by Mindy Klasky
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
SNEAK PEEK
THANK YOU!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ALSO BY MINDY KLASKY
ABOUT MINDY KLASKY
ABOUT BOOK VIEW CAFÉ
JOY OF WITCHCRAFT
Mindy Klasky
Joy of Witchcraft
Copyright © 2015 Mindy Klasky
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Book View Café Publishing Cooperative.
Cover design by Jennifer Moffatt
Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
P.O. Box 1624, Cedar Crest, NM 87008-1624
http://bookviewcafe.com
ISBN 978-1-61138-543-4
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Discover other titles by Mindy Klasky at http://www.mindyklasky.com
To Kirstin Olsen,
who introduced me to a NWTA so many years ago
CHAPTER 1
Sometimes a thunderstorm is just a thunderstorm.
Opaque black clouds, torrential rain, and wind whipping across the front yard at hurricane force don’t have to mean anything arcane. At least, that’s what I told myself as I looked out the farmhouse window after sunset on Samhain.
Alas, I knew better. Plenty of people wanted to see the Jane Madison Academy fail, and this was exactly the type of tactic they’d use. Threaten me with direct lightning strikes, and I couldn’t very well celebrate the witch’s new year. Without a magic ritual, I couldn’t officially welcome my first real class of students. No students meant no classes, and then I’d be in violation of my hard-won charter.
And it wasn’t just the Academy on the line. My enemies wanted my magical tools—the books and runes and crystals laid out on shelves in the farmhouse basement, painstakingly organized by all the principles I’d mastered as a librarian before I ever knew I was a witch. They wanted Neko too, my familiar.
As another torrent of rain slashed across the front porch, Neko shuddered from the crown of his immaculately coiffed head to the tips of his leather-clad toes. There were times I almost forgot I’d awakened this man out of a magical statue of a cat, that I’d bound him to my service on the night of a full moon. But when he trembled the way he did now, he looked every bit like his feline avatar. I half expected him to lick the side of his palm and use it to smooth down the flawless velvet of his close-cropped hair.
Instead, we both jumped as a vicious fork of lightning struck the main road. I barely had time to brace myself for the crash of thunder that followed. The entire house shook under the assault.
“We’ve got to get everyone in here,” I said, squinting through the glass into the rain-whipped darkness. “They aren’t safe in the garage apartment. The barn, either.” The school year might not have officially started yet, but I was already responsible for more than a dozen souls out there.
Neko cocked his head, as if he could hear something in the distance. “They’re fine,” he said.
I gave him a penetrating look. Neko could speak to other familiars; they had some obscure network that was hidden from us witches. I’d asked him to explain it before, but he always ran out of words. Familiars weren’t telepathic; they didn’t transmit individual words from mind to mind. Rather, they spoke in entire images, in complete concepts. That’s how a newly awakened familiar knew details about the world he faced, about how to best serve his witch.
But Neko wasn’t above lying if he thought he could spare himself a drenching.
“What?” he asked, the picture of complete innocence. “You don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t get to be magistrix of the Jane Madison Academy by trusting the world’s craftiest familiar.”
He preened, as if I’d just given him a compliment. “I’m the one who recommended that anti-frizz shampoo, didn’t I? And it’s worked wonders for your hair.” Neko devoted a lot of time to sounding like the most blatant stereotype of a gay man who ever belted out a Broadway anthem. I was convinced he put on the act just to astonish everyone when he proved to be the most attentive familiar a witch could ever ask for. “And I told you your fingernails would stop splitting if you added a tablespoon of protein powder to your smoothies. And just the other day, I distinctly remember telling you to practice your Kegel exercises if you really want to drive—”
A dry cough cut him off, and we both whirled toward the arch that led to the dining room. David Montrose stood there. My warder and I had met on a night much like this one—storm-tossed and chaotic, my then-newly-awakened powers tingling like the aftermath of a too-close lightning strike.
The first time I saw him, I thought he was an egotistical boor. I’m pretty sure he thought I was a naive twit—at best. I’ve never had the nerve to ask him what he thought, even though he’d stood by me through more arcane adventures than any witch should have in one lifetime. Even though I now wore his diamond engagement ring on my left hand.
“TMI?” Neko asked demurely.
“By half,” David said, striding across the room. His black Lab, Spot, stayed close by his heels, whining softly when another flash of lightning gave way to a roll of thunder. David automatically settled a hand on the dog’s broad forehead, murmuring a few words before he said to us, “The students are safe in their dormitory. Their familiars and warders, too. That barn has withstood worse storms than this.”
David came to stand behind me, and heat radiated from his body, all the warmer for the chill coming off the glass. His palm was warm against my nape, and I leaned into the firm touch of his fingers on my scalp. Spot pressed his head under my hand, eager for a comforting pat.
