Free Sorcery and the Single Girl by Mindy Klasky Page B

walking when I got to the end of the garden path, turning around to look back at my home, at the building that had gotten me into the middle of all this witchcraft business in the first place.
    Was it worth it? At the moment, I wasn’t sure. I thought that I would choose a dozen first dates before I’d set myself up to meet a coven full of witches. Yeah, right. As if I had the choice to make.
    When I got to the street, I was amazed by two facts. First, David had found a parking space directly in front of the Peabridge. In Georgetown, that alone practically required some working of magic.
    Second, and even more shocking, was the car that waited for us. A Lexus. Black. With onyx leather that melted under the moonlight, and walnut trim that whispered old money.
    David held the passenger door for me as Neko clambered into the backseat, grumbling about the indignity until David shot him a loaded glance. Neko settled the book carefully on the leather beside him, taking the opportunity to plant himself squarely in the center of the wide backseat. He bounced slightly as David pulled away from the curb, and I expected to hear him shout “Are we there yet?” at any moment.
    When Neko failed to fill the silence, I asked, “Do you know where we’re going?”
    “Of course.”
    David handled the car expertly. While the streets of D.C. were never empty, traffic became lighter as we moved out of Georgetown, crossing the Key Bridge into Virginia and the western suburbs. I realized that we were heading into one of the toniest neighborhoods around, an area of estates that were set far apart, with long brick fences lining the roads, and wrought-iron gates that kept the riffraff from invading.
    I wanted to ask David a hundred questions. Where exactly were we going? Who was waiting for us? How many women were in the Coven? What would happen once we arrived? How, exactly, was I supposed to prove myself, and what were the penalties if I failed?
    I knew, though, that I’d get no further answers. David had already told me precisely what he thought I needed to know.
    Just as the dashboard clock flashed eleven forty-five, David took a right turn off the winding road. He punched a secret code into a camouflaged control panel, and a wrought-iron gate the height of the Eiffel Tower swung open on silent hinges. We drove up the longest driveway I’d seen this side of Gone with the Wind, passing between sentinel ranks of oak trees. The car’s high beams made eerie shadows on the trunks, and more than once I caught my breath, expecting some supernatural guardian to swoop down upon us.
    I realized that my fingers were woven into a nervous clump, that I was rubbing my thumbs against each other like an obsessive maniac. Before David could issue another useless reminder for me to relax, I closed my eyes and took a trio of calming breaths. I leaned back in my seat and tried to imagine Neko standing by my side, tried to remember the feeling of his aura reflecting my own, his ability to mirror magical strength back to me, quietly, calmly.
    My trick worked well enough that I was surprised when David braked to a stop. “Ready?” he asked.
    My eyes sprang open. I was expecting to see Tara—massive columns, solid red brick, and a curving double staircase with servants at the ready. There might even be a barbecue out back, fragrant smoke rising from the grill as belles and beaux flirted with one another. A horse or two wouldn’t be out of place, whickering friendly greetings and begging for sugar lumps. And come to think of it, a mint julep wouldn’t be half-bad. Or a Baileys Irish Cream. With or without decaf coffee.
    But I was completely wrong, so mistaken that all remnant flirty thoughts of Graeme and our mid-week decadent dessert outing fled from my mind.
    Toto, we weren’t near Tara anymore.
    The house in front of me might have been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, if he were in a particularly ostentatious mood. The walls were made of stone slivers, set