Unruly Magic (2 page)

Annalise had already laid out a little table on the porch. There was a tray with glasses and a big pitcher of juice. Plates and napkins waited on top, each a mismatch of colour and pattern that spoke to me of Annalise’s eclectic style.

“How long had you lived here?” I asked as we settled next to each other on the swing. I thought that I should get one for my house. It would be nice to sit out and kick up my heels next summer. As it was, I hadn’t really done much with the furnishings in or out yet and there was a lot of tired decor that really needed to be dealt with if I was going to stay here long term. The repairs had more urgency now that it was getting colder. It wasn’t easy getting to grips with homeowner problems after a series of rentals that I could have done nothing about even if I wanted to, but I was trying to relish it. Begrudgingly, anyway.

“Oh, always. This was my parents’ house.”

“You’ve always lived here?” Well, duh, she had just said so. Even so, I imagined living in the same place forever. It sounded lovely. If my parents had lived, I might have had those kinds of roots, but they had been killed when I was young and I had to live with that sharp knowledge even though I had, at last, made peace with their passing. At least I had the answers now.

“Well, I moved away for a few years then I just came on back.” Annalise shrugged like her years away were nothing more than a blip in her existence.

“It must be nice having Gage around,” I said conversationally.

“Sure is. Always good to have a big guy in the house, right?” Annalise was slightly shorter than me, but even so, I knew what she meant.

My heart tried not to sink a little and I leaned forward to pick up my glass, mostly so that my eyes wouldn’t betray my pain, and took a long drink. In the stillness of the morning, we heard the engine throb long before we saw Gage skirt around the corner onto the driveway, his feet on the blacktop stabilising the bike as he came to a stop. Annalise stood up to wave and I noticed her glance down at me curiously, like she couldn’t quite work me out. Some things were just best left that way.

Gage kicked up the motorbike supports before swinging one powerful leg over the seat. He raised a hand to wave then eased off his helmet, shaking his crop of hair out with a swing of his head, and tucked the helmet under his arm. He came towards us carrying a big rucksack. Taking the side steps up to the porch two at a time, he unzipped the bag to pull out two large brown paper bags. Bending to kiss Annalise on the cheek, he caught her in a quick hug and I felt that familiar pang of sadness deep in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been touched with affection. I shivered and shook out the pity party that was going on in my head. I couldn’t grieve forever, and I couldn’t be sad at other people’s happiness. It just wasn’t right.

“Danishes,” said Annalise with undisguised glee as she cracked open the bag and spilled the big pastries onto plates. “Help yourself. There’s no such thing as formal eating here as you know.”

Gage sat down on the rocker across from us and stretched out his long legs. They seemed to go on forever. He was a lovely looking man, tall and broad with a dark crop of hair, wide brown eyes and perpetual day-old stubble. He was built tall and strong, with a broad chest and neat waist. He kept his jacket on and the well worn leather creased in supple lines as he reached forwards. “Plate, Stella?” he said, interrupting my gaze. I accepted the plate with a quick nod and at once dropped my eyes. What was I thinking of in admiring Gage’s physique when my friend, his wife, was sat next to me? When I coupled that with being wrenched apart from Evan only six months ago, I felt more than a little ashamed of myself. There was no excuse for being a rubbish person.

“Got any plans for today, Stella?” Annalise asked and I gulped. Feeling guilty should take up most of my day now, damn it.

“Uh, no, not really,” I mumbled.

After my first month of wallowing here, struggling to even get up every day, I’d slowly started to explore the area, tentatively venturing into Wilding and, occasionally, further beyond. Annalise had introduced herself within a day while bearing a steaming casserole to welcome me – that had been the first of many suppers together – and she had been incredibly useful when it came to recommending stores to go and get new bed linens from and crockery to update the ones in the house. Though I was careful with my money I had to spend quite a bit of cash on these updates to make the house liveable, especially as things snapped, tore, and just plain broke. Strangely, I’d found myself enjoying it in the moments when I could stuff my pain far away from my consciousness. As such, Annalise had helped me become the proud new owner of smart sets of bed linen, kitchenware, crockery, new cushions – pillows, as she called them – and other bits and pieces. She had introduced me around town as well. At first she had been simply a useful guide for me – though one I enjoyed the company of – now I was happy to call her my friend.

