Single Witch's Survival Guide (7 page)

I reminded David, “I’m responsible for raising the money we need.”

“
We’re
responsible,” he corrected. “We work together on this.”

I was torn. His words were an immediate comfort, a balm that eased all my fear and frustration from the morning’s failed working. But I was the one who had set us on this path. I had walked away from a perfectly good job, in a perfectly good library, solely because I’d come up with a crazy idea about opening a magicarium. I said, “I can’t ask you to—”

“You aren’t asking. I’m volunteering.”

Volunteering.

As my warder, David wasn’t required to raise money for me. But as my boyfriend… His calm acceptance of the financial situation doubled down on our personal relationship. I had to admit, I was thrilled by his words. And I was more than a little terrified.

“I can go through the collection in the basement, see what I can sell,” I said. “The Washington Coven would love to get their hands on some of those books.”

I didn’t want to have anything to do with the Coven, ever again. But if a sacrifice now—even a painful one—could guarantee full autonomy in the future? It was worth it. One hundred percent worth it.

David shook his head. “You’d be taking away one of the main reasons students have for coming to you in the first place.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to sell the lake.”

“What?” My shout was loud enough to startle a red-winged blackbird from a branch at the edge of the forest. As if in sympathy, one of the ospreys shrieked a mournful cry across the water.

“It makes sense,” he said. “We’ll be able to finance the magicarium now, and for the foreseeable future.”

Any other day, I would have trembled in excitement at the notion that David was thinking about our foreseeable future. Now, I had to demand, “How many houses are you talking about?”

“Not many. No more than the land can bear.”

I wasn’t asking about the land. I was asking about David. About the farm that had been in his family for decades. About the home he loved. “How many?” I pushed.

“The deal isn’t even final yet.”

“How many?”

“Thirty, to start with. Jonathan says this is a prime spot for one of those mixed communities—some condos and townhouses, along with single-family homes.”

I couldn’t believe he was tossing off the words so easily. He sounded like he was quoting some slick, full-color, real estate brochure. Which, I realized, he probably was. Or Jonathan had been. “You can’t be serious! Developers will build roads right through the woods. They’ll need access from the highway. They’ll dig wells and septic tanks—they’ll ruin everything!”

“Not everything.” He didn’t quite manage to push conviction into his words.

“Near enough. I can’t let you do it, David. You love this lake!”

And he did. I
knew
he did. He came out here when he was upset, when he needed a chance to think. He relaxed by the water, spinning out the tension that otherwise clung like fog on a London night. He let down his guard when he sat on this dock. For whatever short time he spent on the lake, he wasn’t a warder, wasn’t responsible for anyone or anything. He was himself.

And he was talking about giving up all of that for me.

“I can’t let you do it, David.”

“We don’t have any other choice.” Frustration sparked beneath his words.

We
, he’d said. This was a problem for us to solve together, not as witch and warder, where I had absolute say about magical goals, where he could issue fiats about my safety.
We
needed to work together to make the magicarium a success.
We
needed to function as a couple.

“There are always other choices.” Frantic, I tried to come up with one of them. “What about the southern part of the property? The land closest to Parkersville.”

“What about it?”

“If we have to sell something, why not sell it instead of the lake? Proximity to town should make it valuable.”

“Not as valuable as waterfront.”

“But there’s more of it!” The force of my argument was growing. “We could sell more acres. We could harvest timber first, then put the property up for sale. Townhouses, condos, your Jonathan can build an entire planned community there!”

I knew I should feel a kinship for all of the land. There were trees on the southern point—some massive oaks. Animals made their homes in the forest, birds and a whole host of mammals—foxes, raccoon, a lot of deer. There was power in the woods.

But there was also an old logging road that cut between the main property and the southern portion. And there was a deep ravine, too, the bed of a creek that ran dry every summer. The southern woods were beautiful, but they were already cut off from the land we called home.

Desperate times. Desperate measures. And if sacrificing those acres could save the delicate ecosystem of the lake, it would all be worthwhile.

