly that it would take a lifetime, a hundred lifetimes to coalesce into anything resembling a modern witch’s powers.
“Magistrix,” Bree said, and there was a hint of strain in her voice, a whisper beneath the confidence that told me what her vulnerability cost.
I glanced at Luke. The warder’s full attention was daggered to his witch. He was not watching to see what I would do, how David or Caleb would react. He was monitoring Bree’s exposure, measuring the slow drift of her energy. He visibly fought his own impulse to stop her, to rein her in. His fingers curled into fists, only to open reluctantly, as if he remembered strict instructions. He ground his teeth, but he made no other movement.
Perd was equally restrained. The familiar tossed his head once, his only visible sign of distress. I flicked a snake of power toward him, testing his awareness, and I found that his magical energy, his capacity to reflect and expand his witch’s abilities, was flayed open as thoroughly as Bree’s.
Neko whined deep in his throat. He saw what was happening, and the strangeness frightened him.
Tentatively, I flexed my energy back to Bree. I concentrated on shaping my powers, on molding them into a single golden wand. I dipped the very edge of my awareness into the disparate sea of Bree’s consciousness.
I was surrounded by her thoughts.
There—her decision to wait for us in the parlor, to confront us head-on instead of skulking like a villain. There—her realization that I could likely best her with spells and tools, that I could bind her to my will. There—her longing to resolve this matter once and for all, to muck out the barn, as she’d said.
She was tired of reeking suspicion, sick of throat-closing fear. She wanted the malefactor exposed so we could all get back to the reason she’d left her beloved mountain home. She longed to return to the business of witchcraft—free of monsters, free of traitors, free of the politics of the magical world around us.
All of it was there, displayed before me like supplies in a tack room. Thoughts hung on hooks, seemingly haphazard until I grew close enough to study them. Then I could see there was an order for everything, a reason. I could follow them logically, stepping deeper into the space of Bree’s mind, traveling without limitation into the storage room of her astral self.
Now that I understood what I saw, I made short work of my investigation. There were her memories of everything she’d done at the magicarium. I slipped past her arrival at Blanton House, her setting up her new quarters to her liking. I saw her in the living room at the farmhouse, staring at the candle, struggling to find the balance with her fellow students, the power to work together to light the column of wax.
She’d been just as surprised by the harpy as I had been. She hadn’t opened any door for the creature, had not worked a spell.
I skipped further back in time. It only took a moment to narrow in on our visit to the beach, to find the emergence of the orthros. Again, Bree had been astonished, taken completely unaware. I checked on our first working, on the satyr, confirming her innocence there as well.
I was deep in her mind, then, close to her magical core. I could reach out to private emotions, to her past with the Butte Coven, to any other aspect of her magical life.
But that would be unfair. That would be an abuse of my power—as a witch, as a magistrix.
I slipped out of Bree’s memories. I stepped away from the diffuse edge of her consciousness, the warm, earthy feel of her powers, still welcoming me, still inviting me to do whatever I needed to do. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Bree waited a moment, as if to see if I had any further demands. Then, she rocked back on her heels. The physical motion acted as a cue to her mental powers, gathering in her astral awareness like cows returning to a milking barn. Even as she swayed, Luke abandoned his humble pose and closed the distance between them, settling a calloused hand on the well-worn flannel between her shoulder blades.
Perd offered his own support, throwing off his own bridle. Rising to his feet, he came to stand beside Bree, letting her lean against his knees.
She took a single deep breath before she looked back at me. “Well,” she said. “I suspect that was faster than whatever you had in mind.”
I nodded, grateful for her common sense practicality.
But I was heartsick, too. Because now knew the truth: Cassie was the traitor.
And if Bree had been clever enough to realize I was testing my students, Cassie would be just as aware. I needed to get her now.
“David,” I said, turning to enlist his help. As I moved, I relaxed the tight grip I’d held on my powers, dissipating my golden wand. A few stray drops of power drifted away, merging with the faint residue of Bree’s own display. The energy caught in an odd eddy, dragging away from us witches, toward the corner of the parlor.
In my mind’s eye, it looked like water swirling down a drain, a miniature whirlwind spinning to the right. But that wasn’t water draining out of the room. It was power. My power.
Someone had tapped into Blanton House and was stealing the remnants of my magic.
CHAPTER 16
I leaped forward, zeroing in on the disturbance before it could disappear. Even as I moved, the whirling power sank into nothingness. The drain had done its job.
At first glance, there was nothing to see in the corner. There certainly wasn’t any physical sign of a vortex—no gaping hole, no break in the hardwood floor or the careful molding.
As I collected my senses, ready to reach out on the astral plane, David held up a commanding hand. He extended his warder’s powers to cordon off the area, setting it behind the magical equivalent of yellow “crime scene” tape.
Luke joined him, muttering a curse under his breath. I glanced at Caleb, expecting him to step up as well, but Emma’s warder pointedly hung back. He was guarding against anyone attacking us from behind. He was keeping an eye out for Cassie, for whatever havoc she might wreak while we investigated the anomaly in the corner.
