Joy of Witchcraft (13 page)

I tried to shrug away my discomfort. When I was around Teresa, I never knew how to stand, where to put my hands, how to look calm and collected and self-possessed.

It would probably help if I had a perfect wardrobe from Nordstroms, a spotless white blouse and tailored black slacks, ballet flats that seemed molded to my feet and a hairband the perfect shade of crimson, the ideal accent to set off the rest of the outfit. Right. Like I’d be able to wear any of that stuff with the same aplomb as the Coven Mother. Anyone who came to the farmhouse door unannounced was likely to find me in sweatpants and a torn T-shirt. Maybe I should upgrade my slouch-at-home wardrobe.

I recognized my speculation for what it was—a mindless attempt to avoid confronting the only witch within miles who could match my power spell for spell. I jammed my hands onto my own hips and raised my chin in defiance. “Did you know about the orthros?”

As I asked the question, I expanded the field of my magical powers. I attempted to be subtle; anyone looking at us would only see the faintest shimmer of gold in the air between us. But my arcane sphere functioned like a lens; it amplified my perception of the world around me.

I was suddenly aware of a single link in the gold chain around Teresa’s neck, a solitary bit of metal that refused to lie perfectly flat. I could smell honey and lemon on her breath; she’d been drinking tea before we arrived. I could hear the slight rasp in the back of her throat as she swallowed, and I realized she was nursing the beginning of a cold. If I’d had any doubt about Teresa Alison Sidney’s otherworldly abilities, they were tossed out the window—cold or not, she looked as glamorous as ever.

There was no magic spell I could speak that would force Teresa to tell the truth. But when I looked at her through the heightened veil of my power, I could at least have a clearer perception of her physical responses. I became a one-woman lie detector machine, counting on respiration, perspiration, and old-fashioned shifty eyes to tell me if the Coven Mother was lying.

“No,” Teresa said. She looked straight at me, obviously aware of how I was using my powers. “I didn’t know anything about it.”

“It was sent by Norville Pitt.”

Her nose flared, just the tiniest amount. Her eyes narrowed during the heartbeat before she caught herself. She licked her lips before she said, “I’m not responsible for Pitt.”

“But you’ve worked with him in the past.”

“So you and Montrose claim. There’s an entire inquest proceeding to determine that.”

“It will determine more than that,” I reminded her. But Pitt’s legal difficulties weren’t what I wanted to talk about. “So, you had nothing to do with the orthros. Have you ever seen one before?”

“No.”

“Have you ever heard of one being released in the Washington Coven?”

“No.”

“Have you ever heard of one anywhere in the Eastern Empire?”

“No. And to cut short the rest of your questions, I’ve never heard of one existing in real life. As far as I knew, they were legends.”

“Like the satyr.” She hesitated, just long enough to spark my attention. I pressed, “Then you
have
seen a satyr before?”

Her mouth tightened. “Not here.”

“Where, then?”

“In Kansas City.” Teresa sighed, letting the motion tug her shoulders into a more comfortable position. “I was a child, five or six years old. My mother and I were visiting relatives. The coven met in a member’s home. The group did a working, trying to raise energy for a new series of protective wards. Instead, they called a satyr.”

That was the most Teresa had said to me since I’d stepped inside her home. Perhaps it was the longest speech she’d
ever
made to me. And it resonated even more because of the emotion behind the words. Teresa remembered the satyr. She remembered being afraid.

“What happened?” I asked softly.

“The Coven Mother used a Word of power to stop it dead in its tracks.”

I shuddered. The Word would have frozen everyone in the vicinity, removed every drop of volition until the casting witch decided to set people free. I’d used a Word once against a handful of humans who didn’t—it turned out—actually mean me true harm. Nevertheless, the experience had nearly drained me. I couldn’t imagine using a Word on an active enemy who was determined to get his way. Teresa’s face was grim. “The Coven Mother mastered the satyr. But not before…”

Not before he’d raped one of the witches.

I could see the truth on her face. I could picture the attack, understand the horror, because Cassie had come so close to becoming a victim herself. A woman had suffered at the hands of that long-ago satyr, and a child—Teresa—had been forced to witness the savagery.