I could feel David turning over the idea inside his head. He had already steeled himself to forfeit something he loved. He clearly hadn’t considered that there might be another path, another way. “We’d have to give up at least twenty acres,” he said. “Maybe more, depending on the value of the timber.”

I nodded. “And we can look at the magicarium. Figure out ways to scale back before we enroll a full class.”

“You’re not going to limit yourself there,” David warned.

“Not limit,” I said. “But
structure
. I don’t have to accept every student who finds her way to our doorstep. I can have standards. I have to.” I sounded so determined I knew I would have fooled any other person in the world. But my warder—my boyfriend—knew me better than that.

“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” David asked, but there was a smile behind the words as he delivered the bittersweet Hemingway quote.

“I know you don’t believe me now,” I countered. “And it doesn’t seem like having too many students is something we’re ever going to worry about. But I’m planning for the future. At least Clara is paying for Raven and Emma.”

David looked at me as if he feared I’d suddenly gone insane.

“I know,” I laughed. “Betting on Clara isn’t a good idea. But I’m going to make her follow through this time. She cared enough to send Raven and Emma here in the first place!”

“She’s probably already forgotten they’re here.”

That’s right. David knew my mother. He was fully aware how irresponsible she could be. I dug my elbow into his side. “You can make her pay up. You’re her warder after all.”

“Right,” David said dryly. “Like I can demand anything from one of my witches.”

I blushed. Clara was just as headstrong as I. David’s warder magic would never turn my mother into a responsible, attentive woman, just as his unique astral skills had never tamed my own personal brand of insanity. “You’ve got a point there,” I conceded.

He laughed, clearly relishing the victory. I leaned in close, pleased to realize he was relaxed again. Comfortable. Hopeful for the lake’s future.

The lake that was distinctly lower than usual, if the water markings on the dock indicated anything. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to read the signs. I’d never spent a summer out here at the farm. “What’s up with the water level?” I asked.

“Drought. Three years running now. There should be four creeks feeding in, but one is already dry. Two more will go by the middle of July, and the last will be pretty much mud by August.”

A fish jumped, as if to defy the bad news. Ripples made their slow way toward us. “It doesn’t seem that bad.”

“Not yet. But when the water level drops, the whole lake heats up. Plants die off. Algae blooms. It’s a mess.”

The osprey called again from the edge of its nest, and its mate answered from somewhere on the edge of the shoreline. “But they’ll be okay?” I nodded toward the raptor I could see.

“The parents should be. The chicks…” He shrugged. “Only twenty percent live in a good year.”

But I had seen
these
chicks. I had watched the parents feeding
this
trio of young. The strongest fledgling was going to try flying any day now.

As if I’d spoken aloud, David grimaced. “I should do more to protect them.”

“Climate change is above your pay grade.”

There was that grunt again, the one that meant everything and nothing at all. He didn’t accept my pronouncement, but he wasn’t going to challenge me outright. I pulled his hand into my lap and traced the length of his fingers with my own.

I longed to have the power to fix the lake. It would take some incredibly complicated workings, interweaving earth and air, fire and water. There were countless living creatures to take into account. A real coven harnessing the power of dozens of witches might be able to work the necessary changes over a period of years. But me? Standing alone, outside every tradition of witchcraft? Who was I fooling? I couldn’t even harness a simple wind spell with a couple of students.

I swallowed galling disappointment as I looked out at the southern end of the lake. If David sold the timber on that land, the ecological problems would only be compounded. Without the tree canopy, animals would suffer. There’d be erosion. More earth running into the lake.

All for a magicarium that had no guarantee of success. No real
hope
for success if the morning’s working was any sign.

“Don’t even think it,” David said. He kept his voice low, but his note of warning was very real.

“Think what?” I pretended innocence.

“You’re not giving up on the Academy now. Not before you’ve even begun.”

“I wasn’t—”

He laughed and bent down to kiss me. The touch of his lips was easy, gentle, as if we had all the time in the world to stay together. “Don’t lie to me, witch. I’m your warder. I always know.”

