Wytchcraft: A Matilda Kavanagh Novel (22 page)

“You know, I gotta say, you’re so nice for a Were, I’m surprised to know you’re also dealing with chronic migraines,” I said, making Kyle laugh. The booming noise filled the apartment and startled Artemis, making him grumble in his dozing state.

“Nice for a Were, huh?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said with a wink. “Well to be honest with you the headaches only come on the week of the full moon.”

“Really? Around the Change?”

“That’s right.”

“How strange,” I said. “Just curious, but were you born or bitten?”

“Bitten,” Kyle said, his voice dropping on that one word. “I was young though, probably too young.”

“How young?” I asked, finding that I was speaking in a whisper suddenly.

“Twelve.” He leveled those deep eyes on me, and that one word struck me in the middle of my chest. So young I was amazed he’d lived through the attack. I started to open my mouth to say something, anything, but he held up his hand and forestalled me.

“It is a sad and sorry story, but let’s not go down that road tonight, and please keep your condolences. I have made my peace with it. I mean, it was nearly twenty five years ago.” And just like that I was struck again, realizing he’d just told me he was somewhere around thirty seven years old; I had assumed he was about my age.

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “It’ll take a few hours, so you can always come back later and pick it up.”

I pushed up to my feet, setting my half-empty cup on the tray again. Kyle shifted to the edge of the couch, setting his empty cup beside mine before he lifted Artie out of his lap. He laid the protesting feline on the cushion beside him and stood. He held his hand out to me, his dark hand swallowing mine when we shook.

“Thank you, Mattie,” he said with that easy smile. “How much do I owe you?”

“Well it’s not going to be a one shot deal,” I said, taking my hand back. “The first brewing is fifty and the refills will be twenty, but each bottle will get you through the week of the full moon.”

“Is that all?” Kyle blinked at me, stopping short of letting his mouth hang open in surprise.

“I have a feeling that warlock might owe you a pretty penny or two.” I patted Kyle on the arm as I led him to the door

“Or two,” Kyle agreed. I opened the door for him and he stepped out into the hall. “Thanks again, Mattie.”

“Of course,” I said, holding onto the edge of the door. “I should have it ready for you around two. Is that okay?”

Kyle checked his watch and nodded before saying, “I’ll see you then.”

“Great. Oh and, Kyle,” I said, stopping him before he got too far down the hall. “You be sure to let Frankie know this was all just business, okay? And maybe let her know it would be unfortunate for you if your new pharmacist had any unfortunate accidents, okay?”

“Will do,” Kyle said with a chuckle. He lifted a hand in goodbye and I closed the door, throwing all the locks into place, setting the freezing spell with a touch of my finger.

“Mrrrow,” Artemis said from the couch, pausing in his efforts to clean his rear paw.

“What? I couldn’t in good conscience charge him more,” I said, walking over to pick up the tray and take it back into the kitchen. Artie followed me, mrrowing at me the whole way. “It’s not a complicated spell, okay? I can’t charge him as if it is. That’s bad business. Now shoo!” I waved a foot at his smushed face and he scurried out of the kitchen, leaving me to start on the migraine potion and the Euphoric Chocolates.

“Now watch yourself, Mattie,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t want to mix the two up.”

***

Hours later, the tips of my hair were cold with wet as they bounced against the back of my neck, sending a chill down my back in spite of the oversized sweatshirt I wore. I loved this sweatshirt. It was big enough to hang past my butt and I had to scrunch the sleeves up to keep my hands free, but the inside was soft as down and it kept me very warm. It was grey with maroon lettering across the front that touted the name of the college I had dropped out of. I would’ve finished, gotten a degree in Potion Studies and Charms, but money became too tight and I needed to eat more than I needed to buy more text books.

If my parents had been alive, I would’ve had help with expenses or at least a free place to live, but they had died two years before I’d even started my freshman year.

