His Dark Magic

by Pat Esden

  Before Chloe knew what she was doing, she’d left her lounge chair and was upstairs in the Vice-Chancellor’s bedroom, going through his wife’s walk-in closet. The two of them wouldn’t be home for hours, and the kids were in bed. There was no way could she could get caught. She flicked through the designer dresses, imagining what it would be like to wear such clothes. Then, there it was, right in front of her, the red sequined dress from page 44. Chloe wriggled out of her T-shirt and shorts, and into the dress. She turned to admire herself in a mirror—

  The crash of breaking glass reverberated up from downstairs. She swung away from the mirror, dread squeezing the air from her lungs. A burglar. The kids. The sound had come from somewhere near the pool.

  As if trapped in a slow-motion horror movie, Chloe would forever remember the tight silk lining of the red dress cinching her thighs as she flew to the top of the stairs to see what had happened. She’d never forget looking down to where her iced tea glass now lay broken at the edge of the pool. But most of all, she’d never forget the ripples in the blue water…

  Nausea surged up Chloe’s throat. She swallowed back the bitter taste, jumped up from her couch, and paced to the window. She looked out toward where the guy from the Northern Circle had walked through the glimmer of streetlight only minutes earlier, the wind swirling around him. She’d known in that instant that she was going to catch him, that she had to. Like she’d known that night, all those years ago at the Vice-Chancellor’s house, that someday, someway, she had to right the tragedy that she’d caused.

  Chloe took a deep breath, easing herself past the memory. Her tension subsided. But it picked up again as her thoughts shifted back to the guy and the heart-pounding sensation of being trapped against the cedar hedge, with nowhere to escape as he stepped closer. Now that she thought about it, Chloe could remember how he smelled too: like bacon and coffee, and cinnamon. Magic. Power. Confidence. His dimples and smirk.

  Her stomach tensed and a wave of tingles surged low in her body. She brushed her fingers across her lips, imagining his lips against hers. Spicy and sweet. The kiss deepening. His fingers trailing magic down her arms, caressing the sides of her breasts.

  Heat flushed her cheeks. She wheeled from the window. What he smelled like or might taste like or how titillating his witch-touch might feel weren’t important. What was vital was the Northern Circle and that they were interested in her.

  She retrieved the invitation from her bed. Thanks to the guy breaking the seal, she could read it again without fear.

  A thought darted into Chloe’s head, wicked and enticing. The last thing she wanted to do was drive the coven off. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun and at the same time show this Athena Marsh and her coven that they weren’t the only ones who could play the spy game.

  She dropped into her desk chair, closed her eyes, and drew in a long breath through her nose. Then she focused all her energy on the invitation and let the breath out slowly, allowing her magic to flow from her fingertips into the paper’s fibers.

  “Reveal to me,” she murmured.

  A tight sensation spread upward from her throat to her ears. Her heartbeat slowed and images rippled into her head, the recent history of the paper:

  Feminine fingers, long nails, pale skin scented with lavender oil, holding a stick of gold sealing wax. Her pinky is weighed down by a ring, amber set into gold. Another ring is on her middle finger. An amethyst crystal carved with an N surrounded by an etched circle, its power flowing along with magic into the hot wax. The woman sets down the stick and intones a spell. Her voice reverberates. The scent of burning sage smokes the air.

  Chloe focused harder, straining to see the rest of the room, using more power than perhaps she should.

  Darkness surrounds the woman, shielding what lies beyond from her view. Just her: Late twenties. Long mink-brown hair tucked behind her ears, shoulders veiled in a red and gold shawl. Hereditary magic, passed down through endless generations. Gifted. Experienced. A black beaded choker encircles her tense neck—

  As if she’d been snapped back by the crack of a whip, the connection broke. Maybe Chloe had been negligent about protection, but Athena Marsh hadn’t. And she’d felt the intrusion into her past, like Chloe had hoped. She was equally certain Athena hadn’t sensed the full extent of her abilities, despite her turning up the volume a bit.

  Satisfied and feeling a bit smug, Chloe smoothed her hand across the invitation and gave it a tap. “Now, my pretty, let’s take another look at you.”

  As Chloe had thought, the information was basic. A meet and greet including dinner at the Northern Circle’s complex. RSVP. The address. A number to text for a ride if desired. Probably a ride with the dangerously handsome guy, she reminded herself. The get-together was Friday. Two days from now at 7 p.m.

  She opened her laptop. Her first class was at eight o’clock. Organic Chemistry. That didn’t leave her with a lot of time, but enough to Google the complex’s address and have a quick look-see. Maybe she could even find something online about Athena or the other members of the Northern Circle—even the guy. She licked her lips, the fantasy about kissing him flickering back into her mind. Not a good idea, more than likely he already had a girlfriend or two.

  A soft knock came at her door and her neighbor Juliet’s voice whispered, “Chloe, are you awake?”

  “Just a minute.” She shoved the invitation under the laptop, then opened the door. What the heck could Juliet want this early?

