Warlock 3 - Preview Chapters

Chapter

“Whose idea was this?” Cassandra demanded.

Saturday dinner at Mel’s was getting crowded — and bigger.

What had started as just three — me, Mel, and Felicity — last summer had more than doubled since Morgan began coming over on weekends, adding Cassandra and Rachel to the coven, and with Priscilla now joining us.

Sam helped Mel carry dishes from the kitchen as the rest of us made our way to our seats and tried to figure out what Cassandra was complaining about.

“What?” Rachel asked.

She was on the other side of the table, one seat down from me at the head, while Cassandra was to my left. Sam would be to my right, with Morgan next to Rachel and Priscilla now taking the seat next to Cassandra. Mel had been sitting next to Cassandra, with Felicity next to her, until she’d moved down a seat when Priscilla joined us.

I’d suggested we change it up occasionally, but apparently there was witch-protocol involved for some meals, and weekly dinners counted. Of all the witch-things I thought my coven needed to do differently, dinner seating was pretty far down the list, so I didn’t fight it.

“This!” Cassandra growled, reaching down and pulling an inflatable, donut-shaped cushion from her chair.

She glared at Morgan, then at me.

“It must have been one of you two, because everybody else would know witches don’t need these when they’re pregnant.” Her glare locked onto me. “And she’d know it was too early in the pregnancy for me to need one even if I was a mundane.”

I spread my hands in actual innocence.

“It’s not for your hemorrhoids,” Morgan said. “It’s for your bruises.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense. All this would do is concentrate the pressure and make them hurt worse.”

“Oops?”

“I’ll take it,” Sam said, setting a bowl of salad on the table and reaching across to pluck the donut from Cassandra’s grasp.

Mel arrived with a steaming tray of lasagna and I took some salad then passed the bowl.

Cassandra sat, wincing a little, while Sam slid the pillow under herself and bounced a couple times, grinning. The bruises I’d put on her ass the night before weren’t anywhere near as significant as Cassandra’s, but she deemed them adequate, barring a call for divine-assistance.

“Can we not at the dinner table?” Cassandra asked.

Sam shrugged. “You’re the one who brought up your ass.”

I added some dressing to my salad from the little caddy of squeeze bottles Mel had assembled with everyone’s preferences, all homemade, and passed that to Sam.

“Girls.”

It was bad enough everyone knew what I’d done to Cassandra’s ass, and Mel wasn’t even bothering to hide her grin as she added salad to Felicity’s plate, despite the cat-witch’s disdainful sniff.

My hopes of keeping this particular problem from Mel, or even keeping it just within the current coven members, hadn’t lasted past our Friday morning class with Mel. She’d taken one look at Cassandra, then had to leave the workroom for nearly five minutes, leaving us standing around. Then, this morning, Morgan had peeked over Rachel’s shoulder at a book on rituals and asked what she was studying for — Rachel is not good at lying.

“Sorry, Dominus.”

Cassandra waved a hand at Morgan, raising her eyebrows to me.

“No ass jokes at dinner, okay?” I asked.

I knew that no ass jokes at all would be too much to ask … even from myself.

Morgan shrugged and sipped her wine.

“I still can’t believe you spanked her,” Morgan said.

“She was bad,” Sam whispered back before I could say anything. “Papa spank.”

Morgan was staring at me with one eyebrow raised.

“It’s — I —” I sighed. “Thirteen women — Sam says I need some way to handle things when one gets … out of line?” I decided an appeal to authority was in order. “Mel said it was a good idea!”

“Really?” Morgan bit her lip. “What happens when you get ‘out of line?’”

“We outnumber him already,” Sam offered. “Eventually thirteen of us making him miserable? He’ll stay in line.”

“And you’re okay with him spank — never mind.” Morgan leaned back to talk to Rachel instead of Sam. “You’re okay with this?”

Rachel shrugged. “Better than using the coven bond all the time — and he usually says ‘girls’ way before it gets to that, so you just have to listen.”

“Did he not just say no ass-jokes?” Cassandra complained, taking a breadstick and passing the basket to Priscilla.

“That wasn’t a joke,” Morgan said. “It was a serious question.”

“Indeed,” Mel agreed, studiously cutting Felicity’s salad into more manageable pieces. She glanced at Rachel. “Have you made any progress with finding a ritual?”

Rachel shook her head.

Cassandra sighed and viscously stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork.

“I might have found a potion,” Sam offered, “but it will probably need some tweaking. Could you help with it, Melaina? I have some questions.”

“After dinner?” Cassandra asked.

Mel nodded. “Of course, dear — we can discuss it later.”

“Isn’t there something you could do?” Cassandra asked.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about your butt,” I said.

That got me a glare, but it was worth it.

Mel shook her head. “I can honestly say I’ve never encountered this particular problem before. The coven bond is always a bit different, so I’m afraid you’ll have to find a solution to this together.”

“Great,” Cassandra muttered.

Sam had suggested as much in our cuddle-time after receiving her own bruises, even saying there was a possibility I wasn’t responsible — not something I’d try to tell Cassandra, but it was nice there was a chance I hadn’t screwed up.

Instead, Sam thought maybe it was Cassandra’s intent that was driving them.

It was possible she hadn’t fully accepted that we’d forgiven her, or felt she hadn’t fully paid for what she’d done, and the bruises might stick around until she did — or even that they were a representation of something else she was feeling.

Since there wasn’t really any way to be sure one way or the other, we decided not to mention that to Cassandra, since knowing that might make it even harder for her to really accept things.

For the lasagna, we all passed our plates down to Mel who scooped it out for us so we weren’t passing the still-hot tray around, then some roasted vegetables made the rounds, along with the breadsticks again.

Dessert was tiramisu and espresso, and we all sat back with satisfied sighs.

