Queens of Wings & Storms

by Angela Sanders et al.

  We talked sweet nothings as we drove the short distance to the school. Feminist witches would probably shoot me, but it was nice being driven by a man again, and I was quiet for a while, enjoying the chance to take in the view. And Björn was good company––he had plenty to say without being overbearing. Not to mention he had muscles to bounce a ball off of.

  Soon enough, he turned the nose of the Ram onto the school property and into the teacher’s parking lot, as we’d been instructed to do.

  As Björn locked the car, I glanced around me. Funny. It felt weird being in such a familiar place without the usual bustle of the kids. Almost haunted. Instead of feeling like a mom, it was if I was a school kid myself, showing up for the first day of term.

  “Feels weird, doesn’t it?” I said, looking up at Björn.

  He shrugged. “Ja, maybe a bit. Shall we go in?”

  As an ex-student of the Margaret Beauchamp’s School of Magic for Girls and Boys myself, I knew exactly where the arts class was. As we drew near, the faint smell of oil paints and charcoal crayons invaded my senses, triggering memories from so long ago––some pleasant, some sad. We opened the door to find the class empty. There had been cars in the parking lot, so I guessed the others were hanging out somewhere else in the school.

  “Are you okay?” Björn asked, staring down at me.

  “Me, oh, yes. I was just flying a broomstick down memory lane. My late hubby, Oliver and I were in this class together.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “As it happens, we shared a table in all our classes, from my first day to the last. In Arts we sat right there.” I pointed to our table, third row from the back over by the window. It was almost exactly how I remembered it; the only thing that had changed were the student drawings on the wall.

  “You liked art?” Björn asked.

  “I guess. We goofed off more than anything. It was easier to do with old Belamy; he never really seemed to care and was as much off in his own world as we were. It was different though, back then. The rules are a lot stricter now. No goofing off.”

  We heard a door open and close somewhere out in the hall and the muffled sound of voices. Without thinking, I listened for Carter’s and then frowned. Sorry, Oliver.

  The classroom door opened, and I turned as Carter held it to allow Maisy and Harrison Parker to pass inside. Harrison was the father of Evelyn, another girl from Pike’s year, though I didn’t think they shared any classes, and as far as I was aware, they’d never hung out together. He was a short warlock, with reddish hair and a stocky build. His aura was gold and tinged with a slight green.

  “Hey, Harrison.” I smiled. “You got suckered into doing this thing, too?”

  Harrison frowned. “I volunteered. I mean, dragons, right? I think Principal Wells is off his rocker and will need as many responsible parents on site as he can get, don’t you?”

  Carter didn’t respond but his brow furrowed.

  “Oh, yes, I couldn’t agree more,” I said, thankful at last that someone else saw things my way. Carter’s frown deepened, and I gave him a cheeky grin. It felt good to tease.

  Harrison and Björn shook hands warmly. “How is work?” Björn asked.

  “Busy,” he said. “I just got a promotion so I’m working all the hours, keeping the hags happy.”

  “Ah.” That would account for the green tint to his aura. The hags were the watch dogs of the paranormal community. They had their finger in everything, from law enforcement to ambulatory services, even down to rescuing familiars from treetops.

  “Hello, Carter,” I said pointedly, since he hadn’t spoken a word. He looked super-hot out of his customary Principal robes. Today he wore a pale-blue sweater with a plain-white T-shirt underneath it. His jeans were well cut and not too tight. Heck, did I just check out another man’s crotch? What was wrong with me?

  “Is this it?” I asked, hiding my red face behind a cough. “Hello, Maisy, how are you?”

  “Hi, Tamara.” She beamed. “I like your purple top.”

  “Thanks.” I took in her winter-green blouse and stylish white slacks. She’d gotten it perfect again. I wonder where she shops. “You look pretty good yourself.”

  “This is it, I’m afraid.” My skin bristled at the sound of Carter’s voice, which was deep but clear, hitting me in all the nice places. “Bernie White dropped out.”

  I hid a snicker. I could have predicted that. Bernie White always dropped out. He was the most unreliable warlock in Misty Cedars.