  Juliet streaked past her and into the apartment, the belt on her bathrobe trailing out behind her like a cat’s tail. Actually, even without the tail, Juliet looked a lot like a cat—a Persian cat with big, blue eyes and flat face. Chloe didn’t know if anyone ever mentioned this similarity to her, but she doubted Juliet would take it as an insult. She was a full-fledged cat lady. In fact, lately she’d been talking about dropping out of college to start a homemade cat toy business instead of sticking with her dream of becoming a vet. Chloe hoped Juliet’s Wiccan friends would talk her out of the idea.

  Juliet flopped down on the couch, her hands twisting into the fabric of her bathrobe.

  “What’s wrong?” Chloe asked, shutting the door.

  “It’s Greta. I needed to tell you something before she corners you.”

  Greta was the other tenant on their floor, a large woman with graying hair, enormous feet, and permanent PMS. She worked down the street at the Red Cross blood bank.

  “You guys had another run in?” Chloe asked. It seemed a little early for that. Like 6 a.m. early.

  Juliet’s head bobbed. “The kitties and I were looking out the window. I was having tea and they were having some catnip crumbles. First, I saw the guy walk up onto our porch and heard you go downstairs, then Greta started pounding on my door. She was all worked up about smelling smoke. ‘I thought the house was on fire, candles should be illegal…’ blah, blah, blah.” She skillfully imitated Greta’s piercing voice.

  “You told Greta it was me not you, right?”

  “Of course not. I just didn’t want you to contradict what I said.” Juliet looked down at her bejeweled kitty slippers, then she glanced up. Her big eyes widened. “So who’s the guy?”

  “Um—I don’t really know him.” She was about to change the subject when she realized this was the perfect opportunity to do some digging. Juliet may not be a hereditary witch like she was and probably didn’t even realize people with inborn abilities like hers truly existed. But Juliet was a practicing Wiccan, and an active member of the local Wiccan community. She might know something. “He was dropping off an invitation. Have you ever heard of the Northern Circle coven?”

  “No. Are they local?”

  Chloe got out the invitation and handed it to her. “It’s to a party.”

  “Cool.” Juliet beamed. She turned the envelope around and studied the broken seal with excitement. “There
probably will be a ton of people there.”

  Chloe’s stomach dropped. Shit. Juliet thought it was a general invitation for anyone who wanted to come, like to a music recital or real estate open house. She swallowed hard as Juliet unfolded the paper and read who it was addressed to.

  Juliet thrust the invitation back. “Oh. For a minute I thought…I mean, you’ll have fun.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.” Chloe tossed the invitation onto the laptop as if she didn’t care. Juliet was always doing nice things for her. She shouldn’t have shown it to her. She should have said the guy was someone she’d met in class or through some dating app. “I probably won’t go anyway. There are a lot of creeps out there. They probably didn’t invite you because you already belong to a coven.”

  Juliet shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. There’s another possibility too. That guy was cute from what I saw. Maybe he’s interested in you—like personally. Anyway, I’ll ask around and see if anyone’s heard of them.” Her sad-kitty mouth turned up. “Or you could forget about that party and come to our Friday night Wicca study group. Seriously, Chloe, we have a great time. Everyone’s really supportive. I’ve learned so much. You would too.” She stopped chattering and gave Chloe an eager look.

  “I’m not sure about the party or this Friday, yet. Not that I don’t want to go with you. Sometime, maybe.”

  Before she could finish backpedaling her way out, Juliet bounced up from the couch. “Next week, then. We’re getting together Wednesday night. I’ll tell everyone that you’re coming. You’re going to love it. It’s going to be the best.”

  Juliet flung her arms around Chloe, hugging her super hard while Chloe stood there like a wilted stalk of celery. For the love of Hecate, how was she going to get out of this without hurting Juliet’s feelings? Most likely she’d have to suck it up and put in an appearance. Worst of all, she’d have to pretend to be a newbie witch.

  Her lips twitched into a smile. Or she could give up the pretense of being new to the Craft. It would surprise Juliet, but she could teach and share basic rituals instead of hiding. That would be cool, though she’d have to be careful not to overstep. Keeping the world at large unaware of the existence of true magic was the first law every hereditary witch swore to, long before they were even old enough to cast a spell.

  The eager thrum that Chloe had felt when she talked to the guy from the Circle once again buzzed inside her. No matter which path she chose, exciting possibilities waited.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Chloe slipped into a seat at the front of the lecture hall. She got out her phone and scrunched down, hoping she could avoid talking to anyone and do some research before the professor arrived.

  It turned out the Northern Circle’s complex was located in a revitalized industrial area near the city of Burlington’s waterfront. It was really close to Oakledge Park and a bike path, and on a bus route. It was a long walk from her apartment, but not impossible by any stretch of the imagination. According to the aerial map and limited street views, the complex was composed of an old factory and several garages, perhaps surrounded by gardens and a chain-link fence. Artsy looking, it supposedly housed several businesses and living quarters. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on because of the way the addresses and buildings melded together.

  She sat back up as the professor entered. No matter how intrigued she was by the coven, she needed to pay attention in Organic Chem if she wanted her med school application to be top-notch. Still, when class finally ended, she didn’t waste time hanging around. She just escaped and dashed outdoors.