The time after dessert had sort of become our family meeting time, since we were all together.

“Any ideas on how to handle the Fieldings?” I tossed out.

“Pfftt!”

“That seems a bit excessive, dear,” Mel said. “They haven’t harmed anyone.”

I tried not to picture what Felicity might have suggested that Mel thought was excessive.

“I left another message yesterday morning,” Sam said.

“Fuck ‘em,” Morgan muttered, draining the remnants of her espresso.

I shook my head. “I’m not happy with the Fieldings either, but that’s not helpful.”

“I mean Hannah and Brittany,” Morgan said. “That’s how the coven thing works, right? Invite them over next weekend and get it done.”

“That’s a little abrupt,” I said. “Hannah didn’t even say she wanted to join, just that she couldn’t.”

Morgan shrugged. “So ask her.”

“I plan to next time we talk about it, but I’d like to not piss off the Fieldings — plus, I do still have that oath to worry about until school’s over.”

I glanced at Sam. “Do you think it would help if I called them myself?”

Cassandra shook her head. “It’s going to take some time for the other Families to get used to a warlock Family Head.”

“What about you?”

Another head shake. “I’m not high priestess or even First Witch — they’d think it was an insult.”

“Mel?”

“To call them?” Mel asked, then shook her head as well. “After the Council Session, they’d likely think I was trying to intimidate them.”

I sighed, part of me wondering why the most powerful witch in the world couldn’t just intimidate people once in a while — it seemed a waste — but also wondering how these powerful witch Families could be so fucking touchy about protocol and stuff.

A couple other ideas were thrown out, all shot down for one reason or another, and we wound up with no better plan than we’d started with, then something about that protocol thought struck me.

“Rachel, do you still have that copy of the Principium you had for the Council meeting?”

She shook her head. “I returned it to the library.”

“Can you check it out again?”

“We should have our own copy. I can ask Grandma for one — they’ve left some things out of the online version.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said. “I want to know everything about that ‘aid to a Lost One’ thing. Everything we might have been able to ask for and didn’t. Money, property … witches — you get the idea?”

Rachel nodded.

The Council meeting and its aftermath had been so emotionally charged that we’d been happy to just get recognition.

I wasn’t happy anymore.

“Does the Council keep minutes or anything?”

Cassandra nodded. “I might still have access under the Blake account.”

“Should we have our own?”

Another nod.

“Then start with that. Get us our own access so we’re not reliant on something that can be shut off. Cassandra, you’re high priestess for that — whatever authority or argument you need, understand?”

“Yes, but what am I looking for?”

“Everything to do with past Family formations, even cadet branches. Are there records of trades of witches between Families?”

“Yes, in the minutes.”

I nodded. “That too. I want to know what was exchanged, especially for the Fieldings.”

“Got it.”

“Do witch Families have any public — witchlic, whatever — business records?”

“No,” Sam said, “we’re pretty private about stuff like that.”

Priscilla tentatively raised a hand.

“Yes?”

“Um, my mom sort of likes to … keep track of things? Investment opportunities.”

Cassandra snorted. “She likes to know when someone’s weak.”

Priscilla shrugged.

I nodded, not really surprised. “Anything she knows about the Fieldings’ business, but especially the ‘value’ of a onesie with Hindsight or Precog. Like the hundred-year value given how many cases they work and how much they’re paid — I forget what it’s called.”

That high-school business class might have actually been useful.

“Mel?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You’ve been around … a while. Do you have any favors you’d be willing to call in to help with this?”

She frowned, thinking.

“Not with the Fieldings directly, but there are others who might have and would be open to an exchange.”

“This is exciting,” Rachel said, grinning. “It’s like spellstick at the trade deadline.”

“Okay,” I said. “Sam, you keep calling, but keep it calm and professional. In fact, don’t just ask for a call back — tell them you’re requesting a meeting for the Blackwood Family Head with theirs.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

I took a deep breath. “Any other ideas?”

“Mrowr?”

“That don’t involve teeth or claws?”

Felicity’s eyes darted to Sam.

“Mrowr.”

“Or shotguns.” I frowned. “And no sniper rifles.”

“Pfft!”

Chapter

I made it through the next week without needing to show Cassandra’s ass to any teachers.

Sam found worked out the potion she thought might help — a lotion, rather — and we planned to try that first.

I was supposed to rub it into Cassandra’s butt every day for a full moon cycle — and, since I was massaging Cassandra’s butt every night, I might as well do Sam’s and Rachel’s too, as it was also beneficial to unbruised asses. I had a bit of a suspicion I’d been set up, but after the first night, Cassandra said she thought it was helping.

Also … this was not something I intended to complain about.

Friday breakfasts … at least those Fridays where we weren’t facing a disciplinary hearing … or a special Council session … well, most Friday breakfasts consisted of talking about plans for the weekend, which were, pretty reliably, Hannah and Brittany going into town to hit dance clubs while my coven and I went into the city to stay at Mel’s.

It was just our little group at the onesies … Blackwood Family Table, most of the others who usually sat there, including the two who were sitting with us now, came in later and we mostly saw them at lunch and dinner.

“So are you guys going into town again this weekend?” Sam asked Hannah and Brittany.

“No,” Hannah said, “we’ll probably just hang out here — the clubs get kind of old this late in the year.” She glanced at her sister. “And if you’re so picky you haven’t found a regular guy by now, the only ones left are assholes. What about you? City again to hang out at Magistra Blackwood’s?”

“Yes,” Sam said, “but not until first thing in the morning.”

“Why?”

“Ifferns aim,” Rachel muttered around a mouthful of oatmeal.

Brittany raised an eyebrow.

“Wyverns game,” Sam translated. “We missed nearly two minutes of the stream the last time we tried to get a train on Friday night after class.”

