Single Witch's Survival Guide (16 page)

I sighed. I hadn’t told my students what to wear when I outlined our ritual. I had no right to be disappointed that Raven had not read my mind.

“Greetings,” I called, but I kept my voice low, tamped down by the steely sky above us. As if in reply, a peal of thunder rumbled in the distance. My heart leaped. Approaching rain was a good omen for our working.

The others offered up their greetings. They found their places without my prompting—the witches and their familiars standing inside the circle I’d defined with my candles, the warders taking up protective stances outside.

I told myself not to look at David. As my warder, he was ready for his role in this working, an island of calm and reason. As my boyfriend… No. That thought was meaningless tonight.

I licked my lips and swallowed hard. This first ritual of the Madison Academy was going to be everything I’d planned for. Everything I’d dreamed.

Well, not precisely everything. I wasn’t going to attempt true communal magic with my students. We weren’t going to share powers the way I had with Emma, washing dishes in the kitchen, or with Clara and Gran. We were following the more traditional route dictated by our shortened semester.

Despite straying from my original goal for the Academy, I was heartened by the sabbat energy gathering around us. Power pulsed through the air even though we had yet to speak a single arcane word. The tiny hairs on my arms were charged as if I had bathed in electricity. I drew a deep breath to steady myself, and then I said, “To the greater glory of Hecate. Let us begin.”

I inclined my head toward David. Now I couldn’t help but see that his face was gaunt, as if he were not sleeping well in the barn. Nevertheless, he produced a silver sword from the folds of his robe, and he strode to the first candle, to East, to Air. I met him at the border of the circle, ready to speak my words of Calling even as he traced an etheric circle to bind us all safely.

Neko leaned in close to my side. Alas, I could tell he was still out of sorts. His fingers rubbed against his thumbs, and he flinched to duck away from a buzzing fly. I raised my eyebrows, but he only huffed and shifted his feet on the sand.

I fought against a frown and turned my attention to David. I could work the Calling without Neko’s assistance. Once we had cast our circle, my familiar should be more focused on magic, more removed from the mundane world.

I nodded, and David raised his sword, managing to look in my general direction without ever meeting my gaze. Pushing down annoyance at his impeccable distance, I knelt before the candle and raised my palms in polite invitation to the spirits of the Quarter. “Blessings of the East upon us, Guardians of Air. Bring us perfect love and perfect trust.”

I cupped my hands on the far side of the candle and gathered together magical energy. “Guardians of Air, light our way,” I breathed, and the fresh wick kindled. I collected the light with my hands, bringing it up to my eyes as a gesture of respect for all the natural world. Even as my fingertips touched my forehead, I felt the slightest of breezes, the presence of the Elementals of Air.

After I stood, David glided to the next candle, the southern one, tracing the tip of his sword just above the ground. As I matched him, pace for pace, a golden fire trailed from his weapon. Power sizzled into the sand, bubbling up to form an arched wall above my head.

Caleb waited at the southern point, his own sword held ready. Emma came to stand opposite her warder. Kopek hovered a few steps behind her, as if he were embarrassed and had no idea where else to stand. I made a mental note to address his lack of confidence at our next classroom session.

Emma raised her hands above the candle and recited, “Blessings of the South upon us, Guardians of Fire.” She stumbled on that last word, on
fire
. In fact, her cheeks kindled, brighter than any flame. It didn’t take a lot of conjecture to realize she was thinking of Rick, of her own personal fireman.

I considered stopping the ritual, then and there. But my students—and I—needed to learn how to work past distractions. Emma cleared her throat and continued: “Bring us perfect love and perfect trust.” She cupped her hands behind the candle and lit the wick, flushing prettily as she said, “Guardians of Fire, light our way.”

I tried to calm my pounding heart as the six of us—witches, warders, and familiars—walked another quarter turn around the circle. Caleb’s sword traced fire in the sand, taking on a silver tint that rippled where it met David’s gold. Half the arc was set above our heads when we reached Raven.

