by Mindy Klasky
Alas, it wasn’t that simple. Pitt stood accused of using his position in the Court for personal profit. He’d skimmed funds from hundreds of witches, taken bribes and sold favors. And now he faced legal sanctions because David and I had turned him in.
But years earlier, David had tried to take matters into his own hands. He’d falsified documents and forged papers, all in the interest of bringing Pitt’s violations to light. David might be called as a witness in this proceeding, but his testimony was suspect for bias. And he could very well be investigated as a criminal himself.
“We’ll be fine,” I repeated when David didn’t tell a lie to reassure me. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Then I’m not doing my job right. You should never worry about me.”
I set my left hand on his chest, letting my engagement ring catch the light. “That ship sailed the day you proposed.”
For answer, he leaned forward for a kiss. I broke it off first and retreated to the safety of my chair, where neither of us could be further distracted from our busy days. I said, “Let’s have dinner in the city tonight.”
“There’s no reason for you to come all the way down there.”
“I’m already driving down. Remember? I’m getting together with Melissa after class. I still need to officially con her into being my matron of honor.”
“Sorry, I forgot. Sure. Let’s grab dinner. I’ll meet you at the bakery.”
“Perfect.”
But it wasn’t perfect. David never forgot my schedule. He never forgot anything. He was more worried about the inquest than he’d ever admit.
But so-called perfect was better than panic. I wished him luck and hurried out of the kitchen, determined not to add to his concerns.
I used the walk through the woods to center myself. The driving storm of Samhain had been caused by a strong cold front. In its wake, the sky shone with the sharp blue of lapis. Only the heartiest of leaves still clung to the trees, their bright autumn shades faded to brown. I was grateful for my heavy wool coat.
As always, my spirits were revived by the time I found myself on the crescent beach by the lake. My students waited with their warders and familiars, feet planted on the sand.
Automatically, I looked across the water to a shattered oak and the massive osprey nest that filled its jagged branches. Some time in the past week, the raptors had migrated south for the winter. I found myself missing their sharp cries, waiting for the shadow of their wings as they headed out to snatch fish from the center of the lake.
A distant rumble came from the far edge of the water. I fought a frown; I’d hoped not to hear the commotion. Trees were being cut down on the southern point of David’s property, old growth pine that he’d sold for a small fortune. The clearing was the first stage; next would be development of the property into high-end condos and trendy retail establishments.
Compromise. That’s what made the world go round. The Jane Madison Academy required money to operate, and David had generated that money by selling timber and land. I’d hated letting him make the sale, but I hadn’t been able to figure out an alternative.
So it was up to me to make sure the sacrifice paid off.
“Good morning,” I said to my assembled students, taking a moment to look at each of them.
Automatically, I sought out the women I knew best. Raven matched my greeting, raking a hand through her violet-striped hair and knocking a hip out at an enticing angle. A couple of months ago, I would have been angered by the gesture, resenting the way the warders eyed her, furious with her for upsetting the balance of our distaff group.
Now, though, I was accustomed to her harmless habits. I nodded easily, just like I smiled when Emma piped up with her fake British accent: “It’s right parky today, isn’t it?”
Looking at the others, I was concerned about Cassie. Her face was drawn. The ghost of a bruise stood out on her cheekbone. But her feet were planted firmly, and her hands were shoved deep into her pockets, giving her a look of stoic defiance.
Skyler Winthrop stood close to her. I’d seen the women talking as I approached. I was pleased to see the gesture of support, even though I was a bit surprised to find Skyler in the role of caretaker. She was the last student I’d selected for the semester and I would never admit publicly how much her sculpted face and patrician airs intimidated me. Her cultivated accent of Boston’s Back Bay made me want to check for stains on my workaday clothes, for dirt ingrained under my fingernails.
Her warder was similarly aloof. He reminded me of a banker or a businessman, someone who wore a three-piece suit and sat behind a gigantic desk. He was older than the other warders by nearly a generation, and I wondered how he’d come to serve a young witch like Skyler.
