My Favorite Witch

by Lisa Plumley

  Francesca laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Professor. Your open adoration of me.” She gave him a curious look, all her feminine powers on full display. She seemed to know better than to touch him outright. “It’s a good thing I’m crazy about you. Otherwise, you’d have an unfair advantage.”

  He already did have an unfair advantage. The Patayan magic T.J. had added to his disguise made it impervious to witchy detection. His intrinsic magic couldn’t block the deception he was using, but it muddled its signals just enough—just enough that when Francesca felt that witchy warning tingle, she would think it was because of the clandestine relationship she’d been carrying on with her professor. The witches in her cusping-witch class would believe the same thing. Francesca hadn’t exactly been discreet in her zeal to be awarded juweel status. Everyone in the class knew about her dalliance with Professor Reynolds.

  Just as importantly, T.J.’s disguise—like the disguise he’d employed with Sumner—would keep the IAB from learning more about his Patayan mission. He knew Garmin was keeping tabs on him.

  This time, though, his boss hadn’t employed foragers.

  This time, Garmin had used Dayna. T.J. had detected the head agent’s imprint on her yesterday, when they’d reconnected. It had been all he could do not to confront her—to demand, with warlock possessiveness, why she’d allowed another male’s touch. But he’d resisted, knowing that waiting was a better strategy. And he’d withstood the unpleasant results of Garmin’s contact today, when Dayna had questioned him. He hoped she would have enough faith in him not to fall for the IAB’s scare tactics.

  But for now, he had Francesca to deal with.

  As Reynolds, T.J. chuckled. He hadn’t planned to meet her alone tonight. He was here to test Sumner and Lily—the likeliest vixen witches in the class—and learn which of them possessed the strongest magic. He was sure it was Sumner. But he couldn’t afford to overlook Lily…or Francesca.

  As a recognized leader, she would be integral to any vixen pact that formed—including the vixen pact that might lure Sumner away from the Patayan’s cause. In a sense, Francesca was T.J.’s competition for Sumner’s allegiance. It would benefit him to know as much about her as possible.

  At first, he’d believed Francesca might be the juweel he was looking for. She was a vixen. She was powerful. She was undeniably charismatic. But his magus’s assertion that the vixen they needed would be isolated, unsure, and indecisive had eliminated Francesca from consideration.

  The flirtatious witch in front of him was nothing if not socially adept, self-confident, and decisive. While shadowing her at Janus, T.J. had seen Francesca orchestrate complicated events, berate employees, cajole resort guests, and make decisions with ruthless certainty. Unless his magus was wrong…

  But his magus couldn’t be wrong. T.J. was sure of that.

  As far as T.J. could tell, Francesca was not spending her time deliberating over which witchy alliances to make in the magical world. Most of her energies—and magic—seemed to be aimed at belittling other witches…and bewitching Professor Reynolds into making her the juweel of her class. Her naked ambition had made her easy to dupe with his disguise. All Francesca really saw was herself. In his eyes, she saw only her own reflection.

  “So…it’s getting late.” Francesca tilted her head toward the classroom door. She licked her lips. “Shall we?”

  Her invitation was even more blatant than Sumner’s had been. When he’d first infiltrated the class, T.J. hadn’t been surprised to learn that Professor Reynolds’s integrity had lapsed during his tenure as cusping-witch class instructor. But he had been disappointed.

  On the other hand, what warlock’s integrity hadn’t wavered once or twice? Especially when faced with an alluring witch and a half hour to kill before class?

  Offering her a smile, T.J. raised his arm.

  At his magical nudge, the classroom door whooshed open. Francesca squealed with delight, then hugged his arm with an enthusiasm such minor magic definitely didn’t deserve.

  “Ooh! I love it when you show how powerful you are!”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” T.J. promised.

  He put his hand to Francesca’s back, guided her into the classroom, then shut the door firmly behind them.

  An instant later, the lock engaged. For better or worse, T.J. was about to make a deal with the devil.