  Carter cast me a furtive glance. “Shall we get on with it, then? I don’t wish to take up any more of your time than is necessary, and this shouldn’t take too long if we keep focused.”

  Was it my imagination, or was he being stroppy? Perhaps that was too strong a word, because he wasn’t rude, but there was definitely something off about him.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes, of course it is.” Carter strolled over to the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. In large bold letters he wrote, “Dragon Lore” at the top of the board.

  I instinctively moved to my old seat, but since the others moved directly to the front of the class, I joined them.

  It was like I’d been transported back twenty years. Only Carter held my attention in quite a different way. Poor old Belamy, I thought, recalling his thick, black bifocals and paint-flecked dungarees. I popped my flask of vitamin water out in front of me and sat back in my seat.

  Carter pulled out his wand and brandished it in front of the blackboard. “Ostende mihi dracones!”

  The surface on the board began to twist and distort, and then a great hole appeared in the center. It was like we were looking out of the porthole of a ship toward a cliff of pure granite.

  In perfect 3-D vision, what looked like a great bird flew out from a hole somewhere and headed directly our way. As it got closer, I could see it was a dragon; it wasn’t as big as I imagined it would be, but it was a beautiful shade of grey-blue, and I gasped in awe at its majesty and power.

  “They can grow to ten feet, but more typically Maine dragons are about eight-foot, head to talon,” Carter said. “Their wingspan is generally twice as wide again. Magnificent.”

  It came so close I could see the whites of its eyes and I shrank back, thinking somehow it would fly into our classroom. At the last minute the dragon swerved, then flew away. We all breathed a little more easily.

  “As you can see,” Carter said, “the Maine dragon is much smaller than its European and Scandinavian cousins, but don’t be fooled by its stature. Pound for pound it’s more powerful than a man and can project flames about twenty feet ahead.”

  “Maybe I should get one for browning my meringues.” I laughed.

  Björn laughed along with me, but everyone else had their eyes glued to the hole in the blackboard. The sea view had vanished, and it now glowed an odd shade of luminous blue.

  “What you’re now looking at is the inside of the dragon’s cave,” Carter said.

  I stared really hard, but everything just looked dark to me.

  “The blue glow that you see comes from a strange kind of luminous mushroom that grows only in these caves,” Carter continued. “The dragons will eat it, but mostly they draw strength from its light. There’s a legend that says when the light of the mushroom dies, the last of the Maine dragons will die with them. Because of that, the hags just decreed a protection order, so it’s now illegal to interfere with them in any way. If you’re found with a single piece of mushroom on your person, you can count that as a one-way ticket into Bitterhold, so we need to impress the importance of leaving things alone to the children.”

  This trip just gets better and better, I thought. Harrison was sitting quite stiffly, arms crossed, and I imagined he was thinking the same thing I was. I was about to say as much when I saw some movement in the image.

  “The Maine dragons are well known for their responsiveness to calming amulets, making them an ideal subject for s
tudy. Generally thought of as fierce, there are really only two times of year you have to be careful: in the spring, when the females are tending to their newborn infants, and in the fall, when rutting season is in full swing.”

  “What red-blooded male appreciates being interrupted during that?” Björn asked.

  “Or female?” I added. Did I just say that out loud? I giggled like a fifteen-year-old and covered my face to hide my blush.

  Carter just stared at me, and once again, I found it nigh on impossible to read his thoughts. “Sorry,” I said, cowering. I had to bite my lip to keep from snickering some more.

  “If you look closely,” Carter said, tearing his gaze from me, “you will see the outline of a newborn dragon.”

  I peered intently, and after a moment, my eyes adjusted, then I saw it! The baby dragon was about the size of a Labrador puppy, and was curled up inside his own tail. It was cute as a button, and suddenly, I thought how cool it would be to see it. This trip might be fun after all.

  “This baby was a newborn in the spring, but I understand he is twice as large as he was and has already fled the nest.”

  “Awww.” My shoulders slumped. So much for that.

