by Mindy Klasky
Emma was having her own wild time. In a matter of days, she and Rick became inseparable. He stayed overnight when he wasn’t on shift at the firehouse, joining us for awkward “brekkies” in the morning. I wasn’t sure how much Emma had told him about her magical life. Having walked that line with mundane boyfriends before, I understood how hard it could be to find a proper balance.
Of course, we needed to look no farther than Neko to see just how challenging mixed magic/mundane relationships could be. But Neko wasn’t fighting that particular battle at the moment, not with Tony. Certainly, the guys could have discussed magic in a way Emma and Rick could never do. But I got the distinct impression they weren’t doing a lot of talking when they were alone together. At least Neko implied as much, as he yawned his way through our classes. We both pretended not to notice when he nodded off as I demonstrated a particularly delicate crystal purification spell. I was especially leery of throwing around any ultimatums, witch to familiar.
Whatever was going on in the apartment above the garage, it certainly seemed to mellow Tony. He completely abandoned his combative stance, on everything from the proper way to cast a protective circle to who was responsible for washing dishes. If I didn’t know better, I would have said that aliens had replaced the belligerent warder. But I did know better, and I was willing to let the relationship continue, so long as my familiar did not get hurt.
Caleb divided his time between the television in the living room (which carried more baseball games than I’d ever dreamed possible), construction work at the barn (including cabinet-making—the man seemed to have unlimited skills with power tools), and keeping a watchful eye on Emma, whenever she would tolerate his chaperoning services. Kopek followed him around like a moon in an irregular orbit.
And David… Well, David was the one person I barely saw. He remained the model warder, present for every working that raised any significant level of power. He even acted as a consultant, advising me on teaching methods, suggesting avenues of study with regard to runes and crystals and herbs. Occasionally, he worked downstairs in his office, but he spent most of his free time away from the house.
After one stilted conversation, we’d agreed he should take Spot down to the barn. The dog had been David’s long before I’d ever moved into the house. I missed them both—more, with each day that passed.
More than once, though, I regretted taking Gran’s advice. I wished I’d never moved Raven and Emma back into the house. There was always someone underfoot when I most needed a moment of peace and quiet. I spent a lot of time in the basement, reading up on whatever topic we intended to cover in the next day’s class.
I refused to admit I was keeping an eye on David’s office, basking in the glow of his overhead light when he actually worked there. Mourning his absence when he was gone.
After three weeks of the most intense study I’d ever imagined, I had to do something to change things up. The Court had set its Samhain deadline because that was one of the great sabbats, one of eight key dates in a witch’s year. Lughnasadh—August 1—was another one of the great days, the first harvest festival of the year.
I decided to use the power inherent in that date. I would harness the sabbat to my own magical cause. Come Lughnasadh, everything about the Madison Academy was going to change.
* * *
August 1st arrived, heavy and hot before the sun had even cleared the horizon. I climbed out of bed early, consciously looking past the smooth sheets where David should have slept. Downstairs in the dark kitchen, I was startled to find Neko sitting at the center island, perched on the edge of a barstool. He sighed explosively as he stared into his giant mug of milk.
“Long night?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I shrugged and shambled toward the refrigerator.
Before I could decide between a peach and a plum, Neko said, “He snores.” I started to offer sympathy, but Neko interrupted. “No. I don’t want to talk about it.”
I settled for a wordless sound and returned my attention to the fridge.
“It wouldn’t be such a big deal,” Neko said, “if he’d just roll over when I poke his side.”
“You—”
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it!”
I gritted my teeth and retrieved a container of organic yogurt from the top shelf of the fridge. I peeled back the foil cover and started to stir in the sweet raspberry sauce from the bottom.
Neko sighed. “Raspberry… Tony loves raspberries.”