  Chapter Twenty

  Running typically late, Dayna ducked into class at the last minute. Witches were already in their seats, chatting and casting minor spells; Professor Reynolds was at the front of the room, discussing something with Francesca. Behind him, the whiteboard showed a syllabus written in a language Dayna didn’t recognize, full of cryptic symbols. That probably meant it was a magical pop quiz. Great. Toting the pet carrier she’d spent the past half hour selecting at a downtown store, she headed for her usual seat in the back of the room. Or at least she tried to.

  Two of the cashmere witches blocked her path. Dressed in skinny black pants and chic sweaters, Sumner and Lily leaned across the aisle between desks, their heads bent over a cell phone. They laughed and pointed to something on EnchantNet.

  Dayna exhaled. “Excuse me.”

  They ignored her. In gossipy, privileged tones, they critiqued whatever they were reading. Without so much as a glance at Dayna, Sumner stretched her legs farther across the aisle. Her glossy boots formed a rude but efficient barrier.

  “Excuse me,” Dayna said more loudly.

  Her voice carried. Several curious witches, including Camille, turned her way—as though anticipating another Dayna Sterling-style gaffe. Or some misused magic. Or both.

  Beneath their scrutiny, Dayna considered relenting. There was another aisle only steps away. She could easily avoid this confrontation. But there was something about the way Lily and Sumner blocked her path. It was as if they knew they could do whatever they wanted…and other witches would applaud them for it. Even now, the nearby witches—many of them dressed in copycat cashmere—leaned closer, eager to follow the unfolding drama.

  Defying Francesca or her cohorts was social suicide. They knew it. So did Dayna. It didn’t stop her.

  “You’re blocking the aisle. Would you mind moving, please?”

  Languidly, Lily looked up. “Yes, we would mind.”

  Sharing a giggle with Sumner, she flicked her fingers over her cell phone. The device’s smooth black screen looked exactly like the one the warlock agent, Luis, had used at the IAB.

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t ask nicely first.”

  “We won’t.” Looking annoyed, Sumner glanced up. Her gaze traveled over Dayna’s clothes, then landed on her new pet carrier. She smirked. “A kitten familiar. How…basic of you.”

  “I had one exactly like that,” Lily said. “In third grade.”

  The witches surrounding them tittered. Dayna clenched her fist on her carrier’s handle. Protectively, she turned the latched opening away from their derisive laughter. If she was lucky, her familiar wouldn’t hear it. The kitten might be stubborn, headstrong, and quick to express her displeasure at whatever was happening around her…but so was Dayna. Sometimes a bad attitude was just a cover to hide softer feelings.

  Feelings that could be easily hurt. Just like Dayna’s were right now. She still didn’t belong here. But she was done with trying to fit in. All that had brought her was humiliation.

  At the realization, a buzz began at the base of her spine. It moved up her backbone, just like the warning sensation Dayna had experienced when T.J. had come for her at DRL, then vibrated to her extremities. Like an able child, she felt powerful, ready to perform magic beyond all her abilities. Even before she heard the voice behind her, she knew whom it would belong to.

  “Is there a problem here?” Francesca asked.

  Dayna turned to face her witchy rival. The queen bee of Covenhaven stood with one hand on her cashmere-clad hip, looking undeniably stylish and indisputably commanding. Her pretty face was arranged in an exp
ression of polite interest. But underneath all those external factors, Dayna sensed…something else.

  It was protectiveness, she realized with a jolt. Francesca Woodberry actually felt protective toward her friends.

  Even though she didn’t know exactly what was happening—and even though Dayna hardly posed a terrifying threat—Francesca had instantly rushed to take Sumner’s and Lily’s side in the issue.

  What must that be like? Dayna wondered with a sense of grudging awe. To have lifelong friends who stood by one another, no matter what? To be part of a friendship that was closer than sisterhood? To stand together, united, against all threats?

  Dayna didn’t know. She’d never experienced that kind of friendship or that kind of belonging. She’d abandoned her own best friend, Camille, years ago. When cusping-witch class was finished, she would likely abandon Camille all over again. She had to. Her life was in Phoenix; she’d lived too long as an unlinked witch to turn back now. Still, Dayna couldn’t help yearning for that kind of friendship…however foolishly.

