Magic and the Modern Girl

by Mindy Klasky

  I nodded once, filling the tiny physical movement with a thousand thoughts, a million words.

  And then he raised his hands to either side. He stepped back toward the edge of the golden dome. He turned his head to his right, turned toward Gran and Clara, reminding me that my community waited to serve.

  They were staring at me. I could tell that they did not have the faintest idea what had passed between us, not between Ariel and me, between David and me. They were dazed and confused. Gran looked tiny in her dark green suit, as if she’d stumbled into someone’s closet and decided to try on their grown-up clothes. Clara looked angry, defiant, as if she resented being kept out of the astral loop.

  David was right. My mother and my grandmother were my strength. They were my hope. They were my answer.

  Looking at each other, moving as one, we touched our fingers to our foreheads. We breathed, in, out, centering. We touched our fingers to our throats. Another breath. We touched our hearts. We hovered on a perfect edge for spellcraft.

  With Gran and Clara watching, waiting, I kicked off my orange and silver shoes, letting them arc away into the golden light. The ground beneath my feet was freezing, but I set my jaw, stepping squarely into the middle of the patch of bare earth in front of me, the A from Empower The Arts. I felt the dirt through my stockings; I arched my toes and dug deeper into the scarred ground, glorying in the essence of Earth.

  “Out of earth I did call thee!” I proclaimed. I parceled out a quarter of the power that had accumulated in my mind, one fourth of the green and red and gold energy that spun and arced through my thoughts. Easily, gently, I lobbed it toward Gran and Clara, watching as they caught it.

  Gran stumbled forward to keep the light from touching the ground. Majom jumped beside her, suddenly eager to move, to leap, to be free from the ridiculous stasis that we adults had imposed on him for far too long. Nuri swooped in opposite him, lending her strength to the mixture, bringing Clara into the loop. Together, they kneaded the energy I sent them, stretching it, growing it into something more.

  For the first time since her creation, Ariel moved awkwardly, staggering toward the other witches and dragging Neko beside her. You cannot bind me with Earth.

  For answer, I reached around and grasped my silver lamé bow, the folds of fabric that had driven me to despise my dress, despise my grandmother’s taste, despise Neko’s delight in making me look like a fool. I clutched the cloth and pulled sharply, liberating the idiotic bow from the gown. I swooped down as if I were dancing, rolling the glinting lamé over the grass, harvesting the chill dew that had collected after sunset.

  “Out of water I did call thee!”

  I raised the cloth above my head, felt the tiniest sprinkle of droplets cascade into my hair, onto the dress, onto my bare arms. I gathered up another parcel of my power and cast it toward Gran and Clara. Clara caught it this time, working it into their communal creation, weaving it into their whole.

  For the first time ever, Ariel spoke with emotion, or maybe it was only with speed. You cannot bind me with Water, Witch.

  I laughed at her words, laughed at the sparkling power that she shared with me. I brought my hands to my lips, cupped them to capture my own exhaled breath. “Out of air I did call thee!”

  I flung half of all my remaining power at Gran and Clara. They caught it together, weaving it into their light, crafting together green and red and gold like a tapestry. Majom laughed at the game, and Nuri squawked; all of them shifted farther apart to accommodate the light that grew between them.

  I joined them in their circle. I joined them in their dance. I wove between Majom and Gran, between Nuri and Clara, feeling the power of our working expand and grow. The four of them moved with me, joining hands until we were spinning like children, laughing in a breathless game of ring-around-the-rosy.

  We were not done yet, though. We had not completed the working. Fire. We needed fire.

  Ariel knew the same. She stared at me, unmoving. I am your creation, Witch. I exist to serve you. You cannot cast me out when I have done no wrong.

  But she was mistaken. She had never intended any wrong, but she had worked it nonetheless. She had kept power that was rightfully mine. She had led me on a fruitless chase across the city, skirting legal authorities from a world that would never comprehend the magical bonds between us.

  She had taken Neko.