“It was half the first period!” Rachel corrected after swallowing.

Sam shrugged.

“We’re playing the Sirens away! If they win and the Krakens win their game, then we’ll lose first seed in the playoffs! But if we win and the Krakens lose, then we’re guaranteed first seed, so long as the Wendigos at least tie the Ichthyocentaurs, and that gives home field for the first and second rounds!”

“It’s a big game,” Sam translated.

“Gotcha,” Hannah said.

“What’s an Icky-whatever?” I asked.

“I told you already,” Rachel said. “Those stupid, stuck-up girls from stupid Thallassic Academy. It doesn’t even sound good — the Thallassic Ichthyocentaurs? Stupid.”

I nodded. “Yeah, you told me that, then started analyzing their stats and explaining how the refs were totally on their side all last year — what I meant was, what the fuck is the thing they’re named after?”

“Half human, half horse, half fish,” Priscilla said.

I frowned. “That’s too many halves.”

Priscilla shrugged. “You get the idea.”

I did, disturbingly. “That can’t be a real thing, right?”

Sam glared at me. “Sure. You can believe in a platypus, but an ichthyocentaur is a step too far?”

“I’ve seen a platypus.”

“In person?”

“Stupid name,” Rachel repeated. “Even worse than the Sirens — I mean, Sonoma’s in a desert, it doesn’t make sense.”

I glanced around at the others and decided to drop it — I was pretty sure Sam was fucking with me and the icky-whats weren’t real, but I detected a couple grins and suspected the others were on board with that. I’d look the things up later in the library.

“So we’re taking the first train out tomorrow morning,” Cassandra said.

“First?” I asked. “Why so early?”

It wasn’t unusual for the girls to make our weekend plans with Morgan and just tell me where to be and when — I kind of liked it. The girls got to do what they wanted, and I got to watch them have fun. Though, other times they just looked at me blankly when I asked what we were going to do … then all smiled when I picked something. Girls are weird.

“Mihai’s picking up Morgan and Felicity first, then meeting us at the train station — we want time to get a nice breakfast before the store opens,” Rachel said.

“If it’s first thing,” I said, “you should have him pick us up at the station first, then we all go and get Morgan. She’s not going to be happy that early, but some extra sleep might make her less cranky.”

Rachel nodded and pulled out her phone.

“Store?” Brittany asked, eyes going wide.

Cassandra nodded. “We need to expand Noah’s wardrobe.”

“Shopping?” Hannah asked.

I chuckled. “Would you like to come along?”

“Duh!” Brittany said.

Cassandra and Sam pulled out their phones.

Sam: “I’ll update the breakfast reservation.”

Rachel: “I’ll let Mihai know we’ll need a second car. His Caravan won’t fit eight of us.”

Cassandra: “I’ll let the store know there’ll be two more.”

*

“Heeelllooo, laši shuvaniya!”

I’d been greeted by the Romani rideshare driver often enough to recognize his call of “hello, pretty witches,” I was even used to being left out of the initial greeting — what was new was the sleek, black van he stood beside instead of his old, battered minivan. The thing even had an air conditioner on the roof.

“You have a kumpani?” Brittany whispered.

“No,” Rachel said, “Mihai just drives for us.”

I took Mihai’s offered hand. The Roma man had a strong grip and pulled me closer, slapping my shoulder a couple times. I slapped his as well in what I’d come to recognize as his greeting.

“Nice car,” I said. “Too nice for your driving.”

Mihai grinned. “Nice witches — too nice for such a face.”

We shared a laugh — I liked Mihai, he was more than just a driver, as he’d been quick to offer to watch over Morgan when Felicity had come to help save me and Cassandra from the Patriarchy, and I’d come to understand a bit of teasing between guys was part of his culture.

It really was a nice van — and new, I thought, as I climbed through the door and got a nose full of new-car smell. The interior was black, with deeply tinted windows. I could see out, but hadn’t been able to see in from outside. The roof was raised so that I could almost stand upright, and it had seats — lots of seats. Three rows of three with a small aisle and four seats at the back, along with the driver and front passenger seats — the thing would fit an entire coven, plus a driver.

I took a place in the rear row where Sam, Rachel, and Cassandra could sit with me, while Priscilla took a seat in the row ahead of us, with Hannah and Brittany filling out that row.

“How much are we paying him?” I whispered to Rachel when Mihai shut the side doors and walked around the van’s front to the driver’s door.

“He wouldn’t accept more than the rideshare rate for trips, but I negotiated him up to a decent hourly rate when he’s driving us all day.”

I nodded. “Good.”

My coven had plenty of money, thanks to Mel, so we could afford to treat people well.

*

The drive to pick up Morgan went with the girls chatting about shopping and what they were hoping to find, so I mostly tuned it out, but I did have a question for Rachel.

“What’s a kumpani?” I whispered.

“Oh,” Rachel said, glancing toward the front of the van. “It’s a group of Roma, but Brittany’s talking about a long time ago when witches and the Roma would sort of team up — like outcasts sticking together — but that doesn’t happen anymore.”

“Why?”

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe things just became harder — a lot of Roma started settling in cities instead of traveling, so maybe witches didn’t want to do that, or when the Families started here they didn’t need the Roma anymore.”

“Need for what?”

“Protection, mostly — it was usually single witches who partnered with a kumpani. There were covens, too, but the Roma always swore their oath to one witch in the coven. They brought magic protection and the Roma brought physical protection, so they worked together. Things got safer with real laws and police and stuff — like, it got harder for the villagers to just break out the torches or something, you know?”

I nodded. I wondered if Mel had ever done that — traveled with the Roma — maybe after the Death when she’d been looking for her family and killing vampires?

We pulled up to my old foster home to find Morgan waiting on the steps, looking annoyed.