But there was more to the story than that. Because I knew more about the Kansas City Coven. I’d learned about them over the summer, seen their name written on the wall in David’s basement office. I’d read documents and followed paper trails.

The Kansas City Coven built a safehold in 1995. Now I could assume the construction had been in response to the satyr’s attack. They’d paid for a centerstone to be brought from Romania, a transaction facilitated by Norville Pitt. Pitt’s bank account had flooded with extra payments, with bribes to secure placement of the safehold and the election of a new Coven Mother.

I knew all that, because David had traced the records, detailing the case against the man who had lined his own pockets at the expense of the Kansas City Coven. David had unmasked Norville Pitt’s crimes. But not before Pitt had spent decades perfecting those exact same crimes against other witches.

Kansas City had been attacked by a satyr, they’d built a safehold to defend themselves, and Pitt had profited. Pitt’s astral signature was on the satyr that attacked my magicarium. How many other witches had been subjected to monsters so Pitt could have his way?

“You know what Pitt is capable of,” I said to Teresa. “How can you work with him?”

“I’m not working with Pitt,” she said. “Not now. Not with the satyr or the orthros.”

Because of the lens that my powers focused on her words, I knew Teresa was telling the truth. She might have chosen her words carefully, she might have excluded the possibility of her working with Pitt in the past, on other matters. But she was innocent of the actions that had nearly derailed the second semester of my magicarium. I believed her.