  More than anything else, that was what drowned my pity. She had taken Neko. She had drawn my familiar away, stolen him against his will. She had locked him into servitude in a way that I had never contemplated, could never countenance.

  “Clara,” I said, drawing us all to a breathless stop. “Mother.”

  I held out my hand, and she reached for her pink kunzite pendant. The stone glinted in Ariel’s golden light; it captured the dome and the wind-whipped storm of our working. It blazed with the strength of unconditional love, of mother love; it sparked with pure power.

  Clara lifted the crystal over her head. She passed it to me in silence, with tears in her eyes. I raised it high, let it turn freely in the light, sending out its magical flame.

  “Out of fire I did call thee!”

  I offered up the last of my strength, the last of the power that I had gleaned from Ariel, from Gran, from Clara. Crimson and gold and evergreen poured forth from the center of my astral being, spinning into the light, spinning into the working of our community. Majom leaped higher and higher, stretching our crafting, and Nuri waved her arms to magnify the force that Gran and Clara were feeding.

  They were my family. They were my school. They were my community, my more-than-Coven. They took what I gave them, and they made it more, endlessly more than I could ever have made on my own. They spun my magic into a blanket, cast it into a cloud. Our strength billowed up, billowed out, spread against the dome that represented Ariel’s strength, her stubbornness, her stone-hard misunderstanding.

  But it wasn’t enough. They couldn’t completely obscure the golden limit of Ariel’s power. They couldn’t completely take the ground.

  I dug deep inside, excavating the last glimmer of magic that was mine, that was solely, specifically mine to give. There was nothing, though, nothing left to pour into our cause.

  I looked at Ariel. I looked at her icy beauty. I looked at her distant strength. I saw how I had created something out of fear, out of misunderstanding, and I saw how I could never hope to regain control over her.

  And then Neko moved. As if the gesture cost him his last ounce of strength, he rolled his eyes heavenward, managing to convey a cross between a prayer and exasperation.

  I hurtled forward to bring him into our communal working.

  My body crashed against his, and I felt him crushed between Ariel and me. I opened my mind to him, let him see the balance of what I had worked with Gran and Clara. I showed him the magic that we had discovered without him, the community that we had built while he had been away.

  He stumbled.

  Physically and astrally, he stumbled.

  He had no frame of reference for what he was seeing. He had no way of understanding what we had done. He had no way of realizing that Gran was feeding off of Majom, that Nuri was reflecting power back to Clara, that the familiars were paired in ways that witches had never tried before.

  And yet, trusting me, he figured it out. He leaned in to me with whatever fractional strength he was able to summon. He pressed his black silk shirt into the taffeta of my orange dress, letting the colors flow together like the Samhain garb, the Halloween games, that had captured the imagination of all the mundane world around us.

  That movement, that tiniest act of rebellion, gnawed at Ariel’s cruel bonds. Neko snagged a bit of our magic and spun it around. He flung it back to Clara with all the awkwardness of a kitten scrambling over a ball of yarn. She laughed and tossed the skein to Nuri. Neko understood what was happening. He collected more of the communal magic and spun it out to Majom. He laughed as the strands expanded, gusting out to the very lim
its of Ariel’s dome.

  For the first time since creating our arcane community, I felt the full, unadulterated power of what we did. With my familiar involved, I could receive the complete reflected magic of our working, I could be a part of the whole, the unlimited, unrestricted sharing with Gran and Clara. I reveled in the balance, gloried in the strength.

  I turned to Ariel.

  She stood alone beneath the brilliant, jewel-bright blanket. Her hair hung slack beside her face. Her gown swung from her shoulders like a shroud. I raised my hands above my head, pointed my fingers directly at her heart.

  “Go to darkness, let light flee.

  Return to nothing, nothing be.

  Return all power, give away

  All that made thee. Go your way.”

  The flash of darkness was the strongest I had ever seen. All the golden dome, all the red-green-gold blanket, all the klieg lights and the starlight and the world simply disappeared.

