Capitol Magic (11 page)

I glanced at Clarice's still form. “My life is what it is, Chris. I need tools. I need instruction. I need to learn how to be a sphinx.”

He squirmed. “You do. I haven't been fair.” And then he met my gaze. “I'm sorry.”

The apology took me by surprise. I had not expected it, had not anticipated the open, uncomplicated confession of two simple words. His admission opened a huge emotional well, cast me onto an entirely different plane.

I nodded, unsure of what to say.

James finally broke the silence. “We've got to get that one to a sanctum before dawn.” He jutted his chin toward Clarice.

Chris scowled. “I'll take care of that,” he said. “It's my job.” He dug in his pocket for his cell phone, but then he passed the device to me. “Or, rather, Sarah can make the call. It's high time I taught her what to do.”

I took the phone and waited for my mentor to tell me whom to call.

CHAPTER 9

JANE

I WATCHED AS David carried the last of my books up the cottage stairs. He had teased me mercilessly about my copious boxes of clothes, not even attempting to understand why I needed eleven different black skirts. He had rolled his eyes when I insisted on taking every last bottle of alcohol from beneath the sink, even the Cynar that was too bitter for anyone to actually drink. He had put his foot down completely, when I tried to bring the mismatched kitchen plates; he said there were plenty at his farmhouse, and none of them were chipped.

But he had not uttered one word of protest over my copious witchcraft paraphernalia. Books, crystals, herbs, cauldrons—all of it had been packed up and carried out. All of it was destined for David's farm.

I glanced around the basement. It was different now, stripped to its mundane furnishings. Nevertheless, it was the place where I had first awakened Neko, where I first came into my true powers as a witch.

As if on cue, my familiar poked his head through the door. “That's the last of it,” he said. “Are you ready to go? I convinced David to stop at Tackle Box on the way out. He's buying.”

My smile was reflexive. Of course, Neko had pushed for a meal at the seafood restaurant. He'd gobble every bite from his own plate, and I'd have to slap his fingers to keep him away from mine.

“Why don't the two of you go ahead,” I said. “I'm just going to lock things up and take the keys over to the library.”

“Girlfriend, don't even think about getting sentimental,” Neko chided. “You know your eyes just get puffy when you cry.”

“They do not! And I'm not going to cry. I'm fine. Really.”

He clicked his tongue, obviously not believing me, but he sashayed out the door. I heard a quiet conversation between the men, and then the front door closed.

I walked along the empty bookshelves, one last time. I straightened the rug, one last time. I ran my hand along the cracked leather couch. One. Last. Time.

And then I climbed the stairs, turned out the light, and closed the door, locking it firmly behind me.

A loud knock jolted me out of my nostalgic self-pity. I startled and thought about ducking into my empty bedroom. But that was foolish. There was no one I was afraid of. No one I needed to avoid.

“Sarah!” I exclaimed, as I opened the door.

She raised a paperboard box, displaying the label from Cake Walk. “I'm glad I caught you.”

I had not seen the sphinx since our midnight escapade in the basement of Richardson's mansion. I'd phoned her, of course—left her a half dozen messages by dawn on that memorable night. She had texted me the briefest of messages, letting me know that she was fine, that the books were fine. That she'd be in touch.

A check had arrived two days later—generous enough that my pay worked out to more than one hundred dollars an hour. It had been signed by James Morton. So, Sarah had come clean; she hadn't needed to pay me with under-the-table cash.

I'd held the check for nearly a week, debating the ethics of depositing it. I hadn't completed my work. I hadn't integrated the new texts into the old collection. But I
had
taught Sarah everything she needed to know to finish the project.

And I'd saved her life from our vampire attackers.

“I'm sorry,” I said, realizing she was still standing on the threshold. “Come in!” I led her into the kitchen. “I'm sorry,” I said again. “I don't really have anything to offer you. Everything's packed. Gone.”

“That's why I brought the treats,” she said, opening the box to reveal a half dozen cupcakes. “They're all Beehive Bombs. I figured we didn't need to do any Tarot. And the honey in the frosting is a sweet start to your new life.”

I saluted her with one of the treats. She helped herself to another, and we devoted our attention to the cupcakes for a couple of companionable minutes. Only as the sugar suffused my bloodstream did I finally dare to tell her the thing I'd thought the most often during the past two weeks. “I felt terrible leaving you there. I hope everything was okay, with James and Chris?”

Her green eyes clouded. “It all worked out in the long run.”

There was something she wasn't telling me. I started to press her., but then I decided to take another bite of honey-scented frosting. Despite everything we'd been through, I didn't know Sarah all that well. I couldn't begin to understand her relationship with the vampire she served, with the sphinx who trained her.

She smiled wanly, as if she appreciated my forbearance. “I can't totally explain it,” she said. “I've come at this whole supernatural thing sort of backwards. I was trained by a vampire before I ever learned about my sphinx identity. It's taken months, but I've finally gotten Chris to understand that he needs to teach me. Needs to show me what I am. What I can be.”

I understood what she was saying. I, too, had fought to discover my supernatural self. Why was it so difficult for us to embrace our true nature? Why was it so hard to learn how to be a witch, how to be a sphinx? Why did we fight the most intensely with the very men who were supposed to guide us?

“Men,” I said, picking up another Beehive. “Can't control them. Can't shoot them.”

She laughed and captured her own auxiliary cupcake. “So?” she said, gesturing to the empty cottage. “You're actually ready to leave? Are you heading down to the bakery?”

“No,” I said, around a mouthful of yellow cake. I swallowed and elaborated. “Living with Melissa would only have been a temporary thing. Putting life on hold until I found the courage to do what I really need to do.” I heard the grim determination in those words, and I realized they weren't really right. Weren't fair. “Do what I
want
to do,” I amended.