Gage, I thought he was her husband, anyway – she didn’t wear a wedding ring, neither did he – was much more of an enigma to me. I saw him from time to time and he was always polite and nice but a bit more reserved. He seemed to be pretty popular when their friends came over for their game nights. It might sound parochial, even hokey, but their game nights seemed like real fun and they always had a lively crowd over. Though I had been a couple of times, I didn’t want to just assume I could pitch up whenever I saw the lights were on, so mostly I stayed away and didn’t try and wedge my way into their lives.

“You could keep me company. I’ve got a few more things to sew then I need to package up my stuff to take to the fair tomorrow.” Annalise was a whizz at sewing and crochet and her business was to make pretty home things that she sold at fairs. Right now I knew she had stockpiled a huge collection of things to sell and she hardly ever came home with anything. Even her pricier stuff was so beautifully made that she never had to worry about not selling it.

I ended up not going home at all for the rest of that morning and well into the afternoon. Annalise tugged her baskets of goods out onto the porch and we sat there, bundled up, drinking coffee – she was much better at hospitality than me, but then she’d had a life time of doing it – well into the afternoon. By the time I left, I had an invitation to their house for game night, and strict instructions to bring by my list of repairs.

“See you,” I called, skipping down the steps, waving over my shoulder at Annalise as I cut across the grass. Gage was flat on his back on a tarpaulin on the driveway, tinkering with his motorbike, a deep frown of concentration settled on his forehead. I looked over my shoulder as I started to cross the road and he looked up briefly and waved a hand at me. I smiled and waved back then jogged along the path to my door.

If I’d been more alert I might have made something more of the feeling I got in the air as I took the steps up to my porch. Just as my body was getting soft, and my magic rusty, my senses had also gotten sluggish over these few months. Even when the idea that someone had been in my space, someone with a signature that I should recognise, trickled into my thoughts, I didn’t bother to turn it into a fully fleshed curiosity.

I paused at my door, my hand on the knob, and turned around, hesitating for a few seconds. I had the faintest sense that someone had been here and might still be here, but when none of my senses gave me anything to work with, I shrugged and let myself in.

I still locked the door behind me.

~

My afternoon was as idle as idle can be and was mostly spent pouring over my list, which was growing every day. Painting the exterior of the house came after more than twenty other urgent bullet points that included checking out the kitchen plumbing and finding the source of the clanking pipes, cutting the grass which had shot up (I’d wondered who had been doing it over the past twenty years the house had lain empty, or whether that had been under a spell too) and re-grouting the bathroom along with a bunch of problems that were cropping up all over the house. Pulling a face I added,
paint entire inside of house
. After a thought, I added
porch swing
to the bottom of the list.

I sank back on the sofa, tapping my pen against the pad of paper, and wondered if, seeing as magic had kept everything pristine for so long, if it was possible to use it for the house’s upkeep too. I had no idea if there were rules on that kind of thing. Surely that would mean every witch had a perfect house? I had absolutely no idea.

By late afternoon I was so bored that I was actively looking for things to do. I really needed some kind of purpose in life, I decided, as I started cleaning the kitchen countertops with hot soapy water. The new Stella might be awfully house proud, more through boredom than by design, but it didn’t take the place of getting out there and doing something. I didn’t even have my studies to keep me distracted. They had ended abruptly with Eleanor Bartholomew’s attack and now there wasn’t a witch in miles. At least, I thought there wasn’t. I was sure I hadn’t come across any and I could recognise the vibrating signature of my own kind’s magic now. Besides, I didn’t even know if I wanted to continue in training, especially if that meant getting caught up in witch business again. From what I had known about the witches’ council – some sort of quasi-governing body that monitored and assisted our kind – I’d found them to be weak and inept. They were certainly to blame for a chunk of my past troubles, even if they had been there in the moment that I’d really needed them. Or rather, Étoile had been there and I owed her big time. I huffed and scrubbed harder. It all seemed like so long ago that I’d been alone and terrified, then gradually happy and finally in the arms of the man I adored. It had all ended too quickly, too abruptly. I channelled my anger into scrubbing the counters furiously.