That wasn’t unusual, but the guy casually leaning against the steps’ railing was.

“Isn’t that the guy from the car that followed us?” Sam asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, Gabriel.”

“Is he bothering Morgan?” Rachel asked. “Should we do something to him?”

“Like what?” Sam asked — a little too earnestly for my taste.

“Is he the creep you were telling me about?” Priscilla asked.

“Yeah.”

“My Family knows a shelter for homeless weres that’s not too picky about donations,” Hannah said.

I tore my eyes away from glaring at Gabriel, who was grinning and watching Morgan’s ass as she walked toward the van, to look at Hannah.

“What would —”

Brittany mimed ripping a chunk of meat off a bone and chewing.

“No!” I said quickly. “We’re not feeding him to werewolves.”

“We’d just drop him off,” Hannah said. “They have their own cooks.”

“What about werewolves?” Morgan asked, sliding into a seat and pausing for Felicity to hop in before nodding to Mihai that he could close the door.

“Nothing —” I started to say, but I trailed off, because I’d looked back out the window at the suggested charitable contribution.

I wouldn’t tell the girls yet, because I didn’t want to spoil the day they’d planned, but I had to get some time with Felicity and Mel.

Yeah, he’d been staring at Morgan’s ass with a weird smile on his face, but in the moment before the van’s door closed, as Felicity hopped aboard, Gabriel’s attention had shifted — to the glamoured cat no mundane should be able to see.

Chapter

Breakfast was at an elegant — and very popular, judging by the line out front — place I’d never heard of, but we weren’t waiting in line. Sam had made us a reservation, and somehow managed to add three to it with only a day’s notice.

I suggested Mihai join us, but he said something about parking and waved me off.

I determined to do my best not to let what I’d seen at the foster home interfere with our day, but it was hard. Morgan was with us, so she wasn’t in any immediate danger, and I thought it would be okay to wait until we were back at Mel’s. I might even be able to convince Morgan to not return to the foster home — something that would probably be easier if she was already at Mel’s.

The breakfast place had unlimited mimosas — apparently in both quantity and variety — and I started to get a feeling for what my day was going to be like as the girls placed orders for papaya, mango, strawberry, kiwi, passion fruit, dragon fruit, orange, and pomegranate. Rachel got booed for ordering boring-orange. Seven girls, eight mimosas, the eighth being for Felicity who was in the middle of the table, seemingly invisible to everyone in the restaurant.

“And for you, sir?” the waitress asked, having not blinked an eye at Sam ordering two mimosas to start the morning.

“Just coffee, please — black.”

“It’s going to be a long day,” Sam told me, “you should loosen up a bit.”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

Sam shrugged.

I did consider ordering a drink — maybe four — since it was going to be a day of shopping. I anticipated several hours of standing around bored with the girls holding six of what I’d be certain were the same color and style shirts up to me and arguing about which was best. That was probably something best-endured drunk, but … it was eight in the fucking morning.

Then I looked at the menu and regretted not ordering a few mimosas for myself.

“Forty-two dollars for French toast?”

“It’s totally worth it,” Rachel said. “Grandma takes me here when the Banshees play the Nagas away — your job now.”

I sighed, reading the rest of the menu. This place was insane, but I had to admit the offerings looked fantastic, so long as I didn’t look at any of the numbers.

A few minutes later, the drinks arrived and the waitress started taking orders while I tried not to do addition in my head.

“I’ll, ah, have a side of fruit,” Morgan said when it was her turn, and held her menu out for the waitress to take.

Fuck — I’d been so busy being shocked by the prices myself that I hadn’t considered what they’d look like to Morgan. This was the first time we’d been to any sort of real restaurant with her since she’d found out she was a witch — eating out had been in pretty standard places, since who needed fancy restaurants when one of Mel’s dinners was waiting back at the townhouse?

“Morgan?”

“What?”

Her eyes were wide and I saw her throat work.

“Rachel recommends the French toast; I think you’d like it.”

“But —”

I locked eyes with Morgan. It wasn’t some kind of silent communication or battle of wills, it was just me looking at the best, only, friend I’d had for a lot of my life and seeing that, as had often been the case, what she wanted to do, thought she should do, and needed to do were all different things — and she was afraid again about what would happen in a few weeks. Some realities were hitting home for her — not just the money, but, I thought, the sudden increase in the number of girls around Mel’s dinner table. [1] What had started with just me and Sam had quickly added Cassandra and Rachel, then Priscilla starts showing up, and then Hannah and Brittany were joining us for things — and it wasn’t as though she could ignore that I wanted them for my coven.

The changes were going to be huge for her and she needed to come to terms with them.

“She’ll have the French toast,” I told the waitress, “and I’ll have the King’s Benedict.”

I deliberately picked the most expensive thing on the menu, trying to offset Morgan’s sticker-shock. None of the things we’d done together had cost a lot, because I knew how Morgan didn’t like people spending money on her, but it was time for her to get over that. She’d be aging out in a little over a month and moving in with us at Mel’s — maybe I’d ask Sam to help her pick out a few nice things while we were shopping.

“You’re ordering for me now?” Morgan demanded after the waitress left.

I sipped my coffee. “When you need me to.”

Morgan’s face clouded and her eyes narrowed.

Sam cleared her throat. “Who needs to pee?”

With a chorus of “yeah,” “I do,” and “good idea,” all the girls stood and left Morgan and me alone.

“That line we keep talking about? It’s right in front of you, Ashe.”

“Blackwood,” I corrected.

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Blackwood, whatever, still —”

The thing about Morgan was that she was actually most receptive to something when she was angry about it. It was like when the anger faded, she was left able to think clearly about what she’d been angry about.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. It was time for that talk — not about joining my coven, that shouldn’t come in a fight, but about what things really were going to be like after she aged out. I’d had the same trouble accepting everything Mel could do for me, so I understood how Morgan felt.