In the end, I’d admitted the Boston Brahmin because of her familiar. Siga was a heavyset woman with short arms and legs. Her stubby fingers reminded me of hooves, but there was a smile in her porcine eyes. Skyler distanced herself from that grin, setting up the same frosty barrier she applied to me. But I liked Siga. I wanted to work with her in my own brand of communal magic. And so I’d invited Skyler into our midst.
And now she was serving as Cassie’s confidante, a role I couldn’t play. Cassie was holding herself aloof from me, from her magistrix. And while it hurt me to admit it, I needed to maintain some distance from my charges. That was one of the lessons I’d learned the previous term, before we completed the Academy’s first Major Working. I’d been too wrapped up in my students’ lives when I launched the magicarium, and I intended to do things differently going forward. I would let them support each other, while I did what I should have done all along, serving as their mentor, their teacher, their guide. I would be their magistrix.
“All right,” I said. “We all got a taste of formal ritual magic on Samhain. Obviously, that working didn’t go as planned, but I’m proud of all of you for sticking with us. Thank you for trusting the Academy.”
I glanced at Cassie, just long enough to catch her nod of cooperation.
“In light of what happened, I’ve decided to postpone any additional spellcraft for a few weeks.”
I hadn’t decided anything of the sort. David had insisted. But I had agreed that my students needed to regain some confidence before we ventured back into a ritual circle.
“We’ll focus on other aspects of your education. As you know, most of our magic isn’t used in formal rites. There’s power in the entire world around us, in the balance of nature, in the twining of animals and plants, in the bedrock of our fields.” A breeze skipped across the lake, ruffling the sand with scalloped waves. A fish jumped, giving me the cue I hadn’t known I needed.
“Let’s start on the dock today,” I said. Confident that my students would follow, I turned toward the weathered grey planks.
Ordinarily, we would have completed a classroom session with only one warder in attendance. That was standard Academy policy, basic common sense. But these were hardly ordinary times for my magicarium. In an attempt to assuage any lingering anxiety from my students, I’d asked all their warders to keep watch, even Zach, whose arm was suspended in a sling.
I wasn’t entirely surprised when Tony brushed past me. He was good at his job, scouting out danger and protecting his witch, Raven. He guarded the rest of us as an afterthought, but I wasn’t complaining. He took up his post on the end of the dock, his back to us witches as he scoured the distant shoreline for threats.
Neko walked toward the end of the pier as well. I couldn’t tell if he was truly trying to support me, or if he was just getting closer to his boyfriend. Even though I’d had months to get used to the idea, I still had trouble adjusting to the notion of my familiar and Tony as a couple. Where Neko presented himself as the essence of frivolity, a fashion maven, a makeup guru, Tony was dour—pugnacious even. I suspected he wouldn’t recognize a designer garment if the label choked him in his sleep, and I couldn’t imagine him pulling together a costume for even the wildest party.
Oppos
ites attract. At least sometimes. Neko seemed happier than I’d ever seen him, and Tony had lost his feral edge. I couldn’t ask for more.
My witches followed me onto the dock, accompanied by their familiars. Their warders took up stations along the beach. It might be overkill to have six armed warders watching over the most basic of witchcraft lessons. But we were gathered. We were safe. We were ready to start the fall semester.
I sank onto the wooden planks and gestured for my students to join me. Neko leaned in close on one side, but I wasn’t sure if he was offering astral support or taking refuge from the breeze. I pulled my knees up to my chin as if we were all gathered around a campfire, and I started to tell a story.
“In a standard magicarium, we’d begin by working the Rota, repeating a single spell for days. But you aren’t here for that type of education. Instead, our goal is to integrate our magic into the world around us. We’ll start by studying the magical potential of natural world. We’ll study its balance. Its harmony.”
I watched them as I spoke. They nodded. They got it. At least, they didn’t want the mindless repetition of the Rota.
