Cleo half-expected Jenny to belch and crush the can against her forehead, but instead, Jenny dainty set it down on the table in front of her.
“We can do this several ways,” Jenny said without preamble. “But I prefer we just cut to the chase, alright? I know you’re a green witch. I don’t think you’ve been trained well.” Cleo drew herself up to defend Nan, but Jenny held up one tiny, imperial hand. “Not a criticism, however tactless I can be. You’re wading into deep waters, though, by dragging a coven into curse breaking. How the hell did you get started there?”
Cleo wasn’t sure where to begin. So she started somewhere near the truth. “I don’t like curses.”
Jenny snorted hugely. “No one likes curses. You said you had questions for me, though. And since you’re not really answering mine, I’ll let you go first instead. Shoot.”
Cleo wasn’t even sure where to begin. “I know I need more training. So does my coven. They’re good people, all have natural talent, but none of them are trained. At all.”
Jenny cursed. “So you started them with curse breaking? And not, you know, working with their own affinities? Developing that foundation?”
Cleo felt like she was being scolded by a teacher, and she had always hated school. Her hackles rose. “We are working together,” she ground out, “firstly to develop as better witches. We occasionally take a small object to remove any dark magic. We’re not complete idiots.”
Jenny hummed, clearly unconvinced. She scratched her forehead thoughtfully. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Huh. You look younger,” Jenny said. “Who taught you craft work?”
“My grandmother.” The questions went like this, back-and-forth, with Jenny asking and Cleo giving short, concise answers. Not rude, but Cleo was out of the habit of chatting about herself. She actively discouraged it most of the time, so it felt strange to reveal things about her past. Cleo had given bits and pieces to her coven, she couldn’t avoid that, but she felt exposed under Jenny’s gaze. At some point, she’d picked up a tiny stick by her feet and rolled it between her fingers, soothed by the wood and that bit of contact with something wild.
The questions had tapered off, and Jenny stood. “Let’s take a walk.”
They moved into the woods on a thin, spindly path, and Cleo felt some of the tension slide off her shoulders. The woods were welcoming here, not as loving as her beloved familiar woods, but still green and lush and cared for. The pines didn’t care about what books she owned, or how her grandmother taught her warding. She didn’t have to answer uncomfortable questions about her past or dodge questions about her relationship with her coven. She didn’t have to feel quite so alone in the shade of the arching branches above her. Cleo could breathe, and put one foot in front of her.
She stopped suddenly. “Jenny? I should tell you this - Ian and I saw a bear on our way in here. Should we be wandering?”
Jenny stopped. “I think we’ll be okay. Aren’t there bears in your woods?”
Yes, but those were her woods. It was different, and Cleo didn’t know how to express that.
“Just a bit more,” Jenny coaxed. “It’ll be okay.”
Cleo decided to trust her, these woods belong to Jenny. And maybe her coven? Cleo had been so busy answering questions, she hadn’t asked the questions she needed to know. She followed Jenny, worrying, wondering if she should start launching into her own interrogation in the hush of the woods. It felt wrong to interrupt the birdsong and rustle of the branches, and Cleo held her tongue. For now, at least.
Jenny brought them to a small clearing, ringed with logs somewhat like Cleo’s own. Oh. Cleo saw. They were here.
Jenny hadn’t mentioned that her sisters and cousins were going to meet them. Jenny hadn’t said anything, in fact, about the witches in her coven.
They were a mix of people, like Cleo’s own. Two men, one old and one very young, maybe father and son, sat playing cards. They didn’t look up, although the young one shot Cleo a glance out of the corner of his eye. A woman with a flowing sack of a dress and (oh god, not feathers), yes, feathers in her dirty, tangled hair sat cross-legged on the ground, chatting with a man with black hair, his back to Cleo. Two other sat reading shoulder-to-shoulder, a thin guy with t-shirt of a kitten shooting laser beams at a cupcake. Sure. He picked his head up and nudged the woman next to him, her dark curls resembling the crown of a pineapple atop her head. Cleo bet she and Agnes could talk a good curly-hair game.
Jenny gestured to Cleo, “Ta-da!” she announced.
“Jen, c’mon,” said Ian behind Cleo, too-close.
This time Cleo didn’t have a hose in her hands to soak Ian, but she wanted one. “Must you always be creepy?” she asked from the side of her mouth. Ian looked unrepentantly amused. He moved closed to her, her shoulder tight against his arm. His hand went to the small of her back and stayed here, hot and huge. He might’ve well made her wear a t-shirt that read “Property of Ian,” Cleo thought. It’d be more subtle.
The coven was all staring at her. Cleo gave an embarrassed wave, and tried to tuck her hands in her back pockets. Ian moved his hand briefly to allow for the movement, although she sensed it hovering. Her elbows felt all weird and obvious, so she put her hands by her side. She was about to put them into her front pocket, if only for variety’s sake, when Ian took one of her hands and squeezed it gently. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
Cleo wrangled up a smile.
“This is our new exchange student,” Jenny pointed her thumb at Cleo.
“Does it count as an exchange student if she lives twenty minutes away?” Laser Beam Cat T-Shirt guy mused.
“Imagine how amazing