I put my spoon on the counter. “If Tony—”
“Why is this so hard to understand, Jane? I don’t want to talk about it! This is very private. Between Tony and me. I only pushed him out of bed because he woke me up six separate times. I didn’t mean for him to leave. It never crossed my mind he’d walk all the way back to his old room in the middle of the night. And it’s really not my fault he found the one stand of poison ivy between my apartment and the barn.”
“Really,” I said. “And we’re not talking about this? I have some Benadryl upstairs.”
“Go ahead, Jane, just like you always do. Make everything about you!” Neko crashed his mug down on the counter with enough force that I feared the pottery would shatter. Before I could decide whether to offer an undeserved apology, my familiar flung himself across the room.
“Neko!” I called, just before the door slammed shut. I whispered to the empty kitchen, “Don’t forget our working. Tonight. At dusk.”
And Neko proved to be the most stable person in the household that morning.
By noon, Raven was snarling because she’d accidentally deleted several hours of footage from her documentary-in-progress. Hani was sulking because she wouldn’t listen to his suggestions for rebuilding the file. Caleb was in a funk because the Diamondbacks had carried a no-hitter into the eighth, only to lose by an astonishing five runs.
Raven gave Kopek the evil eye when the familiar carried a liverwurst sandwich into the living room. “You are poisoning yourself with that so-called meat,” she sniffed.
“Better than starving to death on shoots and leaves,” Kopek said morosely.
“Does my sister know you eat that disgusting stuff?”
Kopek hung his head like a puppy caught chewing on a shoe. As smelly as the sandwich was, I felt sorry for him. He was a grown man, and he deserved to eat what he wanted. I chimed in to cut off Raven’s inevitable next barb. “Where’s Emma?”
Raven shrugged one shoulder, allowing her T-shirt to slip free and reveal a silken violet bra-strap. “Still upstairs with loverboy.”
“Fine,” I said, making sure I kept my tone perfectly even. “Just make sure she’s at the lake by eight.”
I left then. My own belly was flipping beneath my rib-cage, from nerves about the working we were going to undertake that night. I drove into town to pick up the last few things we needed, repeatedly telling myself that the ritual would be fine.
Parkersville was quiet. The air was heavy, the heat oppressive. The few people who had to be outside moved slowly, as if they were trying to preserve their energy. I wasn’t tempted to linger beneath the dusty elm trees lining Main Street.
Back at the house, I headed directly up to my bedroom. Opening my closet door, I reached to the very back. A few garments hung there, gowns, robes, things I would never wear out on the street. Some had come with Hannah Osgood’s books, and I’d found others in the past four years.
The dress I took out was one of the latter. It was a deep crimson silk, a shade that caught the darkest highlights in my hair. Its hidden side zipper, sweetheart neckline, and ruched pleats all combined to make me feel like a princess. No. I felt like a queen—strong and powerful, in control of my fate and the destiny of those around me.
I freed my hair from its high ponytail and brushed a dozen strokes. Rummaging in the bottom of my closet, I found a pair of flat sandals, and then I collected a basket from the top of the bureau. I’d been placing items in it for the p
ast couple of weeks, things we would need for the evening’s ritual.
When I headed back downstairs, the house was quiet. Refusing to worry about whether everyone was preparing properly for the working, I collected the bags I’d procured in town and headed down to the lake.
Walking through the woods, I was preternaturally aware of my dress brushing against my legs. The caress awakened me to living things in the forest around me. Yes, the forest was dry. Animals were scarce. But hope was buried deep around me, the possibility for change.
The lake was still when I emerged from the woods, looking like melted iron beneath the heavy sky. If anything, the air had grown heavier since I’d been in town. The constant summer haze had condensed into lowering thunderheads.
I kicked off my shoes and walked out on the dock, relishing the warmth of the wood beneath my feet. My calves flexed as I stood on the very edge of the platform.
Alas, David had made an accurate prediction about the quality of the water. The summer’s unabated heat had pushed the lake out of balance. Without rain to churn the surface, the water had grown stagnant, and there was a faint scent of rot in the air. A mat of duckweed floated on the surface, and a slick of oily yellow spread across the water.