  It was the naked yearning that finally pushed her.

  “No, there’s no problem.” Drawing in a deep breath, Dayna focused on Sumner’s shiny knee-high boots. Briefly, she closed her eyes. “Sumner was just on her way to the ladies’ room.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” Sumner rolled her eyes. “Francesca, you—”

  Suddenly, Sumner’s eyes widened. She lurched from her seat by force, flailing her arms. Jarringly, her left foot took a step. Then her right. With a squeal, Sumner grabbed her boot.

  It wobbled in her hands, then thunked another step forward. Sumner teetered behind it. Awkwardly forced by her enchanted footwear, she headed to the Covenhaven Academy lavatories.

  Clumsily, she banged into a desk and stubbed her toe.

  “You bitch!” Her gaze, malevolent and incredulous, veered to Dayna. “These are brand-new boots. What did you do to them?”

  “I don’t know.” Dayna smiled. “It must have been an accident. I’m pretty bad at magic, remember?” She watched with satisfaction as Sumner took another staggering, disjointed step toward the door. “You’ve got the memory flickers to prove it.”

  “I’ll erase them!” Sumner reeled down the aisle like a fashionably dressed drunk. Her pleading gaze flashed to Francesca, then to Dayna again. “I swear I will! I’m sorry!”

  “Say something nice about my kitten, too.”

  Sumner’s gaze swerved to Dayna’s familiar. “It’s a very nice kitten!” She jolted another step. “It’s awesome! So furry!”

  With fleeting interest, Francesca looked at Dayna’s pet carrier. Upon glimpsing the now-meowing kitten inside, her gaze narrowed. Without looking at Sumner, she gave an impatient wave.

  At the gesture, Dayna’s enchantment fell away. Sumner wobbled once more, then straightened. She gave her boots a suspicious glare. Then her gaze lifted to Dayna.

  If looks could kill, Dayna would have been underground.

  In the silence, Professor Reynolds’s voice boomed. “Take your seats, everyone. We have a lot of work to do tonight.”

  With a flurry of disappointment, the other witches turned their attention to their instructor. Francesca turned to Dayna.

  “Cool spell,” she said. “You remind me of myself, Darla.”

  Regally, Francesca took her seat beside Lily and Sumner.

  Dayna gawked after her in surprise. Francesca Woodberry was impressed by her. Could this night get any more surreal?

  The curious thing about cusping witches, T.J. thought, was that they were so hungry for their instructor’s approval. Even though they were reaching the apex of their powers and would soon command magic stronger than any warlock could manage, they remained eager for a kind word, a nod of appreciation, or a special accolade from him. The cusping witches, he’d realized, needed his attention. They were hardwired to get it. From his position at the front of the class, he could scarcely take a step without thirty pairs of eyes following his every move.

  From each row of desks, hushed witches leaned into their hands, their gazes fixed on his face and body as they listened to his lesson for the night. Interest, fascination, and even sexual curiosity flowed from his “students” to him, moving in undulating waves that were impossible to block completely.

  The same thing must be happening to instructors all across Covenhaven—and in witchfolk districts worldwide—as the IAB strove to educate this year’s collective of cusping witches. There were over a thousand cusping witches in Covenhaven alone. T.J. wasn’t sure if Garmin and his allies appreciated the magnitude of what they’d done when they’d stolen the education of cusping witches from the coven elders and bureaucratized it.

  They must be realizing it now, for better or worse.

  As he strode toward the middle of a row, intent on making a point about transmogrification spells, one brazen witch squeezed his ass. Startled, T.J. jumped. When he gazed down at the witch, she met his look with a provocative expression of her own, then slowly licked her lips. You’re fantastic, she mouthed.

  No wonder a weaker warlock like Reynolds had caved in to his primal instincts. Teaching a pack of hormonally surging, magic-wielding, ultrapowerful cusping witches was like running a psychological gauntlet. Naked. In a maze. With a hard-on.

