by Mindy Klasky
Unless, of course, I abandoned my witchcraft forever.
That had seemed like such an attractive option, only a few days before. But now, I wasn’t so sure. I had seen Gran and Clara working with their familiars, but their thawing spell had not helped bolster my powers in the least. I had been so disappointed when I’d realized that they weren’t pouring astral energy back into me, weren’t returning it like the grudging Ariel. I didn’t have the faintest idea of what I actually wanted.
“You really think I have to tell him?” My voice dropped to a whisper.
Melissa answered by nodding as she passed me a fortifying Bunny Bite. I put the entire morsel of carrot cake in my mouth at once, letting the cream cheese frosting melt across my tongue while I contemplated taking the proverbial witchcraft bull by the horns. I chewed and swallowed and then thought of my next line of argument. “What if he totally freaks out? What if he never wants to see me again?”
“Better to know now, right? Now, rather than later, when you’re in this thing even deeper?”
I stared at her. “You still rip off your Band-Aids without even a moment’s hesitation, don’t you?”
She grinned and offered me another Bite. “But I always have something good waiting, to distract me from the pain.”
Before I could agree, before I could say that I would tell Will everything about my bizarre magical self, there were more footsteps on the back stairs. Rob poked his head in from the hallway. “Coast is clear? The distaff debate can pause long enough for a man to walk through?”
“Absolutely.” Melissa beamed.
As Rob seized a having-come-downstairs kiss, the front door of the bakery opened. I turned, grateful for the distraction, only to see Neko glide inside.
“I thought you’d be here,” he said to me.
“Why did you think that?”
“Hot date last night? I stopped by your house this morning? The bed was tossed like burglars had a field day, but you were nowhere in sight? No manly shoes shoved beneath your bed?”
I glared at Neko and then braved a look in Rob’s general direction. Melissa’s beau was staring at my familiar, a look of bemusement on his plump-cheeked face.
“Hell-o there,” Neko said, emphasizing the first syllable of his greeting and darting a glance at Rob’s arm around Melissa’s waist. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
If Melissa hadn’t been my best friend, I might have missed her gritting her teeth. No, that was a lie. All three of us heard the sound. And if ground molars weren’t enough warning, any innocent onlooker could have heard Melissa’s exasperated sigh, her frustration as haunting as a barely remembered tune. “Neko,” she said. “This is Rob Peterson.” She turned to Rob. “Neko is one of Jane’s closest friends.”
My familiar offered a hand, shaking Rob’s as if he were absorbing some secret message from the touch of flesh on flesh. I glanced nervously from his face to Melissa’s. My best friend stretched a smile over her teeth. I knew that she was thinking about the last time she had introduced one of her boyfriends to Neko. I was pretty sure that Jacques had not even looked over his shoulder as he followed my familiar out of Melissa’s shop, out of her heart, out of her love life forever.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Rob. He turned back to Melissa. “I’ve got to get down to the office. That deposition is still scheduled for this morning, and it may actually stretch into the afternoon. But you’re up for dinner?”
“Of course.” She grinned, and I suspected that a smile that broad was meant to be a comment on something a bit more than the cementing of evening plans. “Give me a call when you know what time you’ll be free.”
Rob kissed her and then hurried to the door. He turned back on the threshold. “It was really nice to meet both of you. We’ll have dinner soon, Jane?”
“Absolutely,” I said, and he sauntered away.
Neko barely waited until the door had closed behind Rob before he whirled back toward Melissa. “Don’t I get a cup of hot chocolate? Hold the chocolate and double the milk?”
Melissa was shaking her head, a rueful smile quirking her lips. “Just a sec.”
“What?” Neko said to me as I stepped up to the counter. “Why are you both looking at me that way?”
“No way,” I said. “It’s just that we’re both pleased you didn’t decide to steal Rob away from Melissa.”
“Steal Rob—” He took a step back in indignant protest, fluttering his right hand above his heart as if we were slaying him with our criticism.
“You have to admit,” Melissa said, “there’s precedent.” Precedent. She had been spending a lot of time listening to legal mumbo jumbo.
“Girlfriend, I might be an absolutely irresistible man, but there are some limits to my powers of persuasion! Did you think I’d make him gay just by shaking his hand?”
“Of course not!” Melissa protested.
Neko eyed her archly. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll remind you as often as you need to hear it. Jacques leaned my way before he ever asked you out on a date. It’s not you, it’s me, girlfriend.”
Melissa clanked his mug of heated milk onto the counter. “Let’s just forget about Jacques, okay? I mean, about Jacques and me. Truce?”
“Truce.” Neko buried his face in the cup, emerging almost a minute later with a white mustache thick enough to get him headlined in the Got Milk? campaign. He turned to me. “But I’m here for a real reason, Jane. You have got to get your grandmother under control.”
I immediately pictured Nuri, wondered what sort of problems my grandmother was having with her familiar. Magic had always come hard to Gran; even more than Clara, my grandmother had been ostracized by the Coven because her powers were weak. Maybe I had pushed her too hard. Maybe she shouldn’t have awakened her own familiar. Maybe she was so miserably unhappy that she’d never work a magic spell again.