I struggled to explain, to pull together all the craziness of the past three years. I had grown so much, learned so much, but every new fact and emotion had only opened up the door to more confusion. I knew who I was, or at least who I wanted to be. I just wasn't absolutely certain of the right path to get there.

Another person might have interrupted my churning thoughts. Another person might have offered up her own advice. Another person might have told me what I should do, how I should do it, when I should act.

But Sarah merely waited. Calmly. Patiently. Watching, with the cool eyes of a desert cat.

“I love David,” I said. There. That phrase was simple. Easy to say. Easy to believe. But I had to add, “I love him, and that frightens me. I'm afraid of giving up who I've been, all the freedom I've had. Even the mistakes I've made. I'm afraid I'll become the witch—the woman—he wants me to be, but I'll lose myself along the way.”

She nodded. “I understand that. They're strong men. And we have to be strong women to hold our own with them.”

I wasn't one hundred percent certain who “they” were. David and James Morton, definitely. But Chris Gardner as well? I had never met the man. I couldn't say what challenges Sarah truly faced, what balance she was fighting to find.

“I can tell you one thing,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “It feels great to talk about this with someone who really
gets
it. Someone who understands the craziness of magic. Of my life.”

She laughed. “I'm sure there are hundreds of books that would tell us witches are nothing like sphinxes. That the challenges you face have nothing in common with mine.”

“It didn't feel that way in Richardson's basement,” I said.

“No. It didn't.”

I wondered if she was picturing the smudges of ash left on the stone floor, like I was. “You'll keep in touch, won't you?” I asked. “Even after I've moved in with David?”

“Of course,” she said. “My hours are crazy, but my boss is actually a lot more understanding than I usually give him credit for.” She laughed and pushed herself to her feet. “We can have regular get-togethers at Cake Walk.”

“I'm not sure Melissa would like that. We might frighten off her customers.”

“We'll have to watch what we say. That's for sure.” She took a step back, obviously ready to leave. “We'll make it work.”

“Wait,” I said. “There are two cupcakes left.”

“Why don't you take them. Share them with David.”

I nodded. “I'll do that.” Impulsively, I reached forward, pulling her into a hug. Her arms stayed stiff at her sides, though. The gesture of affection was not natural to her. I squeezed quickly and backed away, barely capturing a whiff of lemon on her hair. As I walked her to the door, I said, “Keep me posted on your studies.”

“Oh, I will,” she said. “You haven't seen the last of me.” She laughed, and then she headed down the garden path. Only when she disappeared around the corner of the Peabridge did I realize that I hadn't even thanked her for the cupcakes.

I shrugged. There'd be time enough to prove that I appreciated her kind thoughts. And the next treats would be on me.

I turned back to the cottage. The late afternoon sun was streaming through the windows, turning motes of dust to crystal. The hunter green couches sat empty. The braided rug invited bare feet to cross it.

I picked up my purse and the two remaining Beehive cupcakes. I dug out my key. I worked the lock, slowly and methodically.

And I turned toward the garden, and the road and the rest of my life—as a librarian, as a teacher, as a witch. As a woman ready to embrace my destiny.

THANK YOU!

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Capitol Magic
! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other readers find the books in this series.

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SNEAK PEEK: HOW NOT TO MAKE A WISH

And now for something completely different… This sneak peek comes from
How Not to Make a Wish
, the first volume of the As You Wish series. Step right up for a tale of genies, the professional theater, and a production of
Romeo and Juliet
the likes of which you have never seen before!

* * *

I LOVE THE theater. The theater is my life.

At least that's what I told myself as I suffered my third sneezing fit in an hour.

Standing in the costume shop at the Fox Hill Dinner Theater, I extracted a linty tissue from my pocket and blew my nose, trying not to pay attention to the clouds of dust swirling in the overhead fluorescent lights. If I let myself think about how much debris filled the air around me, my lungs would seize up and I'd collapse in front of a dozen feather-covered costumes from Gypsy.

“Gotta have a gimmick, Kira Franklin,” I muttered to myself.

A gimmick—that was the name of the game in the cutthroat world of Midwestern dinner theater. And without one, Fox Hill would be out of business in less than a month. Anna Harper, the dinner theater's artistic director and my boss for the past seven years, was fully aware of our company's dire straits. She'd been hinting for months that I should get my résumé out, that I should try to nail down my dream job at Landmark Stage, the Twin Cities' newest theatrical darling. In fact, she'd pretty much told me that my next paycheck would be my last—the theater loved me, couldn't work without me, but just couldn't afford to keep me, blah, blah, blah.

Alas, my Fox Hill credentials weren't likely to spark interest from the Landmark. Like it or not, I'd limited my marketability by staying with Anna for as long as I had. Every time I applied for a position with the prestigious Landmark Stage—even just working in the ticket office—I received a polite, anonymous, form-letter rejection.

Nevertheless, barring a miracle, Anna was going to have to cut me loose. But we wouldn't go down without a fight. Prior to hiring some starry-eyed kid right out of high school, Anna had decided on one last money-making scheme: selling our old costumes to the public. We were trying to be as festive as possible as we launched our last-ditch bid for survival—we had taken out full-page ads in both the Minneapolis StarTribune and the St. Paul Pioneer Press announcing our grand sale: Evening gowns! Dance wear! Halloween costumes for young and old alike!

We played up the glamour, providing a long list of our hit shows from the past decade. We kinda, sorta, maybe hoped that no one would focus on the fact that most of the costumes were designed for a handful of quick outings on stage. We absolutely refused to make any guarantee that seams would hold, that sequins would stay attached, that feathers and ribbons and bows would last through a single wearing at a glamorous society ball.