  Fortunately, T.J.’s IAB training came to the fore. Ignoring his warlock urgings for pleasure, he focused on sending out his own signals—signals of authority, expertise, and detachment. He remained unmoved by the witches’ antics. He was here for a higher purpose: to learn, once and for all, which of these witches was the vixen witch he sought. The juweel.

  To that end, he devised a series of tests. The first two involved complex spells; their results were inconclusive. The third involved interpretation of ancient incantations. Gesturing to the whiteboard, T.J. again used Reynolds’s academic tone.

  “Who can explain this series of incantations?”

  Obediently, the witches turned their faces toward the board. Instantly, their expressions creased with confusion.

  The kind-faced witch, Camille, raised her hand. “Is it in code?” she asked. “I don’t recognize the dialect.”

  “It is not encoded,” T.J. told her. “Anyone else?”

  Lily Abbot rolled her eyes. “It’s a trick. It’s not real.”

  T.J. shook his head. “It’s real. And very powerful.”

  Yawning, Sumner examined her manicure. Dayna squinted at the board, determination written on her face. In that moment, T.J. loved her for that—for her grit and willingness to try.

  He simply loved her, he realized with a rush of giddy emotion. He loved his bonded witch wholly and unstoppably.

  A second later, Dayna sighed. She looked away, clearly having given up. Disappointed, T.J. examined the rest of the class. A few witches scrolled through EnchantNet on their cell phones, searching for clues. Others copied down the words, frowning as they wrote the unfamiliar ancient symbols.

  “How long are we going to spend on this?” Francesca gave him a bored look. “It’s clear nobody knows the answer.”

  “This is the most important lesson for tonight,” T.J. said. “We’ll stay here as long as it takes.”

  Impatiently, Francesca exhaled. With an air of annoyance, she blurted the words of the first incantation. The old dialect rolled easily off her tongue, laden with augury and potency.

  With a crack of magic, the room wavered, then surged. The sulfurous smell of magic tinged the air. The desks suddenly heaved, animating themselves. Beneath the arms and hands of the witches who occupied them, the desks bucked violently upward.

  A chorus of squeals erupted. Books and possessions slid to the floor in a jumble. Wide-eyed witches clutched their desks. Their efforts only added to the mayhem; sensing their occupants’ unease, the charmed desks shuddered in response and jumped more wildly. More books flew through the air, then collided and crashed to the floor. Several witches reeled out of their seats. They fled to the back of the room, near the darkened windows.<
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  Francesca sat safely in her seat. With a smug gesture, she petted her desktop. Beneath her touch, the wood and metal sighed with contentment. Beside her, Lily and Sumner did the same.

  Their responses were interesting, but not sufficient for his purposes. T.J. still couldn’t tell which of them had stumbled upon that soothing tactic—or which of them was most powerful. Uttering a Patayan enchantment, he countered the desks’ animation charm. At once, they went still. They landed with all four legs on the floor, creating a loud clatter. His students cried out. They stared, a few of them pointing.

  “It’s all right,” T.J. said. “Come back to your desks.”

  Two witches near him gave their desks wary looks. One leaned toward the other. “Night school just got intense.”

  “It’s probably just a trick, like Lily said,” the other witch disagreed. “Nobody knows magic like a vixen witch does. We’re lucky Francesca doesn’t do that stuff all the time.”

  T.J. already knew that Francesca’s, Lily’s, and Sumner’s status as a vixen trio was well known around Covenhaven. Hearing it discussed so casually still took him aback. On the other hand, most of these witches had known each other since they were able children. It was no surprise they accepted the vixen witches in their midst—and by all appearances, envied them, too.

  “Francesca, that was impressive.” As Reynolds, he turned to face her. “How did you know to enact the enchantment?”

  The beautiful witch shrugged. “I didn’t.”

  “Clearly”—T.J. pointed his arm at the desks—“you did.”

  “That was just an accident.” Francesca traded a mischievous glance with her friends. “I pronounced the words phonetically. I had to. If I hadn’t, you would have kept us here all night.”

  The class burst into laughter. A few witches sent admiring glances Francesca’s way. Some of them leaned across the aisle to whisper their approval, embellishing their words with nods and smiles. Francesca accepted their praise with jaded equanimity.