I settled my palm against his chest. “And I know things, too. I know you don’t want to sell the lake. We can find another way. Promise me you won’t do anything right away.”

His fingertips were warm against my throat, settling over the pulse point just below my ear. He kissed me again, harder this time.

My belly flipped at the unspoken urgency in his touch, but I wriggled away. “I’m serious, David.” And I was, even though my breath caught in my throat. “Promise.”

“Hmmm,” he murmured while his nimble fingers did distracting things with the buttons on my blouse.

“David,” I whispered, and his name was half a moan.

“I promise,” he breathed against my lips.

I rewarded him by sliding my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His arms folded around me, pulling me back to lie beside him on the dock. The sun-drenched wood radiated heat into my back, almost as warm as the hard body beside me. David nudged his left leg between mine and the pressure made my breath come fast. I reached down to his waist, and my fingers trembled as I pulled his shirt free from his trousers. He growled and caught my wrists tight, pinning my hands above my head.

I laughed and rose beneath him, hungry to feel every line of his body.

And then I heard it—a single sharp bark. I knew the tone—Spot was demanding our immediate attention. David froze above me, his arms hardening into a protective cage. I slipped my hands down to my sides, twisting around to see what had upset the dog.

And I nearly laughed out loud. Our unexpected visitor looked as if he’d reported from Central Casting, responding to some imperious director’s demand for “Accounting Dweeb.” He wore trousers from a rumpled brown suit and a short-sleeve dress shirt with—honest to Hecate—a pocket protector. Aside from a few wisps of hair combed sidewise across the dome of his head, he was bald. His overbite made him look like a rabbit, an impression that was reinforced by the nervous glances he cast at Spot. He carried a beat-up briefcase, the russet leather worn almost bare on the corners.

David ordered Spot to lie down, and then he climbed to his own feet, never taking his eyes off the newcomer. He reached down and helped me up, keeping a palm on my elbow, as if he didn’t trust me to find my balance. I took advantage of his interposing body to button up my compromised blouse before I followed him to the end of the dock.

“Jane,” David said when we stood beside our softly growling dog. “I’d like you to meet Norville Pitt.”

My blood froze. Not because “Norville Pitt” meant anything to me—it didn’t. Not because there was anything remotely threatening about the awkward man who licked his lips and darted his gaze to the bristling Spot.

I panicked because David Montrose was quite clearly afraid of the man at the end of our dock.

CHAPTER 5

OVER THE PAST four years, I had watched my warder face down physical threats without a second’s hesitation. He had escorted me past men armed with swords. He had confronted policemen and Secret Service agents. I had witnessed his unequaled skill at verbal fencing; he’d traded barbs with witches and warders alike. I had relied on him to put me back together after disastrous encounters with my mother, after terrifying medical emergencies for Gran, after failed romances.

Through it all, David had never hesitated. But now my warder seemed lost. For the first time in my life, I realized it was a curse to know someone well enough to tell exactly what he was thinking. Especially when he was thinking he’d rather be anywhere but here.

To give him a moment to collect himself, I extended a hand in greeting. “Mr. Pitt.”

“No relation to Brad,” our visitor quipped, shaking with a sweaty palm.

Um, yeah. No possibility of confusion there.

Spot whined, loudly enough that David spoke his name in warning. The dog’s attention was stapled to our visitor. David issued a tight hand command, insisting that Spot maintain his prone posture.

Attending to the dog finally allowed David to recover enough composure to take some action. He tugged open the door of the ramshackle boat shed and dug around inside for a few plastic chairs. After taking a couple of swipes at the sturdiest one, he gestured toward our guest. “Please, Norville. Have a seat.”

Pitt’s shoulders hunched as he perched on the edge of the chair. His glasses slid down his nose, sped on their way by a sheen of sweat. He pushed them back into place with an automatic gesture that told me his glasses slipped a thousand times a day, sweat or no.