I closed my eyes against those dark thoughts. It had been almost six years since they died and I’d finally come to the point where I could think about them without the debilitating, heart-stopping pain. Now it was just a dull ache that I could live with. Hell, I could even look at our pictures again, some of them at least. But I didn’t like to think about dropping out of school. My mom would have killed me if she knew I dropped out, and truth be told, I was kind of disappointed in myself as well. My mom had been an exceptional witch; she had double majored in Potion Studies and Talismanic Magic and had gone on to get a Masters in Earth Magic. She’d left a huge pair of shoes to fill, and after her death, I just couldn’t do it. If it hadn’t been for Ronnie and her parents, helping me in those first two years, I might’ve ended up homeless and crazy.

Ronnie’s mom was even more skilled at brewing potions than I was, and it was due in large part to her calming tea that I kept my sanity during that rough patch. I couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat, and even forgot about Artemis if he wasn’t right in my face demanding my attention. Thanks to her tea, I finally started sleeping again. It took six months for me to get through that and remember how to take care of myself and Artemis.

“Prrrow,” Artemis said, twining around my ankles, as if summoned by my thoughts of him. I bent down and scooped him up on my way into the kitchen, clutching him to my chest like a stuffed doll. He arched and squirmed, rubbing his head under my chin, kneading my sweatshirt with his claws. It was good to have another living creature around when my thoughts slipped down that dark path, and a witch couldn’t have a better familiar than Artie. I was so lucky I found him in that alleyway so many years ago.

“I think someone deserves a little treat, don’t you?” I cooed as I set Artie on the counter, a wash of old guilt and affection arcing through me. Ronnie never understood how I could let him wander around on the surfaces and tabletops, telling me it was unsanitary. But Artie’s magic helped mine, so I figured he could walk wherever he wanted.

“Mmmrrrr,” Artemis purred, agreeing with me. I went to the fridge and pulled out a Tupperware bowl full of chicken salad. Artie started meowing loudly, almost yowling, as he circled the counter, more excited than I thought he would be. After dismissing the idea of spooning out a portion for him, I just set the whole bowl in front of him. Artie pounced on it, nearly knocking the bowl off the counter in his excitement.

“Easy.” He brought his head up, tiny bits of flaked chicken caught on his chin. I eyed him for a moment before he lowered his face to the bowl again, carefully this time and without shoving the bowl as he ate.

I picked up my discarded towel that I’d draped across a kitchen chair and scrubbed at my hair, trying to wring out some of the excess water. The hot shower had gone a long way to relaxing my shoulders and back, but the chill of wet hair was starting to get to me. I knew it was just the approaching holidays that were sending me down this melancholy path. My mom loved the holidays. Samhain and Solstice were the big ones for us.

We lived in a neighborhood that was just on the border between a purely supernatural community and purely human, so we got to mix and match our celebrations. Samhain was filled with trick-or-treaters and bonfires with a harvest feast. But we always did jack-o-lanterns; I think those were my favorite part and one of the few things that humans did that we did as well, even if they forgot why they were important. Of course, my neighborhood was much more careful to keep the candles in the pumpkins burning until sunrise, whereas humans just let them sputter out whenever. I still don’t know how they expected the jack-o-lanterns to do their jobs if they weren’t tended to. With all this Roane-Theo-Owen crap, I hadn’t managed to get to the pumpkin patch yet, and at this rate, I wasn’t sure I was going to.

Living where I did now, I missed the trick-or-treaters, even going so far as to buy candy on the small chance someone would come knocking at my door wearing a superhero mask or a pointy witch’s hat. A lot of supernatural kids had started to take on the humans’ traditions of costumes and candy because we liked candy just as much as humans and it was the one night where even humans accepted us wholly. But at least my business usually quadrupled during the week of Samhain and Halloween – it was one of two weeks out of the year that would send humans flocking to my door. The other week was Valentine’s Day, for obvious reasons.

Those old memories seemed to amplify the smell of the cooling chocolate that filled my small apartment, and I hated just how tempted I was to try a piece. I had never indulged in drugs of any kind growing up – mostly out of fear of what my mother would do if she caught me. Once you’ve been zapped with a well-aimed ley line charm, you learn your lesson quick. But really I was already more concerned that her punishments would be a more humiliating flavor.