I looked across to the far shore. Several trees had succumbed to the poor conditions, leaving nothing but skeletal branches to scratch against the sky. I could just make out a raft of brown grass floating near the distant edge, yet another product of decay.
No matter. After our working, all would be changed.
A flurry of wings interrupted my study, and I looked up in time to see the male osprey returning to his nest. As he settled on the edge of the loose array of twigs, he dropped a fish from his talons. He opened his beak to offer a sharp victory cry.
A trio of miniature ospreys tumbled from nearby branches. The fledglings were awkward; they flapped their wings too hard, and they barely managed to make it back to the nest. They wasted no time feeding, though, tearing apart their father’s offering with sharp beaks.
The male hadn’t pulled his prey from our lake; I’d seen no ripples. He must have flown farther afield, forced to hunt elsewhere because of the stagnant water.
I took a steadying breath and walked back to the sandy beach to prepare for our working. Reaching into my basket, I extracted four thick candles, each the rich red of new-harvested apples. I breathed in the scent of their beeswax, centering myself, pushing my awareness toward the cardinal points.
There. North. I placed the first candle carefully, taking care that it was level on the sand. I paced a quarter circle to my right, measuring out a space that was a few yards across, large enough for three witches to work with their familiars. Our warders would stand outside our sacred circle, protecting us from any interference. At the easternmost point, I planted another candle. When I was satisfied with its placement, I walked the circle to the south, then to the west.
In the center of the space defined by the four candles, I spread a woven cloth, also taken from my basket. I had no idea how Hannah Osgood had used the fabric, but it was perfect for this working, with its crimson and orange threads, all bound together with a sparkle of gold. The fabric would symbolize our altar; it would indicate a space specifically dedicated to Lughnasadh.
When I was satisfied that I had centered the cloth perfectly, I dipped into the bag from Parkersville. The loaf of bread I pulled out was nearly as big as my head. I’d chosen it because it had half a dozen whole grains baked into its sourdough crust. For a proper ritual, I should have baked my own bread, but I knew any loaf I attempted was certain to be flat and misshapen, burned on at least one side. Better to support the bakery in town. Far better.
I reached into my basket one last time to extract a vermilion cloth sack. When I loosened its drawstrings and peered inside, I was heartened to see the dried kernels of corn I’d procured weeks ago. Our own corn harvest was in serious jeopardy, the stalks stunted and sere, but the symbolism of our ritual would remain intact. I centered the bag on the altar cloth.
As I straightened, my companions began to make their way from the woods onto the beach. I wasn’t surprised to see Raven leading the group and David bringing up the rear.
The men were clothed in black robes, simple garments that hung in straight lines from their shoulders to their feet. Like me, Emma had dressed for the occasion—she wore a stunning gown of tangerine silk shot through with a lemon ribbon that echoed the glint of her hair. Raven, alas, seemed to have missed the memo. Like the men, she wore a black robe. Its nubby fabric stole the luster from her hair, making even the violet streak seem drab.
I sighed. I hadn’t told my students what to wear when I outlined our ritual. I had no right to be disappointed that Raven had not read my mind.
“Greetings,” I called, but I kept my voice low, tamped down by the steely sky above us. As if in reply, a peal of thunder rumbled in the distance. My heart leaped. Approaching rain was a good omen for our working.
The others offered up their greetings. They found their places without my prompting—the witches and their familiars standing inside the circle I’d defined with my candles, the warders taking up protective stances outside.
I told myself not to look at David. As my warder, he was ready for his role in this working, an island of calm and reason. As my boyfriend… No. That thought was meaningless tonight.
I licked my lips and swallowed hard. This first ritual of the Madison Academy was going to be everything I’d planned for. Everything I’d dreamed.
