Jack’s explanation about lures could explain some of Tanner’s behavior, not all. Viewed dispassionately, I could take what Wes said about the Tanner and the Apple Witch and their history and simply stay out of it. But she’d drawn me in deep by taking Abi and Cliff, and Tanner’d used his own kind of lure to keep me interested.
I wasn’t desperate for another man in my life. In the short time I’d known Tanner Marechal a lot had happened—good, bad, strange, enlightening. I was willing to wait, and I was wary of comparing his actions to those of my ex.
Slipping my washed and dried plate atop the stack, I returned to my bedroom.
My desk fit nicely into the corner across from my bed. I plugged in my laptop, certain there would be communications from Kerry. I could spend tomorrow—Sunday—catching up.
Sure enough, my work email box was full but not unwieldy. And nothing seemed urgent. My personal email was much sparser, especially now that I wasn’t active on any dating sites. Rose had sent two, the first labelled Lessons and the other, Directory of Witches. Before opening either, I listened to her message.
“Calliope, this is Rose. I’ve emailed a lesson plan to you, along with a list of witches who are willing to personally share their expertise. Many of them are located on Vancouver Island or the greater Vancouver area. Please read through everything and have a look at the calendar. The Summer Module has six more sessions, all of which take place on Sundays. We do group lessons via the internet. The practicum takes place after. You’re getting a late start, but I believe you will catch up. Contact me if you have any questions.”
No goodbye. Just the sharp click signaling the end of a typical communiqué from Rose de Benauge.
Tanner mentioned he was in possession of a directory of all the Magicals in British Columbia. We already knew the listing wasn’t entirely accurate—my name was nowhere in there—but it was high time I got my hands on a physical copy of the book. At the least, it would give me a better sense of what I was walking into when I knew I would be meeting with other witches, shifters, and the like.
I continued reading through Rose’s email.
The rudimentary training for a witch like me consisted of modules. So. Many. Modules. I continued to scroll until I read, “Thus ends year one of five.”
I propped my elbows on the edge of my desk and exhaled a thoroughly dramatic sigh. Five years of this. And I was probably the only one over the age of forty. Heck, I was probably the only witch-in-training over the age of twenty-five. All the witches I’d met thus far, from Rose on down the line, impressed me as being embodied in themselves and comfortable with their magic, able to call up their inherent gifts and learned skills and use them, especially when the situation was dire.
What could I do?
I stuck out one finger. I could call people by their full name. If I happened to be holding my wand and directing the point at the person at the same time, they froze. And as I learned when throwing names at Meribah the night of my party, I shouldn’t count on that ability to hold for very long if I was trying to get the words to immobilize a powerful Magical.
I added a second finger. I could call on invasive species of vines and ask them to act on my behalf. That had worked very well, on two occasions.
Another finger, and I counted the ground below my bare feet and hands as a prominent ally. By touching the earth, I could sense when other Magicals were nearby, and often—at least, here on the island—I could differentiate Magical signatures and know exactly who I was “seeing.” I could also read the health of the soil, an essential aspect of my job with the Agricultural Commission. That skill garnered me one more digit.
Four fingers stood firm.
“Stop it.” I spoke the words aloud. I needed to not let myself go anywhere near the Calliope who, for sixteen years, had unknowingly worn a tattoo designed to mute her magic. The same Calliope whose magic had never been acknowledged, much less encouraged, once her mother had died.
I shook out my hands, read through Rose’s email once again. I chose a fresh notebook and roller ball pen and started a list of the supplies I would need, from crystals and herbs to a basic set up for at-home chemistry. I emailed Maritza and let her know I might have found a grimoire. After that, I took a closer look at the course synopsis. Witches were into layered learning. A few of the topics were covered every year, with big ones like Living in Harmony with the Magical Calendar taking the student witch from observer to leader by the end of the five years.
Same thing with herbal studies. Witches-in-training were required to create an at-home garden and plant the basics—some of which I had, many of which I did not. More plants would be added to the plot each year in order to have on hand the raw ingredients for creating ever more nuanced and potent elixirs and potions.
I pulled out volume four of Good Houseweeping, the one labeled Home Maintenance, flipped the book over, and unfolded the map of the property. I wanted to see if other vegetable and garden plots had been marked, but this map wasn’t giving me much.
I tried another, thinking there might be some connection between each collection’s official label and the contents of its magical pages. If Home Maintenance focused on structures on the property, from portals to chicken coops, then volume one, Marriage, would likely hold relationship advice and volume two, In the Kitchen, would be recipe central for food and witch-crafted potions and elixirs. A tingle of anticipation shot up my arms.
Tucking In the
