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  A Different Class of Magic

  Adrienne Blake

  Copyright © 2020 by Adrienne Blake

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. A Silver Aura

  2. A Permission Slip

  3. The Paranormal Teacher's Association

  4. Pizza and a Movie

  5. The Dragon Lore and Safety Class

  6. The Familiars

  7. Secrets

  8. Midnight Meeting

  9. A Hole in the Tree

  10. Dark Caverns

  11. The She-Dragon

  12. Like Father, Like Son

  13. Girl Talk

  14. The WhaleBone Diner

  15. A Glass of Cognac

  16. A Cold Morning

  17. Two Hot Dates

  Also by Adrienne Blake

  About the Author

  1

  A Silver Aura

  “Tempus suspensus!”

  At my daughter Pike’s command, a jet of green light shot across the room hitting our tuxedo cat, MacGuffin, square on the nose. There was just enough time for him to look amazed before he froze like a statue on the living room windowsill.

  “Look, Mom, I did it!” Pike squee’d, doing a tiny victory dance with her feet on the sofa.

  “Yes, well done, but I hope they taught you the counter spell,” I said. “And if you’re gonna sit like that, take your shoes off!”

  “Sure, though it doesn’t last long, anyway. Tempus mobilius!”

  Without a pause, Pike reeled off the counter curse while kicking off her flip-flops. MacGuffin’s eyes came back into focus. Through our connection, I realized my familiar experienced something akin to kitty déjà vu. He gazed up at me, as if to say, whatever, then licked his paw before strolling off. Lucky for us, my cat was well used to my daughter practicing her spells on him and didn’t mind one bit. So long as she wasn’t transformed into something not feline. Then he might poop in her shoe.

  I held my wand up to the light. A little more wand cream, I thought, and rubbed it in with a lint-free cloth I kept specifically for the purpose.

  “You can over polish a wand if you’re not too careful,” Pike said matter-of-factly.

  “Says who, smarty pants?”

  “Mr. Wells.”

  “Oh, does he?” Hmm. I was a tad reluctant to take wand-care advice from Pike’s school principal. Especially one who put love potions on the Academy curriculum and had also stood me up for a dinner date––twice. “I’ll have you know I’ve been polishing this wand since my mother bought it for me, and it works just fine. Not everything they tell you in school is accurate.”

  “Why send me there, then?”

  Sometimes my daughter’s mouth was too smart for her own good.

  “As my mother told me, I’m telling you. It’s important you take good care of it. Your wand is your focus, and a shoddy wand will produce shoddy results. If you want to be a great witch, you will mark my words and keep yours nice and shiny.”

  “I’m not saying don’t clean it, Mom. I just polished mine, didn’t I? All I’m saying is, don’t put so much cream on it. Mr. Wells says an over-polished wand is just as bad as a dirty one. The cream can mute the spell.”

  “Well, what does he know about it? You know what they say.”

  “No?”

  “Those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach.” I added a little more cream to my wand and began buffing it furiously.

  Pike shot me one of her superior looks, the kind that annoyed me more than anything, because she looked just like her late father when she did it, and like him, she was usually right.

  “Anyway,” I continued. “Isn’t it time you met Crystal? Don’t let me keep you if there’s some place you need to be.”

  Instead of getting up to leave as I expected, Pike nestled deeper into the sofa and brought her knees in tight to her body. She pulled her brown hair back into a loose pony and toyed with her edge of her socks. “There’s no need. I canceled.”

  I didn’t need any witch super intuition to tell me something was up. “Oh?” I slipped the cleaning materials back into their leather box and glanced at my daughter sideways. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because.” She reached for her cell phone on the table beside the sofa and started typing.

  “‘Because’ isn’t an answer.”

  Pike ignored me and just tap-tapped away.

  Only last week, on Pike’s fourteenth birthday, one month after the Annual Witch Academy Spelling Bee contest, the pair of them had been solid. I knew I would get nowhere. She was just like her father, bless his dearly departed soul.