“Fine,” Neko said. “Believe your warder. Don’t trust what your familiar has to say.”
I smiled serenely, certain he would pick up my reflection in the window. “My warder completed the construction on those buildings. Of course he knows if they’re secure against this storm.”
Neko spluttered in mock protest as David slipped his hands to my waist. “You should get ready,” David told me. “In half an hour, we’ll get a break in the rain.”
I looked out at the storm savaging the lawn. “I didn’t know warders could work the weather.”
“We can’t. But we can check apps on our phones. According to the National Weather Service, we’ll get a break around ten. By midnight, though, we’ll be back in the middle of the deluge, so we’ll have to move quickly.”
I brushed a kiss against my boyfriend’s—my fiancé’s—lips before I headed upstairs to our bedroom. My Samhain finery was spread across the bed. The gown was a new one, carried home by a victorious Neko after a recent shopping foray in nearby Washington DC. Sewn of crushed velvet, the gored skirt rippled like a burgundy tide pool. Its
laced bodice was backed with ivory linen and princess sleeves fastened tight, with a row of onyx buttons.
I could use the bolstering effect of onyx. The Jane Madison Academy had gotten off to a rocky start, launching before I was fully ready. We’d barely secured our charter from Hecate’s Court by completing a Major Working at the last witch’s sabbat, on Mabon in late September.
Even then, we’d only succeeded because of the rather…unconventional style of my witchy powers. With the new year and my new students, I had a chance to prove I could conform to the Court’s rigid bureaucracy. I’d have to, or they’d shut me down for good.
And my first test was dressing appropriately for the upcoming working. At least my thoughtful familiar had supplied a Victorian buttonhook made out of tortoiseshell. I fastened the last onyx button with a satisfying tug.
As I smoothed my hands over my luscious skirt, I realized the spatter of rain against the window had died down. The wind had slackened as well; I could no longer hear the starving wolf howling around the corners of the farmhouse. David’s weather app had been accurate.
By the time I got back to the living room, my warder had knotted a pewter-colored tie around his throat. The fabric echoed the glint of silver at his temples. A well-worn leather belt sat low across his hips, supporting a matching scabbard. The sword would have looked absurd on most men, a bizarre accompaniment to office attire, but on David it looked right. His ease soothed me, even though I had not consciously realized I was nervous.
His ease, and the fact that his eyes widened appreciatively as I entered the room. I indulged in a full-skirted twirl. “You like?” I asked.
“Very much,” he said.
I wondered if I’d ever get tired of that flip in the pit of my stomach, that sudden awareness that David was looking at me as a woman, not just a witch. I tugged quickly on the bond between us, the magical connection deep within our minds, and I offered up a promise that made the corners of his lips curl in the suggestion of a smile.
“Oh, get a room,” Neko snorted.
There’d been a time when his awareness of the bond between David and me would have made me blush. But it wasn’t like my familiar stinted with sharing his own love life. Gander, meet goose. Spoon up the sauce.
David didn’t deign to answer. Instead, he commanded Spot toward his bed in the kitchen and opened the front door, gesturing for Neko to lead the way. My familiar collected a reed basket from the coffee table before he stepped outside with a moue of distaste. That pout turned to outright misery when a fat drop of rain fell from the porch eaves, splashing onto his tight black T-shirt. His pitiful moan would have made a lesser woman consider mercy. Hard-hearted magistrix that I was, I strode past him and headed toward the clearing where we would launch our working.
The sacred space had been my responsibility while David supervised the rapid conversion of the barn and the garage to dormitories. As workmen labored over plumbing and electricity, drywall and flooring, my original pair of witchy students and I had sanctified a clearing for magical workings.
Trimming the grass had been the easy part. We’d erected a centerstone, a marble altar that we washed with mugwort tea. That purifying bath would add to the marble’s inherent protective powers, securing our circle against unwelcome invaders.
We’d added to the perimeter, alternating stones and plants known for bolstering defenses. Obsidian for grounding. Vervain to stand against metal weapons. Malachite for safety. Rosemary for protection against the evil eye. Agate for strength. Radish to guard against poison.
I’d combed through the books in my basement horde, searching for the best options, trying to combine magical strengths with the very practical considerations of keeping green, growing things alive in Maryland’s variable weather. And I loved everything we’d settled on. Even now, before I’d officially called the Academy into session, this circle felt like a spiritual home.
As we approached the altar, I chalked up another win for the silent communication of familiars. My entire student body was waiting when we arrived at the ritual space—six students, their warders, and familiars, all eyeing me with respect and a healthy dose of nerves. All we had to do was complete our ritual and get the Academy under way by midnight. Then we could rest easy until the end of the semester. We’d have six months to prepare a new Major Working, to show Hecate’s Court that we were an academic power to be reckoned with.