  “For the first few months he will return to the nest, but once a full year is up, his mother will reject him, and he’ll be on his own. There is a slight possibility we will see him, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Tamara. Shortly after that, the males will fight for the honor of their love, and then the cycle begins all over again.”

  “Won’t it be rutting season when we go?” Harrison asked.

  “Apparently, not quite,” Carter reassured him. “The dragon we’re visiting lives on the Darcy estate, and the keeper there tells me that won’t be for a few more weeks. So really, we’re visiting at the safest time.”

  Harrison sat back in his chair, looking none too convinced. Frankly, neither was I. This was a tiny window of opportunity, and these were wild animals that didn’t exactly wear watches or, check the calendar.

  “What if the gamekeeper’s wrong?” I asked. “I can’t imagine this is an exact science. There has to be room for some error, surely?”

  Carter shook his head and shot me a dangerous glare. When did I become the class troublemaker? “The keeper has been looking after these magical creatures all his life. I think we can safely put our faith in the ability of an expert.”

  Somewhat cowed, I shut up. Ooh, Carter was kinda sexy when he put his master’s hat on.

  “Anyway, our children will be quite safe, as long as they follow a few rudimentary rules, which we will impress upon them constantly. Now, if there are no further questions?”

  I wasn’t imagining that his gaze was fixed squarely on me. I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Good,” Carter replied. “Then we can move onto some basic first-aid training.”

  I gave him a sideways glance.

  “Just as a precaution,” Carter added.

  I nodded, half-convincingly.

  “Maisy will take over the presentation now.”

  The hole in the blackboard closed, and Carter took Maisy’s seat next to me.

  “Now,” Maisy began, her face bright with excitement. She pulled a large green leaf out of a plastic bag by her feet and beamed at us all. I recognized the leaf at once. “Let me introduce you to the healing properties of this wonderful exotic plant, aloe vera.”

  While she rambled on about how great the gel was for treating minor cuts and burns, my attention remained fixed on the wizard sitting next to me. A moment ago, I couldn’t have wrenched his gaze from my face. Now it was fixed resolutely ahead on the witch in front of me. Perhaps he was enraptured by Maisy’s over-animated exposition of the plant properties, or maybe it was the charms of the woman herself. I dunno, but something was clear as gel, and that was that his interest in me had undergone a one-hundred- and eighty-degree change. And not in a good way.

  I bit my lip, admittedly more than a little disappointed. But what had I done to deserve it? Nothing, as far as I could tell. Baffled, I sat back in my chair, focusing on Maisy’s presentation. Not that she had much to say I didn’t already know––but I wasn’t going to whisper a word about that, now, was I?

  Chapter 5

  The Familiars

  Pike’s backpack was already by the door, and she was waiting for me in the kitchen when I came down. MacGuffin was on the counter with her. She was staring at a sheet of paper, and, after looking up to see me approach, she slipped it into her pocket.

  “You’re an eager beaver,” I said, pretending not to notice as Moms often do. I put my packed case down by her backpack in the hall.

  As I walked into the kitchen, MacGuffin arched his back and I petted him. “Not this time, my friend,” I said. “We’ll be eight hours on a bus, and you would hate it. You’re on house duty.”

  The cat sat back on his haunches, then strolled over to the edge of the counter where he stretched his long front legs down and jumped to the floor. Pike watched him thoughtfully.

  “Penny for them,” I asked.

  “How did he come to be your familiar?” Pike asked, cocking her head MacGuffin’s way.

  I smiled, enjoying the memory as it came back to me. “Haven’t I told you? I thought I did already. It was prom night. He was sitting on the hood of my car when we came out of the dance hall.”

  “You never told me this before,” Pike said.

  “Maybe you never asked. I did tell you about the first time your dad kissed me, though, didn’t I?”

  Pike cringed and rolled her eyes. “About five thousand times.”

  “Well, it was on that night, so I might have overlooked the MacGuffin part. Your dad was a really good kisser, and I didn’t notice him at first, not for a while, anyway. MacGuffin,” I laughed, “not your dad.”