“So,” I continued. “Let’s consider where we are in the cycle of nature. It’s autumn, November, a time when most things rest and recover from the exuberant growth of summer. Many birds have migrated. Mammals are hibernating. We’ve had one hard freeze, an early one, so insects and plants have died off.
“But even in November, there are plenty of animals around us. We just have to train ourselves to sense them. So I want you to start by taking three deep breaths. Center yourself. Then focus on the animals you sense—in the lake and on the shore. When you’re ready, let’s go around the circle. Everyone will name one living creature. We’ll keep going until we’ve found them all. I’ll start.”
I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. I was only a little distracted by Raven’s theatrical gasps, as showy as a wine connoisseur slurping a fine vintage. Some day, her dramatic ways might even become endearing. After a moment, I said, “Largemouth bass.”
Raven waited a beat before she said, “Carp.”
Skyler was next. I could tell she was hesitant. I suspected she might guess.
I eased my eyes open and wove my voice into the nervous silence. “Don’t make up an answer. Extend your senses. Measure the world around you. Reach out to feel that world.”
Skyler scrunched her forehead into a frown, but she said, “Minnow.” I nodded, still not sure if she’d used magic to find her answer.
Cassie contributed “Canada geese,” and my other students followed in rapid order with mallard, trout, and box turtle. I relaxed a little as we began our second round. To remind my students they could venture past the dock, I said, “raccoon.”
We went two more rounds before Raven came up dry. She simply said, “Pass”, and Alex gave us “squirrel.” Bree passed. Cassie was deep in thought, her face smooth, her lips barely parted. She was taking the exercise more seriously than any of the others. She seemed to be in a trance, hypnotized as she sought another animal presence. She took one breath, another, and then she swallowed hard.
Before she could speak, though, a commotion exploded onto the beach. We all looked up, just in time to see a magnificent stag crash onto the sand. Zach stumbled back, falling three full steps closer to the dock before he pulled himself upright.
The buck was broad-chested and regal. His antlers spread like tree branches. As we gaped, he turned a tight circle, cutting away at the beach with his cloven hooves. His hind quarters bunched as he lowered his head, and he swept those incredible antlers back and forth, challenging the forest from which he’d sprung.
No.
Not challenging the forest.
A snarling sound ripped across the beach. Branches crashed and undergrowth was torn up as a creature leaped out of the woods.
Partly blocked by the stag, I could only take in the new animal’s haunches, huge and muscled like a gladiator’s. Its brindle coat glistened in the bright sunshine. I could make out four massive paws digging into the sand, black claws leaving streaks half an arm in length. A long furred tail lashed back and forth, a weapon in its own right.
The stag broke to the left, toward Caleb. It panicked and leaped back to the right. The predator lunged forward, and the buck sprang for the woodland path, the one we witches had walked to begin our now-abandoned exercise.
Frustrated at the potential escape of its prey, the brindled beast began to howl. The sound was deafening—the bay of a hound amplified by the deep chest of a dire wolf. I wanted to cover my ears, but the cacophony froze me; I lost all power to move. The thing seemed to sense my vulnerability. It swung its head around to glare at me with crimson eyes.
And that was when I realized why the creature was so loud.
The animal on the beach, the largest dog I’d ever seen, the largest wolf I’d ever imagined, had two heads. And both of them were slavering, with a forest of teeth ready to rip out the throat out of the first creature it reached. It bunched its hind quarters and prepared to launch at me.
CHAPTER 6
Caleb lunged for the creature, swinging his sword with both hands. The weapon clanged as it struck the dog-thing, and pewter sparks flew. Sparks flew, but the animal did not yield. In fact, it lifted one massive paw and swiped at the sword as if it were a lawn dart. The polished blade snapped at the hilt.
Tossing away the fractured stub of metal, Caleb leaped toward safety, rolling beyond the reach of teeth and claws. His maneuver, though, did not take into account the beast’s second pair of jaws. He paid for the miscalculation with a sleeve from his shirt. The toll would have been a lot higher if Zach hadn’t shouted to draw the monster’s attention, waving his good arm to draw an attack.