“I’ll smush that plate of French toast right in your smug face, is what I’ll do.”

I shook my head. “Not about breakfast, about everything. This is my life now, Morgan.” I gestured in the direction of the suddenly very long restroom line. “It’s fucking bizarre to me, too, but this is how they all grew up. This place probably isn’t even the most expensive they’re used to for breakfast.”

I paused to give her a chance to say something, but she just stared at me.

“It’s only a few weeks until school’s over, a few days after that for your birthday. The girls are making a lot of plans for us this summer.”

“Us?”

“All of us — my coven, Mel and Felicity. Hannah and Brittany are going home, but Priscilla’s spending the summer with us. You’re part of us, unless you don’t want to be.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “What plans?”

I chuckled. “Cassandra got us tickets to some concert series a couple weeks after you age out.”

“What band?” Morgan asked, looking suspiciously at where Cassandra was waiting in line.

“Classical. A three-night series.”

“Count me out.”

“It’s an Original Trilogy screening with a live orchestra. Film, not digital.”

Morgan’s scowl changed to a dropped jaw.

“You can be a real asshole, you know that?”

“When I need to be, yeah.”

“What else?”

“Sam’s planning a trip to Europe … well, Sweden and Bulgaria, at least.”

Morgan started rubbing her forehead. “Fuck. I can’t even imagine what something like that costs.”

I sipped my coffee and nodded. “Oh, and, apparently, flying commercial sucks too much.”

Morgan’s eyes came up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I shook my head. “A lot of the Families have private jets, but we’re going to have to rent.”

I decided to let Morgan think that was because my coven couldn’t afford one, not that it was on Cassandra’s list, but she and Rachel were still comparing specifications and hadn’t decided on which one they thought we should buy. I was waiting until they decided before making my own argument — which had been reduced to having them do a cost-comparison with renting, based on how often we were likely to travel until after we graduated. That would buy me a few years without owning a jet, at least.

“This is ridiculous,” Morgan muttered.

I agreed, but I’d had longer and more exposure to get used to it. I’d also given up on the idea of working to support my coven, because there was no way I’d ever earn enough to keep them in the style to which they’d become accustomed — well, maybe, but there’d be chafing. I was still going to find something useful to do, but not having to worry about how much it paid opened up a lot more options.

I nodded again. “Absolutely ridiculous. Even more ridiculous is after the summer’s over? Even if we ate someplace like this three times a day? We’re still going to wind up with more money than we started with because of interest or dividends or some shit — I don’t really understand how it works yet — and that’s just my coven, it doesn’t include Mel or Felicity. Did you know Felicity has patents she’s getting payments on?”

Morgan was quiet for a minute.

“I think this is harder to accept than the whole witch-thing,” she whispered.

“I know, but you really only have three options.”

“You think?”

“Yeah — you can walk away from us, from me, next month; stay behind at Mel’s while the rest of us have fun; or you can smile and enjoy your French toast.”

“I’m not gonna smile.”

“Fair — I concede that point.”

“And for every classy-thing you drag me to, I get to pick something crass and cheap.”

I laughed. “Agreed.”

“Including the Original Trilogy thing. I might like it, but I get three metal concerts in exchange. Warehouse bands, not some arena sellouts.”

“Okay.”

“And you have to make Elsa come with.”

I wasn’t sure how I was going to get Cassandra to come with to a metal concert — maybe tell her it was something else until it was too late.

“I’ll do my best.”

I saw a line of servers heading for us with trays, and Sam was leading the girls back — I don’t think they’d all had time to use the restroom, so they’d probably just been hanging out over there watching me and Morgan — probably watching the coven bond for me to stop being tense and relax a bit.

Girls and breakfast arrived at the same time and I had to take a minute to stare at the plate in front of me.

Mel had introduced me to eggs Benedict, and Willowmere served it about once a week, but this was … different. Thick-sliced, butter-grilled bread, topped with poached eggs, then lobster and Hollandaise sauce. I wasn’t sure about the fish eggs and…

“What’s this?” I asked Sam, pointing with my fork.

“Black truffle — if you don’t want it, I’ll —”

“Oh. My. God,” Morgan moaned around a mouthful of French toast.

Her head rolled back and her eyes rolled farther as she chewed.

I had to admit, it looked damn good — both the French toast and Morgan’s extended neck.

The French toast was thick, like, two-inch thick slices of bread, absolutely soaked through with custard and grilled until they glistened with browned butter, then stuffed with three sweetened cream cheeses — Nutella, vanilla, and strawberry flavored — and topped with whipped cream and fruit.

I leaned toward her. “That looks fantastic, can I have a —”

Morgan’s head whipped down and her lips curled in a snarl. “Touch it and you’re drawing back a stump.”

Felicity crawled off the table, into Morgan’s lap, then stuck her head over the table’s edge to stare at Morgan’s plate. Morgan quickly scooped up a bit of French toast, taking care to get a little of everything, and held it for Felicity to nibble at.

Chapter

Eight empty plates, six lap-circuits for Felicity to sample everyone’s breakfast a few times, she got most of my caviar, and four more mimosas — each — later, I let Sam take care of the check, because I honestly didn’t want to see it. But I did get an order of French toast and a coffee to go, thinking Mihai might appreciate it.

Mihai gave me a grin as I handed him the coffee and set the foam container of French toast on the passenger seat.

“Baro sastimos, baro phral. Te del tuke Devel baxt thaj zor.[1]“

I’d picked up a bit of Romani from listening to him and Rachel talk, and I’d learned more from asking Rachel.

“Thaj tume, phral.[2]“

It seemed like a lot of words for “thanks” “no problem,” but … cultures.