  The sun was warm and the smell of newly mowed lawn and dried leaves hung in the air. On all sides of her, students rushed by. She followed the eddy for a minute, then ducked out of the flow and hoisted herself up on a concrete wall to sit. She’d reached the end of what she could find out about the coven online. There was, however, one other way to potentially learn more, and quickly.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, Chloe took out her phone and called her mom.

  Her mom answered instantly. “Chloe, sweetheart. What a nice surprise.” Her voice faltered. “Is something wrong? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I just had a question.” She slipped back onto her feet and turned around, facing a display of mum plants instead of the sidewalk. Her mom was a homebody; for years her life had centered on homeschooling Chloe and her older brothers and sisters. Now it revolved around her grandbabies. Mom was less likely to know about the coven than her dad, but she was far less judgmental. Chloe scrunched her toes for luck and took a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of the Northern Circle?”

  Silence. A long silence that seemed to stretch on forever. “I think so,” her mom said at last. “Here. Let me give the phone to your dad.”

  Tension pinched behind Chloe’s eyes as her mom clamped her hand over the phone and whispered to someone, undoubtedly Dad. She’d never stopped to consider he might be working from home today. But in truth it didn’t matter, Mom would have told him about the call eventually.

  “Chloe, nice to hear from you.” Dad’s voice sounded stiffer than usual. “You don’t want to get involved with that Northern Circle crew. They’ve got a bad reputation.”

  “I was just curious,” Chloe said, sounding more defensive than she’d have preferred. Why did talking to her parents always make her feel like a twelve year old? “The Wiccan woman in my building mentioned them, that’s all.”

  “They’re a seedy group. Heritage witches, definitely not Wiccan. A young priestess heads it up now. A Marsh girl. Her father’s one slippery fellow.”

  By “slippery” her dad usually meant they used magic to take in gullible people. “You’re not talking dangerous, then.”

  “He was studying at Yale at the same time as me. He’s skilled enough, I suppose. But he spent more time partying than honing his craft. Bickering. Hanky-panky. His ex-wife oversaw the coven for a while. They’ve had a bad reputation since I was a teenager. Even back then, their high priestess died under questionable circumstances.”

  “Oh?” Wariness fluttered in her belly. That was something to be concerned about, though it was a long time ago.

  “Stay as far away as possible from that family and coven.”

  “Don’t worry about that. But I’m glad I asked.” She took a fortifying breath and hastily switched the topic, so he’d think she didn’t care that much. “I also called to tell Mom about a woman I met downtown at the farmers’ market. She makes really pretty glass straws. A while ago, Mom mentioned she wanted some.”

  “Let me give the phone back to her,” he said, then added, “We miss you, Chloe. Let me know if you hear that coven’s up to anything questionable. The High Council will want to know.”

  “Will do,” she said. Disreputable. Partying. Hanky-panky. Ex-wife. If she were reading between the lines right, Athena Marsh’s father was a womanizer and that was the main reason for the coven’s reputation and her father not liking them. That also answered her bigger question. No mentions of dark magic or dubious practices. Nothing wrong with Athena herself. In other words, there was no reason for her not to check them out and see what her generation of Northern Circle witches were up to. She just needed to stay clear of daddy dearest.

  Chapter 3

  Lead me to the sweet garden of discovery, to joy and truth, and wisdom.

  —Chloe Winslow, entreaty to Hecate

  “You look amazing. But yellow?” Juliet wrinkled her nose at Chloe’s outfit: skinny black jeans, a tight raspberry top, and the offending canary-bright gilet. The gilet was Chloe’s absolute favorite new find, totally fun and stylish with a single button at the throat that allowed the vest-like top to flutter open and show a flash of raspberry and skin when she moved. It was the sort of thing she’d always longed to wear, but back home looking chic and sun
ny had never felt right. Even when she’d pulled the gilet from the rack at the store, her mind had gone back to Glamour Magazine, page 44, and the red sequin dress. It had taken all she had to get past the quiver of unworthiness in her stomach and buy it. But she was on the path to right her wrongs. She deserved it and it made her feel powerful.

  “If there are other newbies there,” Chloe said, “they’ll be wearing dark colors—traditional stuff. I’d rather look like me.” She held her arm out so Juliet could fasten the clasp on her charm bracelet, its tiny pentacle jingling against the miniature athame and crystal pendulum.

  “You mean you’d rather have that guy notice you.”

  “Well, yeah, partly that,” she said, as Juliet finished with the clasp. “Mostly I’ve been thinking about the way he was dressed the other night. The invitation sounded casual, but I think they’re the kind of crowd that calls for stylish and classy.”

  Juliet hissed, like a tomcat defending its territory. “The Craft isn’t about clothes or money. Seriously, if they’re like that you should forget them and come to my study group. That is, if you’re sincere about learning witchcraft and not just looking for a party.”

  Her throat clenched. A retort prickled the tip of her tongue, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to sound vaguely unbothered. “You’re probably right. But if I don’t go, I’ll always wonder what I missed.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so bitchy. I know you’re sincere. It’s just, people using the Craft as an excuse to party or pretend to be cool is my hot button.”