  I smiled again, lost in one of my dearest memories, but then I noticed Pike had a finger down her throat and was pretending to gag.

  “Well, you asked!”

  “It’s just that look on your face, Mom.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, when I came up for air, there he was, perched on my Pontiac, staring at us both. Your dad tried to shoo him off, but he wouldn’t budge. I remembered thinking, you must be a kinky little kitty and petted him. He’s stuck by me faithfully from that day to this.”

  “Hmm. What use are they, anyway?” Pike grumbled. “He just sits around and always looks like he knows something I don’t. I don’t see what the big to-do is. Not all witches have one.”

  MacGuffin had moved to the window ledge and was cleaning behind his ears. Right now, I supposed he looked just like any other cat in the universe, but then I knew what he could do, and I had never shared the details of our bond with anyone, not even Oliver or Pike.

  “Every familiar is different,” I said, “some channel a witch’s magic, others transform and become the eyes and ears of their shaman. The true nature of the relationship is sacred to the bonded pair. They might look cool, but being cool means nothing in the end. You’ll never know what they do for each other, and as you know, it’s rude to ask.”

  “But how will I ever find out what’s right for me? I hate all this stupid wise-old-witch crap. I wish someone would just tell me straight.”

  “Language, Pike.”

  It was hard knowing the answer was that there was no simple answer. Pike would just have to wait and figure it out for herself. My instinct was always to tell her everything, but this time, I had to disappoint her. It was an unwritten rule.

  “Come on. If we don’t leave now, we’ll miss the bus.”

  Grumpy as anything, Pike slid off the table and sauntered out to the hall to pick up her backpack. I grabbed my things, and after making sure MacGuffin had plenty to eat and drink, I followed Pike out to the car and tossed my stuff in the back.

  Pike was already settled in the backseat and I leaned on the horn, signaling to Björn we were ready to go.

  There was a hedge between our two properties, and a moment aft
er beeping, Bo bounced out of the house, clearly eager to get going, and his dad followed closely behind, pausing only to lock up his house.

  In the rearview mirror, I watched Bo climb into the backseat next to Pike. His own familiar, a tiny fox cub, peeked out from inside his sweater. I sure hoped he was house trained; I’d just had this car detailed.

  “Hi,” Bo said, pleasantly enough to Pike.

  Raised in America, Bo had nothing of his dad’s Nordic twang, but his blond features, piercing blue eyes, and strong physique was pure Viking; he was an extremely good-looking young boy and was gonna be a hot commodity one day. I didn’t wonder why Crystal had set her mark on him so early.

  “Hey, Bo,” Pike said. She then turned away to look out of the car window. I couldn’t read her at all.

  There was no time to. Björn slammed the trunk down and wedged himself into my small car. I had to snatch my hand away from the gear shift to avoid it being crushed by his bulk.

  “Hello,” Björn said. “We have plenty of time, I think.” He glanced anxiously at the clock, suggesting he might think otherwise.

  “Plenty,” I said. “Anyway, I’m sure the bus won’t leave without us. They can’t afford to be two locos down.”

  I pulled slowly out of my drive, adjusting my rearview mirror which Björn had knocked out of line when he climbed in.

  “What did you call him, Bo?” I asked.

  “Her name is Molly. She’s a she.” He petted the animal’s head and turned, half-expecting Pike to want to pet it, but Pike’s attention remained glued to the outside. There was a time my daughter wouldn’t have been able to resist something so cute.

  “Where did you find her?” I asked.

  “We picked her up in Hexes. I couldn’t resist her the moment I saw her.”

  “Ah.” Hexes was the new familiar pet shop in town. I’d offered to take Pike there myself, but she’d shrugged and said she’d already checked it out.

  I thought it odd, this new trend in selling familiars for a price. It was legit enough, I supposed. If the familiar was willing, there was no reason they couldn’t be traded that way. Personally, I thought it rather limiting, since you were betting on the perfect familiar just showing up in the one spot. Inwardly, I shrugged. The world was changing; I just had to get used to it.