“I can’t believe you have a kumpani,” Brittany whispered to Rachel as Mihai shut the door and went around to the driver’s door. “I’m so jealous.”

“We don’t have a kumpani,” Rachel told her. “Nobody has a kumpani anymore. Mihai’s just a good friend.”

“Yeah, right.” Brittany muttered.

I settled back in my seat and groaned at my full stomach, closing my eyes and resting while we drove to the store. The girls alternated between talking about shopping and discussing the list of work we still had to do on the cottage. We’d decided to get as much as we could done before the end of the semester without impacting our studies, then come back to campus for a couple weeks over the summer to finish things as much as we could — mostly the painting, and anything else that would smell — completed in time for it to air out before the next school year.

High on the list was reupholstering all the pieces of the bed — the dust, or whatever, from them was working its way through the sheets we’d used as a temporary solution. There’d been some delays as the girls argued over stuffing density, fabrics, leathers, and colors, but that was settled and stuff was scheduled to arrive the week after Beltane for us to really start working on it.

I opened my eyes after what seemed like seconds but had been long enough to arrive at the store. We piled out, but Mihai had pulled over around the corner from the entrance, so I started walking that way.

“Noah!”

I turned around to find the girls clustered around a doorway recessed into the brick of the building.

“Where are you going?” Cassandra asked.

I gestured to the corner. “Into the store?”

Cassandra shook her head and beckoned me back, while Priscilla pressed an almost invisible button next to the side door.

Before I’d even reached them, the door opened and a smiling woman came out — maybe in her forties, but impeccably dressed with perfect hair and makeup. She took in our group, smiling and nodding, but paused at Cassandra.

“Welcome back, Miss Blake — we’re quite pleased to see you again, but I must ask, since we’ve had notice from your family?”

Cassandra smiled back. “I’ll be opening a new account, Sophia — under Blackwood.”

The woman’s smile brightened again. “Wonderful! And congratulations, please come in and I’ll lead you to the showing room.”

Morgan sidled up to me as we entered. “Noah?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a clue either.”

On my other side, Sam giggled.

*

I’d been expecting to spend the day standing around a busy department store while the girls browsed the clothing racks — and shoes, I figured there was always going to be shoes.

Turns out, in witch-world you don’t go to clothing racks, clothing racks come to you.

Sophia led us down a hallway more appropriate to a 19th century robber-baron’s mansion than a department store, no matter how upscale. Polished wood walls, muted lighting, a hardwood floor covered in a thick rug that seemed to go on forever, then through another door to a room crowded with leather seating. The only things I saw that I’d expected to see while shopping were a curtained off changing room and mirrors — three of them, floor to ceiling, surrounding a raised dais at one end of the room.

Three other women waited for us inside and helped the girls set their purses on a low table by the door.

“Would anyone like something to drink before we start?” Sophia asked. “Water, coffee, tea, mimo —”

“Mimosas!” all the girls except Morgan cried.

Sophia laughed and her assistants went to a table I hadn’t even seen and began pouring champagne and juice.

“For you?” Sophia asked Morgan and I.

“Just coffee, thanks,” I said, still trying to take in the room. The lighting was as subdued as the hallway, but there were several unlit lights around the dais and a control panel on the wall that looked more suited to a rock concert.

“Yeah, coffee,” Morgan said, eyes darting around more than my own.

“We have regular coffee at the ready.” Sophia gestured. “Or feel free to ask for anything from the store’s coffee bar.”

Morgan’s eyes snapped to the woman. “Can I see a menu?”

“No menu, my dear — feel free to challenge us.”

*

One lengthy, complex, and disturbingly sweet coffee order later, I found myself seated on the center couch facing the dais with a ceramic cup of the best coffee I’d ever had in hand. Morgan sat next to me — close, as though she wasn’t quite sure what else to do.

The other girls all sipped their mimosas, complemented Sophia’s assistants, and found their own seats. Sam and Rachel squeezed in on my other side, while Cassandra had a huddled conversation with Sophia, and a moment later Morgan’s coffee arrived in a stainless-steel vacuum cup that had to be at least thirty-two ounces.

“Everyone settled?” Sophia asked. “Wonderful — who’s first?”

“She is,” Cassandra said, pointing at Morgan.

“What?”

“Yep,” Rachel said, hopping up taking one of Morgan’s arms while Sam got the other and pulled her out of her seat, then up onto the dais.

“Wait — I’m —”

“We’ve all done this before,” Sam said. “We want you to get the full experience.”

“But —”

“Wonderful,” Sophia said, while Sam and Rachel took their seats and Brittany moved over to sit where Morgan had been a second ago. “Arms out, Miss Blackwood.”

“I’m not —”

“Arms, my dear,” Sophia interrupted and Morgan’s arms shot out from her sides.

A tape measure appeared in Sophia’s hands and she began measuring Morgan … everywhere, calling out numbers which one of her assistants was writing down in a small, leather-bound notebook.

“I’m a B,” Morgan protested at one of the few letters being called out.

“Maybe last year, my dear,” Sophia said. “Not anymore.”

Sam giggled and I stifled a grin.

“Get that smirk off your face, Ashe,” Morgan called over her shoulder, since Sophia had turned her to get more measurements.

“Blackwood,” I corrected her.

“Not after I set your ass on fire.”

Sophia stepped back and studied Morgan, then called out several names I’d never heard before while her assistants wrote them down.

“Next?” Sophia asked. “We can get more measurements while Miss Blackwood’s choices are being assembled.”

Sam popped up. “Me!” She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Maybe I’ll get an upgrade, too.”

Rachel patted the seat Sam had just vacated and Morgan plopped down into it, face still a little stunned.