Tony stepped up outside the circle, baring his own sword and taking over the lead from the other warders. He wore white gloves, the better to hide poison ivy blisters, I assumed. His face was flushed.

Emma and I assumed our positions on either side of Raven, embracing our role as handmaidens to the magic she was about to summon. The dark-haired witch lifted her arms high above her head, and in perfect choreography, the sash of her robe fell open. The garment slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Hani leaped forward to collect it from the ground; he was already folding it into a rough square when Raven jutted out her hip in an all-too-familiar gesture.

Except, this time, she was stark naked.

I fought to shut down my surprise. After all, Emma didn’t look astonished. Caleb, either. Tony and Hani obviously expected to find their witch without a stitch of clothing. Neko arched a single eyebrow. David’s face was carved from stone; he was concentrating on the weapon in his hands, on the protection he offered all of us.

Apparently, I was the only person discomfited by the naked witch. Raven met my gaze with a little smile. “If you’ve never worked skyclad, you really should try it.”

I reminded myself that I was the magistrix of the Jane Madison Academy, and I gestured to the third candle, inviting Raven to cast the western quadrant. “Blessings of the West upon us,” she said. “Guardians of Water.” The candle lit without a problem.

All three of us witches spoke the words for the North together, inviting the Guardians of Earth. I felt the shudder of the circle joining together. The warders closed off their protective barrier, matching three sword-tips as one.

In the end, everything looked right. Four candles burned, their wicks straight and tall inside the shelter of our circle. A shimmering arc of colorless energy crackled above us. The heavy pressure of the brewing storm was held at bay.

I reminded myself not to be overly critical. I was looking for perfection, and we were a group of witches working together for the first time. I needed to trust myself, trust my magicarium. This was Lughnasadh, after all. The great power of the sabbat grew out of twilight, out of the transition between day and night, between summer and autumn, between growth and harvest.

I stepped to the center of the circle and raised my hands overhead. The fabric of my dress was heated to body temperature now; it slipped over my skin like the warm bathwater. Trying to hold that image in my head—water—I touched my forehead, my throat, and my heart before beginning my spell.

“Witches gather, joined in union, one strong voice as darkness falls,

Freed from worldly cares and toils, safe in nature’s world sans walls.”

I drew out the last word, waiting for Emma to join in. She was supposed to build on the foundation I had set. After a lifetime of hesitation, she finally spoke the next words:

“Here beneath—”

She cut herself off, realizing she’d used the wrong word. Intent meant more than any vocabulary choice, but there would be time enough to teach her when we resumed normal classes in the morning. Emma shook her head and started again. Her voice shook as she recited:

“Here beside the oaken forest, here upon the lakeside shore,

Let the storm clouds roll in closer, let the raindrops start to pour.”

She was supposed to call for
rain
clouds, not storm clouds. Moreover, her emphasis upon correcting her first mistake torqued all the energy raised by her couplet. Nevertheless, I could still turn this into a teaching moment for our next class.

During the few moments I hesitated, Emma poured more strength into our fledgling working. In fact, she transferred astral energy with an alarming efficiency, pumping out power from her vast reserves. In a dozen heartbeats, I felt as if I were walking along a mountain ridge in a fierce windstorm. Setting my teeth with determination, I leaned into one gust of wind, only to be sent reeling when another rose up from a different direction. I was pushed, twisted, spun around until I nearly lost my footing.

I tossed my head, trying to cast out all the interfering thoughts. I was a witch. I was a channel. I was a vessel for the powers of the natural world around me.

I had almost accommodated Emma’s modifications to the spell when Raven began her part of our working. Her voice rolled forward with the force of a gale, brutal winds pushing word after word, line after line.

“Increase rainfall at our summons, rise up to our desperate need,

Fall upon the lake and forest, nurture all that grows from seed.”

They were simple words, a spell we’d all discussed. But I was astonished by the power of Raven’s working. I’d sensed the intricacies of her strength before, the stony framework, the countless interstices where arcane energy could spark and multiply. I had never imagined, though, the sheer volume of that amplification, the rushing, rolling torrent that would crash over us as she spoke.