I’d been robbed of the opportunity to offer an official welcome to my first students—water under the astral bridge. But I wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity a second time. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “Witches, familiars, and warders, all. Be welcome at the Jane Madison Academy. We’ll learn from each other and share our knowledge of the world, arcane and mundane. Our powers together will be greater than our powers apart. So mote it be.”
“So mote it be,” the witches said together, their voices ranging from soprano to contralto. Shimmers of power echoed across the circle, skeins that tangled and stretched without plan, without design. My pulse picked up at the thought of bringing those strands into order, at sculpting our new future together.
A dull rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, and I shoved down an uneasy mix of fear and excitement. Samhain was the time when the barrier between the arcane world and the mundane was thinnest. Ordinary folk remembered that magic by going out in the darkness, defying their fear with costumes and offerings of sweets. This night was Halloween to most people, All Hallows Eve to some, and Samhain to the witchy few.
I gestured to Neko, bidding him to step forward with his reed basket. As he raised our offerings, David swept his sword from his scabbard.
The other warders reacted to the sound of metal scraping free, becoming more alert, more present. Each took a stand outside our sacred circle, automatically spacing themselves along the perimeter that had not yet been defined by magic. My students and their familiars clustered inside the nonexistent boundary, each watching with expressions that ranged from wary to enraptured.
I nodded to David, and he strode to the eastern corner, to the cardinal point dedicated to the element of Air. Neko followed, moving with confidence. He produced a candle from the basket, a fat column of red wax that he set on the small marble plinth at the precise eastern limit of the circle. Passing his hand over the wick, he raised up the twisted fiber, readying the candle for the magical energy that would pass through it, consuming it slowly and steadily for as long as we witches used our powers.
When Neko stepped back, I took his place, raising my palm over the scarlet wax. I could already feel the potential energy in the offering, the power ready to be unleashed. “Guardians of Air, light our way,” I cried, and the fresh wick kindled. I collected the light in my cupped hands, carrying it toward my eyes as a gesture of humility toward the entire natural world. As my fingers brushed against my forehead, I felt a breath of air, the softest memory of the storms that had ripped across this clearing not an hour before. We were in the presence of Elementals of Air.
Dropping my hands to my side, I walked with David to the next candle. He traced the tip of his sword just above the grass, and the metal seemed to magnetize the air, raising up a shimmering curtain of steel-grey fire. Power sizzled against the damp lawn, sparking away the sodden remnants of the storm. The energy arched above my head, wavering in time with my pulse.
Neko placed the second candle. “Guardians of Fire,” I proclaimed. But before I could entreat, “Light our way,” another voice rang out across the circle.
“Hold!”
I grabbed Neko’s shoulder, forcing him close to my side. His latent abilities opened before me. His entire being shifted to echo my magic, to reflect it back to me like a thousand mirrors casting back the light of a single flame.
Adrenaline jangled my fingers, and my ears were filled with a high-pitched whine. I wanted to fight. I wanted to flee. I waited for the assembled warders to react, for David to step in front of me, offering the physical protection of his
body and his sword.
But David didn’t move.
“Stop this ritual right now, Jeanette.”
And then I understood why David wasn’t reacting. There was only one person in this world who called me Jeanette: the woman who’d given me that name on the day I was born. She’d abandoned me a year later, leaving me to be raised by my loving grandmother. I’d grown up believing my mother had died in a car crash. Clara Smythe had only walked back into my life four years ago, the summer I discovered my arcane power.
David didn’t move to protect me from my mother because he wasn’t just my warder. He was Clara’s warder too. For that matter, he guarded my grandmother as well, on the relatively rare occasions when she engaged in witchy activities. He’d volunteered for the unusual triple assignment when I first forged my unconventional ideas about witchcraft and community. Hecate’s Court hadn’t intervened to say he couldn’t do the job.
I planted my hands on my hips. My fingers still trembled in the aftermath of adrenaline, but I tightened them to hide my annoyance. “Not now, Clara. We’re busy with an important working.”
“I know, Jeanette. But this is a matter of life and death.”
“Life and death,” I repeated wryly. Clara could turn a hike in the woods into high drama.
“You cannot cast your circle here,” my mother said, striding past my astonished students to stand before our centerstone. “This is a place of danger.”
My mother and I often disagreed about arcane matters. She had a soft spot for auras and astrology, for claptrap that had no place in any self-respecting witch’s arsenal. I could only imagine what hocus-pocus she intended to fling at us now.
As if she could read my mind, Clara tugged at her silk caftan, drawing herself up to her full height. “You’re standing on the edge of a hellmouth that can destroy the entire world. You must not seal the circle, Jane.”