“What the hell is it?” Bree asked, craning her neck to look around Luke’s broad shoulders.
I eased a tentative mental probe past the warders’ blockade. “I can sense Teresa Alison Sidney. But it’s not really her…”
I trailed off, because I couldn’t put my sensations into words. I could sense Teresa. But her signature was mixed with something else, blended into something completely different.
That combined energy had a kernel at its heart, a hard nugget of power. But there were streamers too, trailing strands of magic that siphoned toward the center, funneling into the core. The vortex was like…a sea anemone, waving fronds until an unwary fish ventured into its clutch.
That image chimed deep inside my mind, echoing another thought, a memory. The magical drain was like…
Clara’s NWTA. Her Nucleus With Tentacles Attached.
The power-stealing vortex was a physical manifestation of the model Clara had been harping on from the moment she’d arrived at my school. “David,” I said. “We need Clara. Now.”
I don’t know if he understood the course of my thoughts, if he actually knew why I wanted my mother. But he didn’t hesitate to act. Taking a step back from his fellow warders, he slid his sword home with precision. After a single nod to Cal
eb and a slightly delayed glance at Luke, David crossed his arms over his chest. He lowered his chin, and he disappeared.
David’s warder magic left behind a wispy steel-grey fog, a faint spray of masculine energy that sparkled in the air. As I watched, those tiny filings began a slow dance, wrapping into a loose spiral. They flowed toward the corner, toward the vortex, spinning faster and faster until they drained out of sight.
“It’s like that urban legend,” Bree said.
“Which one?”
“The guys who stole a million dollars from a bank. They wrote a program to skim off the partial cents from rounding transactions. They made a million bucks without taking a whole penny from anyone.”
My magicarium would generate massive amounts of remnant energy when we functioned at full speed. We’d work hundreds of spells every day, as individuals, as groups. Each attempt would shed droplets of power, arcane fuel to be vacuumed up by the maw in the corner. Whoever had planted the device could be the magical equivalent of a millionaire in no time.
As I stared in horror, the air in front of me flickered and David’s outline solidified into his body. Not just his body—his hands were planted firmly on Clara’s shoulders.
“Jeanette!” she exclaimed. “What’s going on? David said you need me.”
I nodded grimly and extended a finger toward the corner where the steely remains from David’s reappearance were swirling into nothingness. Now that I knew where to look, I couldn’t imagine not seeing the vortex before, not being aware of it every single moment I’d spent in Blanton House.
But for everyday magic, I never worried about the drop or two of magic left over at the end. There was always some dusting of power left behind, part of the ordinary cost of a working.
And I certainly didn’t keep my eyes open for magical signatures, for the unique appearance of anyone’s magic. No witch did. Signatures didn’t matter in standard witchcraft. Signatures hadn’t mattered until I developed my own brand of communal magic.
To Clara’s credit, she didn’t waste time chatting. Instead, she pushed up the sleeves of her chartreuse and neon pink caftan. She rolled her head once clockwise, once counter-clockwise. And she extended her senses toward the device.
I watched the emerald glow of her astral energy as she lobbed a gout of power toward the thing in the corner. She shuddered as her energy came in contact with the vortex’s outer strands.
David’s hand lashed out, ready to pull her back, but she shook off his attention. Catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth, she edged forward. I watched her pour out more of her power, purposely feeding the funnel.
I extended my own powers to taste the anomaly, to study how it worked. Growing fat with energy, the magical streamers reached farther into the room, centering on Clara. A pair of tentative strands stretched longer, thinner still, drifting toward my relatively minimal contribution of power.
With a terse nod, Clara reeled in her emerald stream. The tendrils responded, drawing back to their own center. Once again, I watched the device swirl away, chewing up the last fragments of energy left behind by Clara’s exploration. My own debris followed, spinning into nothingness.
Clara stepped back and dusted off her palms. “Well she finally built it.”
“Who’s she?”
“Maria Hernandez,” Clara said, as if she were stating the obvious.
“Who?”
“The Oak Canyon Coven Mother.”
I shook my head. “What did she build?”
“A NWTA,” Clara said.
As in so many conversations with my mother, I felt as if I’d entered somewhere in the middle. I tried to ease back a couple of steps. “I thought a NWTA was a living arrangement.”
“It is,” Clara agreed. “But it’s intended to mirror a magical system. A way for sisters to share energy, to provide power to witches with limited resources.”
“But how did Oak Canyon get involved?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s not just Maria I sense there. Teresa Alison Sidney had something to do with this as well. And half a dozen others. It must take a lot of power to make these.”
“These?” I seized on the plural.
“This one is part of a network. Can’t you feel it?” Clara stepped back to peer at the ceiling. “There’s one in the room above here.” One of the empty bedrooms. “And a third directly above that.”
Bree made a strangled noise. The third drain was in her own room.
Clara spread her hands in front of her. “There are dozens more, all through the house. Can’t you feel them?”
