The phone rings downstairs—a landline, of all things. Dru immediately lights up. “That’d be Flavia! I have to go get it. Will you be all right unpacking? Just come find me in the kitchen when you’re ready to make cookies.”
“I’ll be fine.” I smile at her, because she really does seem sweet. If all this job consists of is being Dru’s buddy, I’ll be on easy street. She heads down the stairs, and I push the door open to my new quarters, a little worried about what I might see. To my relief, the room is stunningly normal. Given the oddball decor of the rest of the house, I had my doubts. But this room has a heavy four-poster bed made of solid wood, with an ornate headboard and a fluffy floral duvet on top. Ruffled white pillows cover the head of the bed, and there’s even an old-fashioned teddy bear seated atop the bedding. A large window looks out over the trees and rooftops of the neighbors, and pretty paintings hang on the sage-green walls, depicting women in floral crowns and togas in various pastoral scenes. It’s all very sweet and normal, even if it reminds me a bit of a teenage girl’s room instead of a grown woman’s. Doesn’t matter. It’s better than the room I have back in my apartment, which is kind of sad. There’s no television, though, nor a desk for my laptop. There’s a dresser, along with what looks like an old-fashioned secretary bureau—the kind with dozens and dozens of tiny drawers. I’m fascinated at the sight of it and pull one open, curious what’s stored in there.
The first drawer is pins. Sewing, then? The next drawer looks like . . . strange bits of thread. When I pull the third drawer open and see nothing but dead, dried grasshoppers, I flinch backward. Ew. Given their witch fascination, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised? The next couple of drawers have nothing but blocky tablets of that heavy, almost charcoal-like substance and some styli. Another drawer has chalk, and another dried flowers.
So weird. I open the closet door, wondering if I’m going to see skeletons, but there are a few dry-cleaner bags of clothing that must be Lisa’s, and the rest is empty. The room is a nice big size at least. I toss my stuff down on the corner of the bed and pull out my phone. I take a few pictures of the room and send them to Nick.
REGGIE: What do you think?
NICK: I think her and my grandma shop at the same store.
REGGIE: LOL exactly. It all looks very . . . sweet. Dru seems nice, too.
NICK: Has she cast any spells yet?
REGGIE: No, but we are going to bake some cookies together as soon as I get my stuff settled. This job is going to be a breeze, Nick. I almost feel guilty for agreeing to do it.
NICK: If you didn’t, someone else would. Just take the money.
NICK: And if anyone gets weird on you, let me know. I’ll show up with my trainer buddies and we’ll make them regret it.
I smile down at my phone and send him an emoji of a tongue sticking out. His protectiveness makes me feel good. I’m glad someone cares at least. I try to imagine how my parents would react to this job, and then I grimace to myself. Even if it was dangerous, they’d hear the numbers and tie me to the bed before they’d let me quit.
That thought depresses me more than anything.
I pick up the teddy bear, hugging it to my chest, and the smell of dried flowers is near overwhelming. Puzzled, I run my finger along the back of it and find a zipper. Inside, it’s stuffed to the gills with more dried flowers.
So damn weird. I guess it could be worse. It could be more grasshoppers.
Frowning, I get to my feet and approach the door. I shut it behind me when I came in, and I can see a series of three locks on the door itself—two dead bolts and a chain. I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying, but like Dru said, I’ll be safe. At least there’s that.
I suppose I should go down and check on my employer. I open the door . . . and pause.
At the entrance to the door, there’s an enormous black cat. It blinks up at me with golden eyes and then meows.
I laugh. What else can you do? Of course a lady that thinks she’s a witch has a black cat. “Hello there,” I murmur, getting down on my knees and extending my fingers toward the creature. His coat is glossy with health, and he’s a big, hefty chunk of a cat, which I love. “Aren’t you handsome?”
The cat starts to purr, rubbing against my hand.
I scratch at his ears, touching the collar on his neck. The tag says “Maurice.” “Hi, Maurice. You’re a tubby little boy, aren’t you? Dru’s not shy with the food—”
Maurice bites down on my finger.
“Ow!” I pull back, my good mood spoiled. “You big meanie.”
He hisses at me, tail flicking, and then wanders away.
“Well, I hope that’s not a bad sign,” I mutter to myself, and eyeball my bleeding finger.
4
BEN
I squint at Cicero’s De divinatione open on my lap and realize I’ve been reading the same passage over and over again for the last hour. With an irritated clench of my jaw, I put the book aside and stare at the fire in my fireplace. Fine. Glare. Whatever. I drum my fingers on the armrest of my chair, unable to concentrate.
I should spy on the new familiar. Catch her in the act. If she’s doing something wrong—anything at all—I can nail her ass to the wall and get her fired. Problem solved. There’s no issue with the Society of Familiars, no issue with an untrained apprentice, nothing.
Well . . . there’s a slight issue. My aunt would be furious if she found out I was spying on her. Aunt Dru gets sensitive when it comes to her familiars. She’s very protective of them.
But as the last remaining male of House Magnus, isn’t it my job to be protective of my aunt, who can be too trusting? Who has gotten herself into scrape after scrape for centuries simply because she doesn’t think things through? Decided, I get to my feet and bound down the stairs into the basement of my brownstone, where my laboratory is. I head to my table and murmur through the incantations for scrying, offering the proper herbs to the gods. Clover for Jupiter, sage for Mercury, and olive leaves for Minerva. Especially olive leaves for Minerva, who will let me see clearly. My aunt still likes a crystal ball for her divination, or the reading of entrails, but I’m trying to stay with the changing times. I pull out my smartphone, scatter the herbs over it, and then pull the strand of brown hair out of the bag that I’ve kept.
I tell myself I’m not a creep for keeping it. It ended up on my sweater and must have come from my aunt’s new familiar. I tell myself that any logical warlock would keep such a thing for a time like this, and it doesn’t make me wrong . . . even if my aunt would screech about it. I gently set the hair atop my phone and flick the camera on, waiting.
It takes time for the old magic to settle into new things. I’m a patient man. Have to be after five centuries. I watch as the phone’s black screen shifts to gray and then continues to sharpen, focusing in on something.
The girl.
I lean against the table, my hands propped against the edge. “Show me what she did today.”
Images flicker through the screen. The girl showing up on my aunt’s doorstep, clutching a garish cardboard box. Her bright, cheerful, eager smile. My aunt letting her into her room. The girl poking around, her nose wrinkling at the sight of the spell components organized in the secretary bureau in her room. Baking cookies with my aunt in the kitchen and laughing as they get flour everywhere.
Aunt Dru looks pleased. She has that smug smile on her face that says she’s satisfied with her new apprentice. That she likes the girl’s enthusiastic personality. I’m sure she’s going to tell me all about what a good choice she made when I return, but I’m not convinced. “Show me what the girl is doing right now,” I snap at the phone, as if it’s somehow responsible for my foul mood.