Just as I believed her when she said, “Don’t waste your time accusing me. Any magistrix worth the title could tell you Pitt has help on the inside. In Kansas City he used one of the old witches, a woman who’d been passed over for Coven Mother. Find out who he’s using with you. Find out which of your students is a traitor to the Jane Madison Academy.”

~~~

David drove away from Teresa’s house, tracing the winding lane with perfect accuracy. We didn’t speak until we were past the wards that marked the edges of her property.

“What did she say back there?” he asked, feeding the car more fuel than was strictly necessary.

I was still reeling from Teresa’s disclosure, from her accusation. “This isn’t the first time Pitt has used monsters to get what he wanted.” I gave David the CliffsNotes version of the Kansas City saga. “But that’s not all. She says Pitt must have someone on the inside. One of my students is working with him.”

David’s jaw clenched in automatic protest. He had reviewed my students’ applications with me. He had cleared each of them, reviewing every possible security risk. Now I could see him working through scenarios. The satyr had penetrated the warders’ cordon; someone had invited it into our circle. And the orthros had known to find us on the beach.

David’s face was grim by the time he reached the freeway. “We’ll have to test them.”

“Before we do that…” I said, trailing off.

“What?” He was accelerating in the fast lane. I could feel his urgency, his need to get back to the farmhouse before any other disaster could strike. He’d missed something, and he wouldn’t rest until he’d corrected his mistake.

I needed to make absolute sure, though. Before I tore the magicarium apart looking for a traitor, I needed to know there was absolutely no other source for the monsters. Because if I accused my students and I was wrong, I would never have authority as a magistrix again.

I said, “The Academy will be destroyed if we’re wrong.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Do you remember that woman I met over the summer? Sarah Anderson?”

David shot me a dry look right before he braked to avoid an eighteen-wheeler that was chugging along at forty in the fast lane. Of course he remembered Sarah. As Clerk of Court for the Eastern Empire Night Court, she’d been my first—my only—client when I’d considered a career as a library consultant. Something about getting imprisoned by a raving lunatic of a vampire had made me decide I should follow another career path. Sarah had shared that cell with me, and we’d found our way out together.

“If there’s a supernatural creature this side of the Mississippi who’s used a satyr or an orthros to break the law, the Empire will have records.”

“You’re clutching at straws.”

“I’m trying to keep from accusing one of my students unnecessarily. I’m trying to keep the magicarium together.”

David must have heard the pleading in my voice. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go to the courthouse. But you better get started mapping out Plan B.”

We didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. He was probably focusing on traffic. I was praying to be delivered by a legal clerk.

It was nearly midnight by the time we pulled up in front of the District of Columbia courthouse. David walked around and opened my door for me, and we navigated the court’s security together. Things were quiet. The Night Court didn’t seem to have a lot of takers.

We walked down an antiseptic hallway, moving beneath the watchful eyes of two dozen judicial portraits. Before long, we stood in the deserted clerk’s office. A bell sat on the counter, with a crisply lettered sign: “Please ring for service.” David tapped it once, and the chime echoed off the walls.

A woman hurried in from the back office. “May I—Oh.” Her auburn hair was a little longer than I remembered, but her green eyes were every bit as bright. She still wore the same coral ring and hematite bracelet. “Jane,” she said with a smile. “David. Is everything okay?”

I answered with my own quick grin, even as I shook my head. “Not really. It’s a long story, and we don’t have time to go into details now, but we’re looking for any cases involving a satyr or an orthros. Assaults, batteries, things like that.”

“An orthros?” she said, automatically reaching for a slip of paper and scribbling down notes. I spelled the word for her and described the beast. She nodded and said, “Our records aren’t really set up that way, but let me see what I can find. Can you give me an hour?”

“Sure,” I said.

“There’s a cafeteria down the hall. Or you can sneak into the back of Judge DuBois’s courtroom. He’s hearing an interesting case tonight, a water rights dispute between a dryad and a naiad. I’d bring an umbrella, though, if you’re going to spend any time in there.”

“Thanks,” I said. “The cafeteria sounds fine.”

And it was. It looked like every other institutional lunchroom I’d ever seen—rows of plain Formica-topped tables flanked by scads of uncomfortable plastic-and-metal chairs. Half a dozen vending machines hummed against the wall, offering a million calories and nothing nutritional.

David and I knew each other well enough that we didn’t need to make small talk. Instead, he sat at one of the tables, his hands folded as he studied the poster about our rights under the Family and Medical Leave Act. I became restless after about fifteen minutes, so I stood to pace.

Every time I reached the end of the room, I hit the reset button on the vicious cycle in my head. The warders had raised a cordon to protect our Samhain working. A satyr appeared on the centerstone before the cordon was broken. Someone must have summoned the satyr from inside the circle. Reset.

After a few hundred repetitions, I was mercifully interrupted by Sarah’s appearance, heralded by the click of her heels on the black-and-white tile floor. She was shaking her head before David climbed to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “There was one record of a faun being adopted by a pair of sprites. That gave me some confidence that my search strategy was correct. But I didn’t find anything about satyrs. No orthros, either. I checked James Morton’s files, too, the Department of Security records. If those creatures had been in the building, we would have needed special safety measures, but I couldn’t find anything.”

I sighed. “Thanks so much for trying. It was a long shot, anyway.”

“This is bad news then?”

I nodded. “The worst.”

“I wish I had something to make it easier. Cake Walk cupcakes would be perfect just about now.” Sarah and I had met over Melissa’s baking. But the clerk was wrong—no baked treat on earth could ease the pain blooming beneath my breastbone.

“Thanks,” I said. “Maybe we can meet up at the bakery some time soon.” Sarah agreed, and she shook hands with David first, then me. Before I could fully process our failure, I was back in the car, and David was driving us toward home.

I’d fought not to believe Teresa’s accusation. I’d searched for an alternative at the Night Court. But it was time to face up to facts. One of my students was working with Norville Pitt to destroy me. And it was only a matter of time before she made her next move.

Analysis paralysis was a terrible thing. I knew I had to take some action. I had to find the traitor in our midst. But if I took a false step, I would destroy the magicarium I’d worked so hard to build.

It had taken me years to figure out that I wanted to open a school for witches. I’d been afraid of the responsibility, intimidated by the authority I would wield. Now, I was terrified I would destroy the Academy with one misstep, and I’d never be able to teach another witch about the joy of working magic through a true community, through true sharing of powers.

It seemed easier to stand on guard, to view every single interaction with my students through a lens of suspicion. At least I wouldn’t make a mistake that way. I wouldn’t accuse an innocent woman of a terrible crime.