by Mindy Klasky
Stone and water. Intricate lacework and bottomless potential. Violet and silver. The sisters were radically different from each other, and from myself as well. I could never lead us in the sort of easy, united working that had become second nature between myself, my mother, and my grandmother. Making the attempt would be like juggling a brick, a plush toy, and a scoop of melting ice cream.
I was surprised to discover I’d closed my eyes, the better to sense their power. The better to avoid their questioning eyes, the vulnerability of witches standing before a new Coven Mother. No. Not a Coven Mother. A magistrix. A teacher.
I blinked hard. This should be easy. At the very least, I should be able to bring up a windy gust on my own. I should be able to show the others how it was done.
I couldn’t, though. My energy was too wrapped up in theirs. My force snagged on the intricate catacombs of Raven’s stone; it drowned in the depths of Emma’s water. I couldn’t find my place with these witches. I couldn’t strike the necessary balance.
I tried a dozen times. I made us change positions, taking different points on our triangle. I had Emma start the spell, with Raven joining in, then me. I had us trade off individual words. I ordered us to chant together.
Throughout it all, Tony and Caleb watched over our working. At first, they stood on high alert, ready to protect all three of us from whatever magical forces we raised on the farmhouse lawn. As our repeated attempts proved fruitless, though, both men relaxed. They settled on their heels, no longer twitching every time we shifted position. Spot finally sighed and retreated to the shade on the porch.
I hoped our guardians’ standing down would help me to concentrate. Yeah. Not so much. The mere fact that warders waited nearby sapped my concentration, kept me aware that there was a dangerous potential in our working, in any working.
Or maybe I was only making excuses.
When I finally accepted that I wasn’t going to synchronize our witchy powers through the words of the spell alone, I tried another tactic. I teamed Neko with Emma. I sent Kopek over to Raven, and I took Hani for myself. But when I dove deeper into my powers, the red-headed familiar skimmed the surface. When I rose to work with him, he pushed for a more complete connection. I shuffled the familiars again, but had no better luck working with Kopek.
Finally, I shook my head and stepped back from our poor trodden circle. “Let’s take a break,” I said. Everyone was polite enough to pretend they didn’t hear my voice shaking. Or maybe they were simply too tired to care.
I couldn’t let our first attempt at communal spellcraft end this way.
I didn’t have a choice.
I raised my chin and said, “This afternoon, the two of you should try working together, without my powers in the mix.” There. That sounded authoritative. I’d given my students their first assignment. “For now, let’s focus on getting the rest of our lives settled. When you’re not practicing this afternoon, go ahead and move into your new rooms. Unpack. Explore the farm. Make yourselves at home.”
Home. I winced at the belated reminder that I hadn’t yet told Neko about the housing situation. Damn. “Um,” I said to my familiar. “May I talk to you for a moment?”
My heart pounded as I led him toward the chopping block, a work-smoothed tree stump that David used for splitting endless cords of wood. On this summer day, the axe was nowhere in sight. That was probably just as well.
I swallowed hard and spoke to the ancient stump’s heartwood. My words ran together in a single stream. “I-sort-of-told-the-witches-they-could-live-in-your-apartment-I-hope-you-don’t-mind-too-much-but-I-couldn’t-figure-out-what-else-to-do.”
Neko’s voice was colder that the breeze we had just failed to summon. “Excuse me? Did you just say you’re throwing me out of my home?”
“I’m not! You and Jacques have been living in the city!”
“I slept above the garage last night,” Neko said. Last night. When my need had summoned him from his boyfriend’s side. When I had interrupted their plans for a party. When Neko had as much as told me that his relationship was on the rocks.
“I should have asked first, I know that. But I panicked. Clara sent those two without giving me any warning. If you’re going to be angry with anyone, you should be angry with her.”
“Clara didn’t give me an eviction notice. Oh, wait! You didn’t bother with that either.”
I’d never heard Neko this angry. But he had to realize that the Academy meant… He had to understand… No. He didn’t. He didn’t need to turn his life upside down just because I wanted him to.
And then I glimpsed the coward’s way out of this disaster. “Will you do me a favor, just for now? Help the guys get settled in the greenhouse and the barn. You’re so much better at that type of thing than I am.”
He gave me a withering look. “Do not even start with the flattery, Jane.”
“But you are better at it.” I braced myself and brought out the big guns. “I know it’ll take money to make things livable. We’re going to need all new bed linens.” I threw caution to the wind. “I’ll give you my credit card!”
“Sheets and blankets won’t be enough,” Neko pointed out, and I could have laughed in relief. I had won. I might need to declare bankruptcy, but I had won. Neko went on. “They’ll need towels. And throw rugs. And a lamp or two, at the very least. And window treatments. We can’t forget window treatments.”
I gulped and sternly reminded myself that poverty was the lesser of two evils. I had acted entirely out of line. And we did need to convert the barn and greenhouse into dorms.
Neko was just getting geared up. “Maybe if I picked up some new things for the place in D.C…. Jacques has his eye on some dishes. And we saw some adorable napkins just the other day.”