“What’s wrong, Neko?”
“Small countries have mobilized armies with less planning than your grandmother is investing in this wedding.”
I snorted, letting relief blow away my astral worries. If we were only talking about wedding details, then everything would be fine.
“What do you mean?” Melissa asked, turning to me with a look that was almost accusing. “I can’t believe that your grandmother is the type to be worried about the trappings of a wedding!”
Neko sighed dramatically. “To the rest of the world, she’s a sweet, quiet old woman. But to those of us helping get ready for the big day…”
I glared at him. “You volunteered!”
“I thought I’d be able to offer an opinion or two and then be done! I didn’t realize that staging a wedding for a couple in their eighties was going to take more effort than putting a man on the moon!”
“What’s the problem now?” I asked.
“The string quartet has been tossed out. She’s looking for a full band. Nine people. Plus a DJ for the band’s breaks. George loves saxophone, so we need two.”
“She just wants people to have fun,” I said weakly.
“And she’s obsessing about party favors.”
“Come on, Neko. Most brides give their guests some type of gift.”
“Your grandmother wants to hand out a CD.”
“So? They shouldn’t be too expensive to burn. What’s she thinking of? Their first dance?”
“Opera.” He shuddered. “She wants to include opera, Jane. A different aria for each guest. A personalized CD for every single person who attends. The guest list is up to two hundred!”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“My point exactly.” He set his mug on the counter with a finality that said we had reached a deal. “You’ll tell her that she’s going too far.”
“I don’t know….” I tried to picture me lecturing Gran about wedding etiquette. I couldn’t really imagine how the conversation would go. She was the one who had spent a lifetime telling me what was right and wrong. I wasn’t sure that either of us would survive having the t
ables turned. “Maybe I can get Clara on board. We can tell her together.”
“I don’t care how you do it. Just make her see reason.”
“You sound desperate.”
He looked at me slyly. “I’m not the one who’s desperate. But you will be, once you see the dress she’s planning for you.”
My throat dried in sudden panic. “What?”
“You’ll see,” he sang.
“Neko, I already know about the color.”
“What about the color?” Melissa asked.
“Orange,” Neko said with a distinctly evil pleasure. “And silver.”
Horror spread on Melissa’s face. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Neko shook his head. “Orange, because it’s George’s favorite color. And silver, because they’ve dated for twenty-five years.” Well, at least there was some reasoning behind it. My grandmother had not completely taken leave of her senses. Neko sighed in exasperation. “You cannot believe how many times I’ve told the matchbook people that the colors aren’t a mistake.”
“Matchbooks?” I said. “No one gives out matchbooks at a wedding anymore.”
“Someone does,” Neko said, his mouth twitching into a cruel smile. “Along with embossed cocktail napkins, Jordan almonds and four hundred votive candles.”
“She’s eighty-five years old!” I said.
“But she’s determined to have the wedding she never had as a girl.” Neko sparked the words with a dramatic twist of his neck, a hand cast to his forehead.
I shook my head. “My own grandmother. Bridezilla. Who would have believed it?”
“I haven’t even started to tell you about her plans for tossing the bouquet.” He looked toward the front door wickedly, and I watched Melissa blush.
“Enough,” I said. “Torture us by telling us about my dress. Just how horrible is it?”
“I wouldn’t dream of ruining the surprise. You’ll see a swatch when we get together after work today.”
“We?” This was the first I’d heard of plans involving any group.
“Nuri and Majom are getting restless.”
Melissa looked up from the tray of Blond Brunettes that she was slicing. “Who are Nuri and Majom?”
Oh. Between Rob and Will and animas and life in general, I hadn’t even had a chance to tell Melissa about my own little attempt at managing a coven. “Familiars. For Gran and Clara. We awakened them the other night. They’re going to help with the…situation in the basement.”
“Of course,” Melissa said, shrugging like she heard that sort of thing every day. “Who wouldn’t want more familiars running around D.C.?” She smiled sweetly at Neko. “No offense intended.”
“Of course,” he agreed, pushing his mug closer to her in silent request for another peacemaking refill. “None taken.”
“We can’t get together tonight, Neko,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I have other plans.” Well, I would have other plans. If I followed Melissa’s advice and contacted Will.
“Plans more important than rebuilding your magic?” He actually sounded serious, for the first time since setting foot in the bakery.
“If you must know, I’m going to call Will Becker. I’m asking him out. Again.” Because the first time had gone so well. Because every time we got together, my witchcraft got in the way, and I was determined to have one single, solitary date that was normal. Normal. Like any other woman in the world. Like a librarian. Not like a witch.
“Will’s the one you had dinner with the other night?” I could see the little wheels spinning inside my familiar’s skull. He was smart enough not to mention garlic shrimp. Or breath mints.
“That’s the one. I owe him an explanation or two. We saw Ariel last night, at the Capitol.”
“You what?”
I filled him in quickly, ending with, “I could hardly explain what was really going on. Not after you and David frightened him off the other night with your Men In Black routine.”