  And then they were back. The starlight, anyway. And the swollen moon. And the spotlights. And the sound of helicopters and jets and a dozen men shouting angry, urgent orders.

  Ariel was gone.

  I met David’s gaze across the scarred and trampled grass. My powers were back, restored and more. I felt more complete, more alive than I had ever felt before. I could measure every blade of grass beneath my naked feet. I could see light glinting off of every weapon arrayed against us.

  The tapestry of energy swirled close around the seven of us. In my mind, witch to warder, I handed the strands over to David, giving him permission, letting him do his job.

  He took the power seamlessly, as if he’d never doubted that I could act, that I would act in precisely the manner I had. He nodded once, verifying that all of us were covered, that all of us stood together, and then he pulled us into a perfect lack of being.

  19

  We returned to the Peabridge mere moments after we had left. No one had time to miss us. The wedding guests were still outside, staring up at the sky, searching for more signs of the scrambling jets everyone had heard. Moonlight flooded through the glass panels in the Peabridge doors, streaking across the library lobby.

  David said, “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, not yet trusting myself to answer. He glided over to the doors, carefully turning the locking mechanism. Our guests would think that the doors had closed behind them accidentally, that they were inadvertently locked outside. We’d steal a few extra minutes of privacy.

  He turned to Clara and Gran. “Sit down,” he said. “You need to ground yourselves with food.” He picked up a plate and gestured toward one of the deli trays. “Majom, help them with that.”

  The boy scampered around the table, full of energy and excitement, as if he’d just witnessed some Fairy-tale Fireworks Fiesta at the end of a long day in an amusement park. He selected meat and cheese and thin slices of bread, pausing to put almost as much in his own mouth as he guided to the plate. His white hair bobbed up and down as he delivered the bounty to his witches.

  David nodded, watching until he saw Gran accept a bunch of grapes, until she started to chew, steadily, methodically. Even across the library, I could hear that her breath was coming easier, that she was returning to whatever passed for normal in the annals of an eighty-five-year-old bride. Clara scavenged a cup of water from the coffee bar, administered it to Gran as if it were some prescription medicine, even as she fed herself a handful of almonds. Nuri fluttered back for a refill on the water.

  Majom took advantage of everyone’s distraction to dart back over to the serving table. There was a crash and a clatter, and then the boy turned to Clara, his hands covered in buttercream. His eyes were wide with surprise, as if he had not meant to work any mischief. Gran laughed—actually laughed—and called him to her side, reaching for a napkin to clean off his fingers.

  A weight I hadn’t known I carried lifted from my chest. I sank back against the corner of my desk, suddenly unsure that I could stand a moment longer. I was laughing along with Gran, but the sound was silent, and my vision was sharpened by tears I had not shed.

  I clutched the wooden edge of the desk to steady myself, turning away so that I did not frighten Gran or Clara, did not disturb them with my quiet nervous breakdown. My fingers were tingling, sparking with an energy I had not known in months. Without being consciously aware of the fact, I knew that David had turned from my witches, from our familiars, that he had glided across the room to me.

  I folded my arms around my belly, trying to seal in the tumult of my emotions. I had met my anima. I had laid her to rest. I had regained my power—every last drop that I had forfeited to my creation so many weeks ago—and more. Much, much more. I had bared myself completely to my warder. I had let David see me—all of me—in a way that I never had before. There was nothing left between us, no wall. No barrier. I breathed as deeply as I could, trying to settle the roiling forces that filled my mind.

  I sensed David standing above me, felt his presence sparkling, vibrating. I could not turn to face him, though. I could not look as he settled his charcoal jacket over my shoulders.

  There was nothing sexual in the motion. Nothing seductive. He was a warder caring for his witch. He was a doctor treating a patient. He did not ask for more; he did not look to see if anything else was offered, wanted, needed.

  “You have to sleep,” he said.

  “Soon.” The one syllable cost me more than I had expected. I was exhausted in my bones. Dully, I wondered where Neko was, whether my familiar would help in any way, could banish even the slightest bit of my exhaustion.