When I was in grade school, I’d stolen a love potion from her stores to give to my crush, Jasper. My mom found out before I could activate the potion and slip it to him, but instead of grounding me or something sane like that, she’d shown up at my school the next day in a bathrobe and slippers, calling out for me that I’d forgotten to take my coat. She was even wearing curlers that were falling out of her hair. I could laugh about it now, but back then, it was probably the worst thing she could’ve done to me. She was pretty damn smart.

I threw the towel back on the chair before going to the kitchen window and pushing it open. A gust of damp night air swirled in, whisking out the smell of the tempting chocolate. I swallowed and took in a deep breath of the night air, clearing my head. It had actually been a pain in my ass to make that chocolate, having to temper it just right and make the infused butter with the mushrooms. That was the key to making it euphoric, but it had to be done for just seven minutes, and you had to make sure you got every microscopic piece of fungus out of the butter before you added it to the chocolate.

You had to use Himalayan salt and only twenty three grains, not one more or one less, and the sugar had to be sifted in. And about a dozen other steps that were just as anal. No wonder the street value was so high. Trying to do all that while also brewing Kyle’s potion had been a bitch after such a stressful few nights, but they were both done. Kyle’s potion was bottled, stoppered, and ready to go, and the sheet of perfectly cubed chocolates was cooling on a cookie sheet on my counter, just calling to me.

“You’re just hungry,” I said, shaking my head and turning away from the counter. I started to reach for the fridge when a knock at my front door stopped me. It wasn’t an angry, demanding knock, or a hurried, desperate knock, it was just a normal, please-come-to-the-door-knock. Artemis picked up his head for a moment, staring at the door, but after a moment, he went back to his feast.

“No biggie, huh?” I asked him, running my hand over him as I walked by, heading for the door. I could see the unmistakable wild tumble of red curls through the peephole even if Ronnie was too short for me to see her face. Her head was bowed, as if she was staring at the floor, and I realized she was watching the shadow of my feet under the door.

I unlocked the line of locks and broke the freezing spell before I opened the door. I stood back, half my body hidden by the door, letting her walk in. Ronnie came in quietly, tossing her bag on the high back wooden chair in the living room, moving with ease and confidence as if we hadn’t had a total blow out a couple of hours ago.

“Hungry? I was just gonna fix something,” I said, closing the door and throwing the locks back into place.

“Yeah, actually,” Ronnie said, and she followed me into the kitchen.

I pulled out two glasses from the cupboard as she opened the fridge to see what I had. I turned in time to catch her cringe before standing back up. “Mattie, all you have is take-out leftovers. Don’t you ever eat any real food?”

“That is real food,” I said. “They have calories and everything.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, setting the glasses on the counter before nudging her out of the way with my hip. I handed her an open bottle of wine to pour for us before shifting the take-out boxes back and forth, trying to decide on what to have. I finally settled on the left over pasta since it was spaghetti and marinara and Ronnie could eat it too so long as she avoided the meatballs. I grabbed the remaining half of the garlic bread, stacking it on top of the spaghetti so I could grab two forks.

Practically spilling everything on the table, I handed Ronnie a fork so I could start to work the clear lid of the round container open, uncrimping the aluminum around it. Ronnie took a hunk of cold garlic bread and ripped off a bite between two fingers, popping it in her mouth. Tossing the lid aside, I hooked my foot around the chair leg and dragged it closer to sit beside Ronnie. We both stabbed at the cold noodles coated in red sauce, twirling too large bites before stuffing them in our mouths.

If we’d been in public, Ronnie would have been much more delicate about her bites, making sure to only twine one or two noodles around her fork, but here, in my kitchen, she ate with the same gusto I did. The corners of her mouth were red with sauce, as I’m sure mine were too, reminding me I forgot to grab napkins. Twisting around in my chair, I reached for the roll of paper towels on the counter and tore off two, handing her one.

“Fanks,” she managed around her mouthful, dragging the paper towel across her mouth. I nodded a welcome, having shoved a huge bite of garlic bread in my mouth and making sounds was impossible, let alone actual words. Ronnie nudged a meatball to my side of the plate, trying desperately to touch it with as little of her fork as possible. I finally stabbed it with mine and bit into it.