I edged a finger of awareness into the empty room upstairs. Now that I knew what to look for, I could make out the presence of a drain. I started to extend my search, but that action generated a handful of sparks for the funnel in this room. I snapped off my power immediately, unwilling to feed my enemies.
Bree, though, purposely extended her hands over the device. With a steady determination, she sifted her magic over the thing, sprinkling awareness like a gardener passing dirt through a sieve. After a long moment, she pulled back, letting the rich brown remnants of her search spin into nothingness.
She shook her head. “I can feel the energy of the witches who made it. But my Coven Mother isn’t there. Butte Coven isn’t involved.”
I turned to David. “These must have been placed here after we found the bugs.”
He nodded. “Your Display Word would have shown them.”
I finally understood why Teresa had bothered planting her obvious bugs in Blanton House. She’d counted on David and me growing over-confident after we found those devices. All the time her real goal had been planting the vortexes. And we’d waltzed into her trap.
“Then someone set these after we moved in…” I trailed off, because the answer was too obvious. Too terrifying. There was only one witch whose loyalty hadn’t yet been tested.
“Cassie,” David said.
Cassie had brought the NWTAs into Blanton House. She wasn’t just working for Pitt, releasing monsters in our rituals. She was working for the Coven Mothers, too.
With a few sharp commands, David deployed the other warders. In seconds, Clara, Bree, and I were surrounded by a protective phalanx. Neko and Perd huddled close.
Like a trained army, we made our way out of the parlor. We took the stairs to the basement, and we marched to the last townhouse that comprised Blanton House. We surged up to the kitchen, into the foyer, up to the bedrooms on the second floor.
With each step, I recognized more facts about my enemy. Of course Cassie had set up residence in the fifth townhouse; it was the farthest from the rooms I shared with David. She could work mostly unobserved at this distance.
I found an energy drain in the basement corner of the fifth building, and another in the parlor. But there was none on the second floor. Cassie hadn’t allowed her own power to be harvested.
Her bedroom door was open.
My heart galloped as we approached. I realized I was already picturing Cassie standing in a ray of lamplight, her braids picked out by the golden glow, her freckles highlighted on her pale cheeks. Even with everything I’d learned, I still thought of her as an innocent, as a child playing at being a witch.
“Zach?” she called as a floorboard squeaked. “Is that you?”
“No,” I said, even as David led the charge into her room.
She gasped in shock, a strangled sound that was half a scream. Her wide eyes darted from David’s sword—once again out of its sheath—to me, to the pair of silent warders who brought up the rear of our entourage. She edged into a corner, putting the upright of her four-poster bed between us.
Licking her lips, she darted her gaze toward the tall-boy dresser on the far wall. I wondered what magical tools she’d stowed there. I could see her fingers twitching to use them.
I stepped forward and raised my hands above my head, pointing at the traitor in our midst. “Cassandra Finch, I hereby summon you in the name of Hecate to answer charges
of corruption against the magicarium known as the Jane Madison Academy.”
“I—” Her first attempt at a reply was strident, but she immediately softened her tone. Her lips trembled as she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I loaded steel into my voice. “You have betrayed your sisters, Cassandra Finch. You have caused physical and emotional pain to the students of the Jane Madison Academy. You have sabotaged our workings. You have destroyed property, and you have threatened the destruction of the unique magical resource that is the Osgood collection.”
She was crying now. Her fingers opened and closed in front of her, like a child trying to gather lost toys. “You’re wrong, Magistrix. There must be some mistake.”
Clara made a soft sound at the back of her throat, her face softening as Cassie cowered behind the bed. The emotion wasn’t lost on Cassie. My erstwhile student pleaded, “Please, Clara. You worked with us while we tried to light the candle. You know me. You know my powers. I would never do anything to hurt the magicarium.”
“Address your words to me, Witch.” I snapped out the command, as much to remind Clara of what was at stake as to discipline the traitor. “Tell me how you worked with Norville Pitt to destroy your sisters. Tell me how you worked with Teresa Alison Sidney.”
“Please,” Cassie sobbed. “Clara… Bree…” She turned her attention to the only other witch in the room. “We all worked together. You saw everything that happened. Zach was hurt when that…thing attacked us on the beach. Zach’s arm was broken. Zach was injured, not Luke or David, not any of the others.”
Bree was made of sterner stuff than Clara. She shook her head and said, “Crocodile tears, Cass.” Before the traitor could wail a protest, Bree scuffed her toe against the floor. “Damn. Not even crocodile tears. You’re not really crying.”
And Bree was right. Cassie’s cheeks were dry, no matter how hard her breath caught in her throat. The last shred of my doubt was destroyed. I was prepared to use my magistrix power to its utmost, to place Cassie under bond until Hecate’s Court could hear the charges against her. I stiffened my wrists, the better to cascade my power as a net, as golden bonds to restrain Cassie until David’s more mundane tools could complete the job. I took a single step back, to keep the angle right, to focus my power. I filled my lungs.