I craned my neck to see Cassandra, who was on the couch behind us with Priscilla and Hannah. “Why is she calling everybody Blackwood?” I whispered.

“A lot of covens shop here, so they’re used to a bunch of women with the same last name — they think we’re Mormons.”

I frowned and looked around at the half-finished mimosas. “I thought Mormon’s didn’t drink?”

Cassandra shrugged. “Didn’t say we were good Mormons.”

*

“Holy Maiden-loving fuck-basket,” Morgan whispered, staring at the racks of clothing that were being wheeled in by Sophia’s assistants. I shot her a glance and she blinked. “Hexual’s been teaching me.”

Yeah, of all the witch-things Morgan needed to learn about being a witch, I wasn’t surprised she had cursing at the top of her list.

I also didn’t blame her, because the racks of clothing were a little astounding.

Lots of black and white with some deep reds and a scattering of deep blues and greens. Two entire racks were leather — one pants and one jackets. Sophia gestured and I was suddenly alone in the seating as the girls swarmed the racks, pulling things off and holding them up to Morgan to see what they might look like on her.

In less than a minute, Morgan was stuffed into the changing room with at least six different outfits and Sophia had sent an entire rack of clothing back to be replaced by something “less frilly and with edges that will cut”.

A few minutes after that, I started wondering what Morgan was doing in there.

“Miss Blackwood?” Sophia called softly from outside the curtain. “Do you need assistance?” She turned back to the rest of us, looking right at me. “Mr. Blackwood, she’d like to speak with you.”

I sighed, knowing exactly what it was going to be about, and stood. Once at the curtain, I asked, “What’s wrong, Morgan?”

“Noah — I can’t. French toast is one thing, but this is insane. It’s way, way, way, way too much. One of these jackets is two thousand dollars and the nicer ones don’t even have price tags. I’m afraid to even touch the thing, much less put it on. It’s —”

“Morgan, you’re going to get three outfits today. Period. You can pick them out yourself, or I can have Sophia bring back the frilly-rack and I’ll pick them out for you, then I’ll guilt-trip you about not wearing them every single time we go somewhere.”

There was a long silence.

“Morgan,” I said, softer. “You deserve this. You deserve it for eighteen years of hand-me-downs and cheap shit that falls apart the second time through the wash. And I owe you for putting up with me all these years, so there’s that, too.”

“Three?”

“Three.”

Another long silence.

“Can I have four? You’re kind of an asshole sometimes.”

I almost said yes, I almost said, “as many as you want,” but this was Morgan. We’d grown up in the same sort of foster homes — all group homes, where the rules were set to keep a lid on the chaos and, as long as nobody was bleeding too much, the kids were pretty free to do whatever they wanted. Boundaries that were for everyone meant nobody cared about her individually, and no boundaries was worse.

“Three,” I said.

“Thank you.”

*

There are worse ways to spend a few hours than watching seven beautiful witches try on outfit after outfit — especially when every one of them but Morgan got a little lax with the dressing room and I was able to relax on a couch drinking coffee and watching the show.

The girls’ shopping lasted past lunch, which was ordered and brought to us from the store’s own restaurant so as not to interrupt the trying on of outfits.

Once they were done, it was apparently time to look for clothes for me — what I thought, foolishly, had been the purpose of the trip. I was a little worried I’d wind up carrying all of their purchases — something I didn’t think I could manage. In fact, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to fit all the bags in Mihai’s new van, either, but it turned out to not be an issue, as Sophia said everything would be delivered to Mel’s townhouse.

I wasn’t entirely sure everything would fit in the townhouse, either.

Shopping for me was done out in the main store and went relatively quickly — a lot more quickly than I’d expected. I wound up with four new shirts, two pairs of slacks, and a new pair of shoes I didn’t think I’d actually wear anywhere.

I had a feeling my “limited wardrobe” was going to be the excuse for future shopping trips, but didn’t care — watching beautiful girls try on attractive clothes while being served coffee and sandwiches wasn’t that bad an experience.

Wandering down some of the store aisles, the conversation turned to Morgan and her being stuck at the foster home until her birthday.

“It really sucks that you can’t come back to Willowmere with us,” Rachel said. “Next week is Beltane — it’s for the Maiden so it’s my favorite.”

“I can’t — it’s in the middle of the week, so school, and I can’t go overnight somewhere without a case worker’s permission.”

“Beltane sucks,” Brittany muttered.

“Why are they so hung up on it?” Rachel asked. “You’re seventeen — can’t you just … leave? It’s a month and a half, right?”

“Five weeks,” I corrected. I was keeping close track.

Morgan nodded. “It seems stupid, I know, but until the very day I turn eighteen, Alex and Karen are responsible for me — so if I just leave, they could get in trouble. It’d be a bad mark on their record, at least.”

I sort of tuned things out, because we’d been over and over the options since we’d found out Morgan was a witch. I was hoping those options might change once I told Mel about Gabriel being able to see Felicity. With any luck, she wouldn’t be going back there after we got home.

“I even looked into emancipation,” Morgan went on, “but there’s this whole form you have to fill out with where you’re gonna live, how you’re going to support yourself, everything — I don’t think a judge would accept ‘witchcraft’ as a career choice.”

“That’s messed up,” Cassandra muttered, then shrugged. “Oh, well, where next?”

“Hey,” Rachel said, I glanced at her, but Rachel wasn’t looking at me, she was looking down the wide tiled aisle flanked by multi-colored designer dresses toward a section that was only one color — white.

Something in my chest dislodged, bounced off my testicles with an almost physical pain, and puddled around my ankles cowering in terror.

Wedding dresses.