  Before I could summon the energy to say anything, to think anything, there was a rattling sound from the front of the library. Someone had discovered that the doors were locked. I knew that I should tell David to open the door, to let them in, but I couldn’t remember the words. A note of good-natured dismay rolled over the crowd outside, and I heard someone suggest circling the building, searching for another door.

  Then, sooner than I expected, there was laughter and the smooth sound of a key fitting into the lock. Kit led the way back into the Peabridge, brandishing the ring of keys that Evelyn had entrusted to her for the evening. “Didn’t you hear us knocking?” she said. “We got locked out!”

  “How did that happen?” Clara interceded and I took another deep breath, trying desperately to regroup. David placed a plate in my hands, guiding my fingers to a slice of cheese. I put the food in my mouth. I moved my jaws. I swallowed.

  Happy wedding guests surged back into the library. The break had reminded everyone that the hour was late, that they needed to return home, that they were going to have a terrible time fighting the Georgetown Halloween traffic.

  Will tumbled in with the rest of the guests. I saw him register David’s jacket around my shoulders, acknowledge the plate that shook in my hands. I barely had enough presence of mind to lean forward on my desk, to drop the hem of my dress, to camouflage my naked feet. I forced myself to smile as he crossed the room to brush a kiss against my cheek.

  “Halloween, and they scare the neighborhood half to death with scrambling jets. Can you believe it?” He didn’t really need an answer, though. He shook his head in disgust before fishing a key ring from his pocket.

  From a distance, I remembered that he had agreed to play chauffeur to the newlyweds, to drive them across town to their honeymoon suite at The Hay-Adams hotel. Across the street from the White House. I swallowed hard. Borrowedcar.com had come through with a luxury town car for the night, the best eight dollars an hour I ever could have spent.

  Concern creased Will’s face. “You look exhausted! Do you want me to stay here? I can help clean up.”

  “I’m okay,” I said. I needed Will to leave. I needed to get him away from here, away from me, so that I could think about what had happened. So that I could sleep. Sleep and recover from everything that had taken place in the space of a few heartbeats, beneath a magical golden dome.

  “I can call
a cab to take Gran and Uncle George,” he said.

  “No!” Calm down, I told myself. That was too sharp. “I can’t do that to them,” I explained. “Not a regular cab on their wedding night. Besides, it’ll take forever for one to get here, through the Halloween parade.”

  He still wasn’t convinced. “I’ll come back afterward, then, and help clean up.”

  I stifled a yawn. “Kit will do it. Really. There isn’t very much to do. By the time you get back, I’ll be sound asleep.”

  I put my hand on top of his, squeezed my fingers gently around the keys. I could work a spell. I could make him leave. Instead, I forced myself to meet his eyes with a wan smile.

  He said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Tomorrow. That would be perfect.”

  It wouldn’t be. It would be far from perfect. But I didn’t know what else to say.

  “You did a wonderful job tonight.” He gestured toward the decimated deli trays, the scattering of champagne flutes. He had no idea what other job I’d worked tonight. He never would. Even if I told him, he’d never understand.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  His kiss was quick, chaste. He frowned at the charcoal jacket, though, as he drew back. His hand cupped my jaw, spreading a familiar warmth down my spine. I felt as if he was reminding me of a secret I had forgotten. “Sleep well,” he said. “I’ll bring the car around to the front.” And then he left.

  In moments, Uncle George had collected Gran, placing an arm around her waist as they posed in front of the Peabridge doors. They took their leave like a couple at a classic 1950s’ wedding; Gran standing straight and proud in her suit. She clutched her sweetheart roses to her chest, raised the blossoms to her face to breathe deeply of them one last time.

  I managed to climb to my feet, then, catching her eye just as she turned her back on her guests. I shook my head once, a tiny, mute denial, and then the flowers arced through the air, flying on a precise path that might have been boosted by a little communal magic.