“We didn’t frighten him off!” Neko sounded shocked and appalled at the notion. I glared at him. “Well, maybe, we were a little…intimidating. Have you stopped to think that he might just be easily scared?”
“Neko!” I said. Even though I knew my familiar was just clowning around, the question bit deep. I really wanted things to work with Will. I really wanted to be able to tell him about my witchcraft, to get that deep, dark secret behind us.
“Wait a second,” Neko said, drawing out the words. “You really like this guy!”
Frantically, I looked at Melissa for help, but she just shrugged and turned around to start a fresh pot of coffee. “He’s a nice guy,” I said helplessly. “I just don’t know how to tell him about…well, you know.”
“Just say the words, girlfriend.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Pick up the phone. Make the date. Say the words. Tell him you’re a witch. If he’s not man enough to handle it, he’s not the right man for you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. Tell him.”
I glanced at Melissa. She was staring at Neko, apparently amazed that they had offered identical advice.
“I will,” I said reluctantly.
“Promise?”
“What?” I asked, suddenly out of patience. “Have you turned into my grandmother now? I said I’ll call, and I’ll call.” I fumbled for a chance to get away from talking about my life and loves. “Let’s do witchcraft training Sunday afternoon.”
Neko shook his head. “Gran and I are going to pick up your dress on Sunday. Your dress and her veil. Do you know that she’s determined to wear her old gown?”
“From when she was seventeen?”
“She can still fit into it.”
I thought of my grandmother’s ability to pack away food and muttered something wholly uncharitable.
Neko raised an eyebrow, then wisely retreated into scheduling. “I’ll work with Nuri and Majom tonight, keep them from climbing the walls. I can teach them some tricks all familiars should know these days.”
“Spare us,” I said.
He ignored me, barreling on. “Sunday, Sarah and I will get the gown. We can all train on Monday. And you can come by your grandmother’s on Friday for a fitting. I promised to do the alterations myself. Someone else might think the fabric was a mistake. Or the design.”
I read the glee on his face, and my heart plummeted. It couldn’t be that bad. There was no way for any dress to be that bad.
It was orange-and-silver.
It was going to be that bad.
I shuddered and passed my mug across the counter for a refill. “Mojito therapy,” I croaked to Melissa.
She grinned. “When?”
“Next Friday. At Gran’s place. It’s the only thing to get me through that fitting.”
Neko shook his head mournfully. “I’m telling you, girlfriend, there isn’t enough rum in all the world to get you past that dress.”
And the scary thing was, Neko had never been wrong before when it came to me and fashion.
13
All afternoon, I wrote conversations.
It really wasn’t very difficult. I knew exactly what I would say. I could roll my words around and around, tasting them like one of Melissa’s delectable treats. I’d practiced the phrases for a long time, after all. I’d come out of my witchcraft closet before, so to speak. I’d told any number of people that I had magical abilities: Melissa, Gran, Clara. The Inexcusable Beast. The Coven Eunuch.
Okay. Those last two confessions hadn’t gone so smoothly.
But I refused to believe that my problems in those two instances were because my confidants were male. Those problems had come about because my male confidants were two-faced, scum-sucking liars. With other women in their lives.
But Will wasn’t like that. I had to believe that Will wasn’t like that. I had to believe that I had learned something through the days, weeks, months of torture, from the self-doubt a
nd the questioning that had followed my time with the Irreparable Bum and the Coven Eunuch.
It scared me a little to realize how much I wanted Will to be different from the others. How much I wanted the thing that I felt between us to be real, to be true. A gnawing corner of my mind kept saying that I’d never had a decent relationship with a guy, that I’d never had a real, truthful, healthy romance (even with the man I’d been engaged to, well before all the witchcraft stuff came into the picture). I did my best, though, to give myself the answers that I knew Melissa would give me, if she’d been sitting in the Peabridge, if she’d been close enough to shake some sense into me—literally or figuratively.
Just because I hadn’t met my true match yet didn’t mean that he wasn’t out there for me. Just because I had managed to screw up every other romance in my life didn’t mean that I was doomed to ruin this one. Just because every other guy that I’d dated with even a scintilla of hope had turned out to be a loser didn’t mean that Will would be.
Will was different.
That became my mantra for the afternoon. Will was different. Therefore, he and I could talk. Will was different. Therefore, I could tell him the truth about myself. Will was different. Therefore, I could be honest with him. Will was different. Therefore, he would accept my being a witch.
Well, Will was going to have to be different for that last bit to fly.
When I hit the self-reassurance wall, I decided to spend the afternoon working on one of our most boring, most needed long-term projects at the Peabridge—the dreaded shelf-read. Armed with a listing of every single item that we owned, I strode back to the farthest part of the library, to the most distant shelves. I flipped to the appropriate page in my printout and began comparing the list of what we should have on the shelf to the reality of what was there. For each missing book, I made a notation in the margin—I’d have to see if it was checked out. If not, we’d try to track it down from wherever it had been lost or misplaced, working to keep our collection whole and healthy.