When I could almost see my reflection in the super clean surfaces I finally wrung out the sopping cloth and laid it over the sink edge to dry and scowled at my face in the kitchen window. My top was clinging to me in wet patches. Nights at Annalise and Gage’s house were as casual as casual can be, but I still couldn’t turn up as a wet mess which meant I would have to tackle my washing. Boring.

Tugging my laundry basket through, I sat on the kitchen floor, separating colours from whites and made untidy piles next to the washing machine. That was also on my must replace list thanks to the ominous rattling sound it made every time it spun a cycle. I suspected corrosion was catching up with it thanks to it, like everything else, being part of the stasis spell. I bet homeowner’s insurance didn’t cover it, I thought with a snort. I shoved the first set of laundry in and turned the sink faucet on so I could wash the few leftover dishes that languished there.

The surge of magic that bloomed into the kitchen through the open doorway nearly knocked me for six. It wasn’t the force of it, and I didn’t sense any malevolence, but I was surprised into dropping the glass I’d been washing. It splinted into a bunch of little pieces on the floor. I looked from my feet to the doorway, my body rigid with anticipation.

“Hello?” called a small female voice from my living room. “Is there anyone there?”

Slowly, carefully, I stepped over the shards and edged towards the voice, panicking all the time. I didn’t get the feeling I was about to come to harm but one could never be too careful, so I prepared to shimmer out of there the moment things looked dicey. Teleportation certainly had its advantages.

“Where the hell am I?” demanded the girl standing in the centre of my living room. She was in her late teens with glossy dark blonde hair that hung about her shoulders in a feathery cut. She was dressed in skinny jeans, acid pink heels and a white jacket that sat on her hips with a little pleated flounce. She clutched a thick book in her arms that looked heavy and old against her new and shiny self.

“You’re in my living room,” I replied, bracing myself for whatever would come next.

“Am I in England?” she asked in disbelief as she looked around in distaste at my furniture. “I did
not
think England would look like this.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Huh.” The girl looked around again then give me the once over. “You
are
Stella Mayweather?” she asked.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I asked first!” I thought she might stomp her foot. I certainly felt like it but I settled for glaring at her instead. Obviously, it was the more mature option.

“I’m Chyler,” she said at last, and dropped on to my sofa, the book perched across her knees.

“What are you doing in my living room? How did you get here?” If my wards were dogs, they’d be in the dog house right now. How had she got in here when I’d done everything I could to keep everyone out, especially people who could just flash in, like she had, in the blink of an eye.

“I said the spell,” she, Chyler, said, patting the book like she couldn’t help it, “and I just ended up here. You are Stella, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said after assessing her for weapons. She looked too scared to be thinking about hurting me and I didn’t think the super tight jeans could conceal anything.

“Yes!” Chyler fist pumped the air. “I just knew it! The book said it was you and now here I am.” She beamed at me.

“What book?”

“This book. It’s the family spell book,” she said, slowly, like she had to spell it out. Groan. One bright blue nail tapped the aged leather exterior of the book. “You don’t have one?” she asked, catching my frown.

I shook my head. “But what are you doing here?”

“I need to hide,” Chyler said and all the confidence seemed to drain out of her. “I asked the book and it said you would protect me. It gave me the spell to find you.”

“The book just... told you?” I tried to not let the disbelief show on my face.

“Usually I have to ask it really nicely but this time it practically demanded to help,” said Chyler as if chatting to a book was a perfectly normal event. At least she didn’t seem to think it was abnormal, which it totally was. “It even had a picture of you.” Chyler thumbed through the thick leaves and finally flipped the book open. She held it up to me, the spine pressed against her middle as she balanced it in both hands. Sure enough there was a pen and ink drawing of my face looking solemnly back at me. “Cool, right? I’m on the run,” she added helpfully.