Well, not precisely everything. I wasn’t going to attempt true communal magic with my students. We weren’t going to share powers the way I had with Emma, washing dishes in the kitchen, or with Clara and Gran. We were following the more traditional route dictated by our shortened semester.
Despite straying from my original goal for the Academy, I was heartened by the sabbat energy gathering around us. Power pulsed through the air even though we had yet to speak a single arcane word. The tiny hairs on my arms were charged as if I had bathed in electricity. I drew a deep breath to steady myself, and then I said, “To the greater glory of Hecate. Let us begin.”
I inclined my head toward David. Now I couldn’t help but see that his face was gaunt, as if he were not sleeping well in the barn. Nevertheless, he produced a silver sword from the folds of his robe, and he strode to the first candle, to East, to Air. I met him at the border of the circle, ready to speak my words of Calling even as he traced an etheric circle to bind us all safely.
Neko leaned in close to my side. Alas, I could tell he was still out of sorts. His fingers rubbed against his thumbs, and he flinched to duck away from a buzzing fly. I raised my eyebrows, but he only huffed and shifted his feet on the sand.
I fought against a frown and turned my attention to David. I could work the Calling without Neko’s assistance. Once we had cast our circle, my familiar should be more focused on magic, more removed from the mundane world.
I nodded, and David raised his sword, managing to look in my general direction without ever meeting my gaze. Pushing down annoyance at his impeccable distance, I knelt before the candle and raised my palms in polite invitation to the spirits of the Quarter. “Blessings of the East upon us, Guardians of Air. Bring us perfect love and perfect trust.”
I cupped my hands on the far side of the candle and gathered together magical energy. “Guardians of Air, light our way,” I breathed, and the fresh wick kindled. I collected the light with my hands, bringing it up to my eyes as a gesture of respect for all the natural world. Even as my fingertips touched my forehead, I felt the slightest of breezes, the presence of the Elementals of Air.
After I stood, David glided to the next candle, the southern one, tracing the tip of his sword just above the ground. As I matched him, pace for pace, a golden fire trailed from his weapon. Power sizzled into the sand, bubbling up to form an arched wall above my head.
Caleb waited at the southern point, his own sword held ready. Emma came to
stand opposite her warder. Kopek hovered a few steps behind her, as if he were embarrassed and had no idea where else to stand. I made a mental note to address his lack of confidence at our next classroom session.
Emma raised her hands above the candle and recited, “Blessings of the South upon us, Guardians of Fire.” She stumbled on that last word, on fire. In fact, her cheeks kindled, brighter than any flame. It didn’t take a lot of conjecture to realize she was thinking of Rick, of her own personal fireman.
I considered stopping the ritual, then and there. But my students—and I—needed to learn how to work past distractions. Emma cleared her throat and continued: “Bring us perfect love and perfect trust.” She cupped her hands behind the candle and lit the wick, flushing prettily as she said, “Guardians of Fire, light our way.”
I tried to calm my pounding heart as the six of us—witches, warders, and familiars—walked another quarter turn around the circle. Caleb’s sword traced fire in the sand, taking on a silver tint that rippled where it met David’s gold. Half the arc was set above our heads when we reached Raven.
Tony stepped up outside the circle, baring his own sword and taking over the lead from the other warders. He wore white gloves, the better to hide poison ivy blisters, I assumed. His face was flushed.
Emma and I assumed our positions on either side of Raven, embracing our role as handmaidens to the magic she was about to summon. The dark-haired witch lifted her arms high above her head, and in perfect choreography, the sash of her robe fell open. The garment slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Hani leaped forward to collect it from the ground; he was already folding it into a rough square when Raven jutted out her hip in an all-too-familiar gesture.
Except, this time, she was stark naked.
I fought to shut down my surprise. After all, Emma didn’t look astonished. Caleb, either. Tony and Hani obviously expected to find their witch without a stitch of clothing. Neko arched a single eyebrow. David’s face was carved from stone; he was concentrating on the weapon in his hands, on the protection he offered all of us.