I swallowed hard. In for a penny, in for an entire savings account. I might as well cement my familiar’s forgiveness. “I’m sure you’ll be exhausted after all that shopping. Maybe if you treat Jacques to dinner at that new oyster bar on Connecticut Avenue, you’ll recover faster.” Oysters. Like I needed to coach Neko on aphrodisiacs of any type.
He knew a good deal when he heard it. As he extended his hand for my card, I knew I was going to regret this. Probably with interest payments for months. But a magistrix does what a magistrix has to do. I just hoped I wouldn’t be forced to declare bankruptcy before the Madison Academy had ever truly begun.
CHAPTER 4
SOMEHOW, I MANAGED to feed lunch to the invading hordes—there was a loaf of bread in the freezer and plenty of peanut butter and jelly—but I couldn’t avoid the all-too-obvious truth. I had to make a major run to the grocery store—sooner, rather than later. Clara’s tuition money couldn’t arrive quickly enough.
David pulled into the driveway as I finished dishing up the last of the sandwiches. Instead of coming into the house, though, he strode across the lawn. He paused at the circle of our abortive working, but then he headed toward the treeline behind the garage.
I frowned and wiped my hands on a towel. “Okay everyone. You have your marching orders. Neko should be over shortly, to help you all get settled in your new rooms.” I called Spot from his hopeful post beside the table and ducked out of the kitchen before anyone could ask questions.
At least the walk through the woods was soothing. My feet knew the trail without my providing any conscious thought. Oak trees arched overhead, the tips of their branches meeting like the vault of a cathedral ceiling. I barely registered the presence of squirrels and birds, the constant scurry of forest life at the edges of my sight and hearing. Sunlight dappled the ground, painting an ever-changing canvas beneath my feet.
Spot took point as often as he lagged behind. It was apparently hard work, keeping track of all the smells in the forest, but he made a valiant effort. Likewise, he embraced his duty of marking half the trees along the path.
Even though I knew the way, I was still surprised by the panorama as I stepped out of the sheltering forest. A lake stretched to the horizon, its sti
ll water mirroring the overcast sky above. A spray of sand arched around the shoreline, testament to some long-ago property owner who had dreamed of a true waterside retreat. A ramshackle boating shed nestled on the edge of the beach. I knew from past experience that it held a canoe and a couple of kayaks, life preservers, and a handful of beach chairs in varying stages of collapse.
I loved this lake. The water was perfectly still until a fish broke the surface, telegraphing its coded message in a flow of concentric rings. Reeds whispered on the shore, first as lush springtime grass, then as summer-dried stalks. Animals drank from the water and left their tracks in the wet sand, and ospreys nested in the lightning-shocked oak closest to the shore, calling to each other with their high-pitched cries.
The lake brought together all the elemental aspects of my power—the earth of the shoreline, the air of the sky above, the fire of sunlight reflecting off cool, clear water. The lake made me whole.
A dock was anchored on the sandy shore, and its weathered boards marched out over the water. David sat on the edge of the platform, staring out at the peaceful scene, looking like a painting by Edward Hopper.
He turned to watch as Spot ran along the shore, finding the perfect place to drink his fill from the lake. When the Lab shook his head to clean his muzzle, water droplets turned into rainbows. Spot made a visual survey of the entire beach, before he turned three times and sank onto the end of the dock. Settling his jowls on his front paws, he began the serious business of an afternoon nap.
I stepped over the dog and walked out to David. He shifted to his left as I approached, making room for me. I sank down beside him, leaning my head on his shoulder as his arm circled my waist. I closed my eyes against the sunlight sparkling off the water, realizing how deeply tired I was, how little I had slept the night before.
I forced myself to complete a long exhale, trying my best to get rid of all of my frustration and fear. “I hope your morning went better than mine.”
He grunted, a response that could have meant anything at all, and then he asked, “What happened?”
I gave him the five-minute summary of our failed working, wrapping up with my decisions about the new accommodations. We both winced over the slight matter of impending bankruptcy at the hands of Neko’s decorating binge. “How about you?” I asked. “Did you really have a meeting? Or were you just trying to get away from Candid Camera and BBC Presents?”
“The meeting was real.” His voice stayed mild, but I felt him pull away from me, even though he didn’t move a muscle.
I was the one who leaned back. “What’s going on?”
He ran a hand through his hair, a rare gesture of unease. “Your mother’s generous, er, gift is making me act a little faster than I’d planned. The magicarium is going to take a lot of money to run.”
Of course a magicarium would take money. We’d need real housing for one thing—for students, their warders, and familiars. Camping out in the farm’s outbuildings was a temporary solution at best. And while many of our classes would take place out of doors, we should have real rooms dedicated to study—sturdy tables, reliable chairs. Indoor study space would be especially important after the summer, when the weather changed and open air study became impractical.
And magical goods didn’t come cheap, either. I could share the Osgood collection; that was part of my impetus in setting up the Academy in the first place. But my students would need their own textbooks and runes, crystals and herbs. Obtaining enough precious stones for all everyone to work at once could drive us over a fiscal cliff in one semester.