Even as I fought to find my proper balance, desperate to keep my literal and figurative feet, Raven embraced the energy that Hani offered as her familiar. Somehow, impossibly, her power doubled.

We three witches were wildly out of sync. We had summoned a prodigious amount of energy, and every breath we took threatened to spin us off our physical and astral axes.

I clutched at the lifeline Neko tossed me, the guy-wire he cast across the buffeting gulf. There wasn’t time to defuse the excess power. I could not possibly siphon off the energy safely, feed it to the gathered Elementals of Earth and Air, Fire and Water.

I had no choice but to plunge ahead, to lead us off the cliff, into the chasm, into the heart of the burgeoning storm.

Lightning flashed, brighter than any noon-day sun. At the exact same instant, deafening thunder shattered above us. The earth rose up beneath our feet, shaking hard enough to throw us all to our knees. Our protective dome shattered, nowhere near the equal of the energy we had raised. All the air around us was sucked away, and for a terrifying eternity I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe.

* * *

“Jane!”

That word had no meaning.

“Jane! Dammit!”

The voice was pushing on me, beating against me.

“Neko, over here. No, kneel beside her!”

Beating against
me
. I was separate from the void.

“Jane, I need you to focus. Take her hand, Neko. Feed her power—now!”

White heat surged into me. Burning. Searing.

“Too much!”

The heat pulled back. Returned, more gently.

“A little more. That’s it. More.”

The heat crept into my wrist. I had a
wrist
. I had a wrist, and a
body
and
lungs
that were desperate to breathe. I gasped, gulping air, choking, flailing.

“Easy,” the voice said, and I discovered that it had a hand, too. It had hands, and arms, and a steady, solid chest. It folded around me, cradling me, sheltering me. It surrounded me, protected me, and I could sink into it and be safe forever.

“Hush,” it said, and I realized I was sobbing. “You’re fine, now,” it said. “Breathe. You’re safe. Breathe.” It crooned words to me, easy words, simple words, endless words of comfort. I could float on whatever that voice said. I could slip back into the void. I could drift away, far away, forever.

“Jane,” the voice whispered. No. Not the voice.
David
.

I opened my eyes.

David was sitting on the sand, in the center of the circle we had cast. He cradled me in his arms. My crimson dress was sandy and torn. The silk was drenched. My hair was dripping, and so was his.

I tried to take in everyone else—Raven and Emma, clutching each other as if they shared one soul. Nervous warders, darting protective glances into the woods, across the lake. Familiars, hovering near their witches, helpless, unsteady.

“What…” I meant to speak. I meant to ask the questions that loomed out of the fog inside my head. My throat was raw, though, as if I had screamed for a thousand lifetimes. I tried to swallow, but I was too parched to complete the motion.

David shook his head. “Your power was too great. Too unbalanced.”

“Rain?” I managed, trying to put an entire cavalcade of questions into the word.

He nodded. “A hurricane. All of it—rain and wind, thunder and lightning. The power passed through you, over all of us. It was gone before we knew it had struck.”

I understood each individual word, but together they made no sense. I could never have survived such a storm.

I looked past him, to the tallest oak on the shoreline. To the osprey’s nest, where barely an hour ago the male had fed his three chicks.

Or, rather, I looked to where the osprey’s nest had been.

Now, there was nothing. Now, the oak was split in two, its massive trunk halved into a pair of curling strips. The sprawling nest, the majestic birds—gone.

I didn’t realize I was sobbing again until David pulled my head against his chest. He said something to the others, issued orders. Someone retrieved the quenched candles. Other hands gathered up the altar cloth. The bag of corn, the sodden lump that had been a loaf of bread, all of it was collected. Someone—Neko, it was Neko—slipped my sandals onto my feet.

And then we were walking through the forest, David clutching me close. It was too far for him to carry me. The ground was too rough, especially with the channels that had been carved by the instant, deadly downpour.