Jeffrey stepped up then, wielding his own heavy blade to slice through the creature’s thick, brindled neck. Once again, though, the sword bounced off flesh harmlessly, as if the animal wore a massive iron collar. Or as if it were charmed, protected from warders’ steel.
As Jeffrey reeled, Caleb lunged toward the woods. He grabbed a massive tree limb that lay half on the sand, half in the underbrush. Judging from its raw wooden end, the branch must have come down in the Samhain storm. It was as long as a baseball bat and twice as thick.
Caleb didn’t hesitate. He swung at the dog’s left head, putting all his considerable muscle behind the blow, as if he were hoping for a home run. The wood connected with a sickening thud, and the dog yelped, leaping a man’s length back on the beach.
The left head dipped toward the sand, shuddering like a cartoon character fighting off swirling stars and tweeting birds. The right head, though, was unharmed. Rather, the beast threw back that snout and howled again, as if it were calling up all the demons of hell.
The sound melted my bones. I could not stand, could not brace myself to offer up my mind, my words, my heart. There was evil magic in that creature’s voice. Every canine snarl ripped away a little more of my powers. My magic drained with each guttural growl, with every slashing challenge.
The left head was recovering. The beast’s tongue swept out of its mouth, flinging foam toward Caleb, who still held the branch as he circled for another blow. The right teeth clashed, scraping against each other, and both heads bayed at once.
All the spells I had ever known were nothing more than silly rhymes. I couldn’t imagine harnessing the power of crystals, of herbs, of the natural world around me.
Caleb took another swing, but the animal reared up on its hind legs. Its massive forepaws came crashing down, sweeping the branch from the warder’s grasp. Emma cried out, a wordless wail as lonely and stricken as a loon’s. Caleb rolled away, narrowly escaping the double pair of slashing jaws.
Jeffrey harried at the monster, hacking with his sword until the beast hooked the weapon with one massive paw, tossing the blade toward the water. Zach was shouting, still trying to distract the animal, but his voice had gone hoarse. Tony was trapped behind u
s witches, and Alex’s warder, Garth had planted himself as a final barrier at the foot of the pier.
The animal howled again, stripping my power completely. I wasn’t a magistrix, proud leader of the Jane Madison Academy. I wasn’t a witch.
The beast pawed the ground, churning up a mountain of sand. Its hindquarters wound like a catapult, and Caleb flung a futile hand across his throat, as if he could protect his jugular, his carotid, his windpipe that would all be ground to meat between double teeth.
The animal bayed victory, and I was lost, so helpless that I could not look away, could not close my eyes.
And so I saw Bree’s warder, Luke, leap from the sand to the thing’s broad back. He gripped our attacker’s scruff like a circus rider, tangling his fingers in the rough mat at the back of its neck.
Luke kept one hand flung behind him as if were riding a bucking bronco in the world’s most hideous rodeo. Part of me gibbered, wanting to tell him to hold on, to grasp a handhold, to anchor himself in any way he could. This wasn’t a time for showmanship; he’d gain no points for style.
But Luke wasn’t showing off a roper’s winning form. Sunlight glinted on his hand, on the extension of a blade in his hand. He held a knife as long as his forearm, unadorned metal sharpened to a killing edge. He tilted his wrist and shifted his angle, and then he drove deep into the neck beneath him.
The creature froze, as if a switch had been turned off deep inside its hulk of living muscle. Its hind legs slipped on the sand, splaying to either side. Luke rocked forward, and the front legs spread as well, driving both snouts into the sand. The warder twisted his blade, sawing first to the left, then to the right.
The beast shuddered once, an earthquake that rippled from the end of its tufted tail to the drippings tips of its tongues. A massive sigh rose like the groaning of a mountain, and there was a tumbling sound like an avalanche coming to rest in a valley.
And then the dog, the wolf, the whatever-it-was disappeared.