I reminded David, “I’m responsible for raising the money we need.”
“We’re responsible,” he corrected. “We work together on this.”
I was torn. His words were an immediate comfort, a balm that eased all my fear and frustration from the morning’s failed working. But I was the one who had set us on this path. I had walked away from a perfectly good job, in a perfectly good library, solely because I’d come up with a crazy idea about opening a magicarium. I said, “I can’t ask you to—”
“You aren’t asking. I’m volunteering.”
Volunteering.
As my warder, David wasn’t required to raise money for me. But as my boyfriend… His calm acceptance of the financial situation doubled down on our personal relationship. I had to admit, I was thrilled by his words. And I was more than a little terrified.
“I can go through the collection in the basement, see what I can sell,” I said. “The Washington Coven would love to get their hands on some of those books.”
I didn’t want to have anything to do with the Coven, ever again. But if a sacrifice now—even a painful one—could guarantee full autonomy in the future? It was worth it. One hundred percent worth it.
David shook his head. “You’d be taking away one of the main reasons students have for coming to you in the first place.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to sell the lake.”
“What?” My shout was loud enough to startle a red-winged blackbird from a branch at the edge of the forest. As if in sympathy, one of the ospreys shrieked a mournful cry across the water.
“It makes sense,” he said. “We’ll be able to finance the magicarium now, and for the foreseeable future.”
Any other day, I would have trembled in excitement at the notion that David was thinking about our foreseeable future. Now, I had to demand, “How many houses are you talking about?”
“Not many. No more than the land can bear.”
I wasn’t asking about the land. I was asking about David. About the farm that had been in his family for decades. About the home he loved. “How many?” I pushed.
“The deal isn’t even final yet.”
“How many?”
“Thirty, to start with. Jonathan says this is a prime spot for one of those mixed communities—some condos and townhouses, along with single-family homes.”
I couldn’t believe he was tossing off the words so easily. He sounded like he was quoting some slick, full-color, real estate brochure. Which, I realized, he probably was. Or Jonathan had been. “You can’t be serious! Developers will build roads right through the woods. They’ll need access from the highway. They’ll dig wells and septic tanks—they’ll ruin everything!”
“Not everything.” He didn’t quite manage to push conviction into his words.
“Near enough. I can’t let you do it, David. You love this lake!”
And he did. I knew he did. He came out here when he was upset, when he needed a chance to think. He relaxed by the water, spinning out the tension that otherwise clung like fog on a London night. He let down his guard when he sat on this dock. For whatever short time he spent on the lake, he wasn’t a warder, wasn’t responsible for anyone or anything. He was himself.
And he was talking about giving up all of that for me.
“I can’t let you do it, David.”
“We don’t have any other choice.” Frustration sparked beneath his words.
We, he’d said. This was a problem for us to solve together, not as witch and warder, where I had absolute say about magical goals, where he could issue fiats about my safety. We needed to work together to make the magicarium a success. We needed to function as a couple.
“There are always other choices.” Frantic, I tried to come up with one of them. “What about the southern part of the property? The land closest to Parkersville.”
“What about it?”
“If we have to sell something, why not sell it instead of the lake? Proximity to town should make it valuable.”
“Not as valuable as waterfront.”
“But there’s more of it!” The force of my argument was growing. “We could sell more acres. We could harvest timber first, then put the property up for sale. Townhouses, condos, your Jonathan can build an entire planned community there!”
I knew I should feel a kinship for all of the land. There were trees on the southern point—some massive oaks. Animals made their
homes in the forest, birds and a whole host of mammals—foxes, raccoon, a lot of deer. There was power in the woods.
But there was also an old logging road that cut between the main property and the southern portion. And there was a deep ravine, too, the bed of a creek that ran dry every summer. The southern woods were beautiful, but they were already cut off from the land we called home.
Desperate times. Desperate measures. And if sacrificing those acres could save the delicate ecosystem of the lake, it would all be worthwhile.
I could feel David turning over the idea inside his head. He had already steeled himself to forfeit something he loved. He clearly hadn’t considered that there might be another path, another way. “We’d have to give up at least twenty acres,” he said. “Maybe more, depending on the value of the timber.”
I nodded. “And we can look at the magicarium. Figure out ways to scale back before we enroll a full class.”
“You’re not going to limit yourself there,” David warned.
“Not limit,” I said. “But structure. I don’t have to accept every student who finds her way to our doorstep. I can have standards. I have to.” I sounded so determined I knew I would have fooled any other person in the world. But my warder—my boyfriend—knew me better than that.
“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” David asked, but there was a smile behind the words as he delivered the bittersweet Hemingway quote.
“I know you don’t believe me now,” I countered. “And it doesn’t seem like having too many students is something we’re ever going to worry about. But I’m planning for the future. At least Clara is paying for Raven and Emma.”
David looked at me as if he feared I’d suddenly gone insane.
“I know,” I laughed. “Betting on Clara isn’t a good idea. But I’m going to make her follow through this time. She cared enough to send Raven and Emma here in the first place!”
“She’s probably already forgotten they’re here.”