I winced, waiting for the cries of, “I want a wedding, too.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to marry them — the coven was already a lifetime commitment — it was the thought of a wedding. The planning, the time, the drama, the expense — times Sam, Cassandra, Rachel, probably Morgan, and most-likely Priscilla, and that was just the start. None of them were going to want to wait or even have some sort of combined ceremony. I pictured spending the next year or more visiting venues (because no one would want the same one), tasting cakes (which wouldn’t be so bad, I guess), interviewing caterers (hey, free samples are good), and changing plans over and over again as none of the girls would want to be out-done by the others (fuck this shit).

“What if you married Noah?” Rachel asked.

“What the fuck?” Morgan asked.

Rachel flushed, but went on, “Wouldn’t that make you an adult? Can’t someone under eighteen get married if they have, like, their parents’ permission? So maybe your foster parents would agree?”

Morgan shot me a quick glance, then shook her head. “I’m pretty sure that would get the rental ‘rents in trouble, too. The idiots in the ‘Department’ —” For once, I agreed with Morgan’s use of scare-quotes. “— would figure they’d let Noah and I screw like rabbits or something.” She pursed her lips. “And even if they wouldn’t flip their shit, I’m not getting married just to get out of there five weeks early.” Another narrow-eyed glance at me. “And I’m certainly not going to accept proposal-by-proxy. If someone wants me, I expect wining, dining, flowering, and a big-ass ring.”

Chapter

I managed to escape the store without anyone demanding a wedding, but I felt like we were just one comment away from that cascade.

Mihai drove us to the park. I suggested we spend some time there before going back to Mel’s — at least my coven and Priscilla, who was going to spend the weekend there with us. Hannah and Brittany were taking the train back to Willowmere, though Brittany had wanted to stay with us at first. Until Hannah brought up a bunch of stuff that I was pretty sure wasn’t nearly as urgent as she made it out to be. I think she was worried about what might happen — not that I’d do something, but that her sister might start feeling even closer to us than she already did.

The girls decided to race swan boats across the pond, but I begged off, saying I wanted to just sit for a while, and that left someone as odd-witch out, since the boats seated two — Felicity was riding in Morgan’s lap. Hannah said she didn’t feel like racing, so stayed behind with me, and I decided it would be a good, or at least less-bad, time to broach the subject again.

While the others rented their boats, Hannah and I went to a nearby ice cream cart for cones.

“Odds somebody winds up in the water?” I asked, settling beside her on a bench where we could watch the race.

“My money’s on Brittany,” Hannah said, smiling and licking her ice cream cone. “She’s not going to be satisfied until she knows how deep it is.”

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

“Sam says you shouldn’t try to do that.”

Hannah was grinning and I almost stopped — hated myself a little, because I was going to make that smile go away — but the school year was rapidly running out and, along with it, my time to convince Hannah that we shouldn’t care about what her Family wanted, only what she wanted.

“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about before, in the library.”

“Noah —”

“Hannah, if you tell me it’s not what you want; if you say, straight-up, that you’re not interested at all in joining us, my coven, then I’ll drop it — but it is what I want. Can you do that? Can you say you don’t want it?”

“I won’t lie to you.”

“Thank you. Hannah, I care about you, I like you a lot and I’d really like the chance to find out if it can be more than that. Maybe we could just … date, like Priscilla and I are doing — I know that’s not the way witches do things, but —”

Hannah’s hand cupped my cheek and her eyes were wet. “Noah, I don’t need to … but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I shook my head. “I’m head of a recognized Family now, someone can’t just hurt me.”

“Noah … more than half of the Council’s adjutrices are Fieldings — if someone hurts you — or Sam, or Rachel, or Cassandra — who do you think’s going to investigate it?”

“Fuck.”

Fuck again, I thought, remembering what I’d said to one of the adjutrices at the Council session. Did I call one of Hannah’s relatives a stupid fucking witch?

“Yeah.” Hannah sighed. “It’s too late now to ease them into the idea anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Hannah glanced over to where her sister and Priscilla were pedaling their swan boat far faster than pedals should allow for, laughing and shouting.

“I’m not supposed to say anything — they’re not going to tell Brittany until after the school year, but my cousin told me … Noah, Brittany’s not going to Willowmere next year.”

“What?”

“The Family’s pulling her — I don’t know where they’re going to send her, maybe nowhere and just concentrate on building her Precog and nothing else — but it won’t be Willowmere.”

“Because of me?”

“Because there’s a risk. I think they almost pulled both of us at the beginning of the year when they heard about you, but the semester had already started — with six more warlocks next year? They won’t risk losing her, Precog is too valuable.”

Valuable. Not about what the girls wanted, just what they could contribute to the fucking Families who only seemed to want two things — power and money. I couldn’t give them more power, but I had a fuckton of money, and I’d trade all of it to keep someone I cared about from not being happy.

“How much?” I asked, then realized I’d let my anger pick some really bad phrasing. “I’m sorry about how that sounded.”

Hannah laughed. “I know what you meant, but it wouldn’t work. Precog and Hindsight are too core to the Family business. Maybe you should offer to pay the Prescotts instead? Sam would love the idea of you having a bill of sale for her.”

I laughed. “Yeah, she would.”

I sat back on the bench and sighed.

Hannah turned to look at me, biting her lip.

“What?”

“You’re … it’s just, you’re pining for me.”

“What? No?” What the fuck even was pining?

Hannah grinned and looked back to the race. “I kind of like it.”

“I don’t.”

Hannah scooted closer to me, then took my hand, entwining her fingers with mine.

“Can we just enjoy the time we have? One thing Regret teaches is there’ll always be time to think about the bad things.”

“I’m going to find a way around this,” I told her.

Hannah looked out over the pond, then sighed and stood up.

“Come on,” she said, dragging me toward a nearby souvenir stand.

“What?”

“Brittany needs a towel.”

[1]. Great thanks, great brother. May God give you luck and strength.

[2]. And to you, brother.