  Ah, well, I couldn’t spend all day second-guessing, so I grabbed my wand and headed out into the garden. We were earth witches, and my plants needed me even if my daughter didn’t.

  Ours wasn’t an especially large garden. Oliver had started it, but it was my passion to keep it going. There was a naturally occurring rock altar near the rear of the yard. It was a huge hulk of a stone, covered in moss, and on long summer evenings, I could spend hours sitting by it, contemplating the earth and the universe and remembering our happy times together.

  In front of that was a small table with an assortment of stones laid out on a thin plate cut from a tree trunk. I’d left my tool bucket on the table. Many witches just used magic to garden these days, but I liked to get my hands dirty, unless, that was, I was dealing with some annoyingly stubborn root or prickly plant.

  Right now, my garden was filled with the heavenly scent of aromatics like rosemary, basil, mint, and chamomile, and though I typically liked to harvest by moonlight, today was too beautiful a day not to be out enjoying it.

  “I don’t suppose you could spare me a little of that calendula?” a friendly voice said. “We’re having salad tonight and mine is looking none too healthy, I think.”

  By report, Björn Van Asker was a warlock, and had just arrived in the neighborhood. He was six-feet-two inches of solid Norse muscle, boasted a strong Norwegian accent and had devilish blue eyes that could strip you naked before you could tighten your cardigan. At least, that’s how I liked to think of him. So far, he’d been nothing but kind, unobtrusive, and neighborly. And right now, he was staring at me over the one low patch of hedge I had in the garden. Funny. His golden-tinted aura was definitely warlock, but there was a little silver mixed in. I couldn’t quite make out what that meant.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound sexy and muffing it. “Um, how much do you need?”

  “Oh, about five- or six-hundred grams.”

  “Err, how much is that in cups?”

  “About two cups, I think, give or take.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Björn seemed to have been gardening himself. His bulging biceps were black with muck and sweat, and his hair looked damp from exertion. Damn, he looked good all messed up like that. I wondered if he ate pie.

  I knelt down in my herb patch, feeling especially grungy in my cut-down denims and khaki top. I mean, who puts on lippy and eyeliner to pull their weeds? I would have to remember for next time.

  Four or five tugs later, I had all the clumps of calendula he’d need, plus a bit extra––just because.

  “How is your Bo?” I asked, handing the herbs over and conscious of the small amount of dirt I’d caught under my nails. Bo was Björn’s youngest son and was just a little older than my Pike.

  “He is good, I think, thank you. And your daughter, Pike? She is well, ja?”<
br />
  “She’s fourteen,” I said, as if that explained everything, which it clearly did because Björn treated me to a very nice set of thirty-two Viking pearly whites.

  “Ja, I can imagine. All hormones and boys. Just like my Bo, well, girls for him.” He raised a rather long mahogany wand and gave it a little flourish. “I would spell it out of him if I could, but I guess, it is not too bad, no? They will grow out of it soon enough, I think.”

  “I suppose,” I said, thinking an advanced age spell might not be such a bad idea. If it wasn’t illegal––not to mention immoral. But it was an amusing thought.

  Björn waved the bundle of calendula at me. “Well, thank you for this, Ta-ma-ra.” He was still having trouble with my name. Oh, well. “I will return the favor someday.”

  “No need,” I said. “Anything I can do to help.” For the love of midnight––boy, did I sound lame.

  Björn nodded, and looking a little amused, headed back to his house with his green loot. My eyes remained glued to his aura, and maybe a few other moving parts. The silver tint to it was intriguing. I’d never seen such a butterfly-wing marking on an aura before, and it had me wondering what it meant.

  The warlock closed the door to his kitchen, and realizing I was staring like a crazy stalker, I turned and got back down into the dirt, like the good earth witch I was.

  I smiled. What did it matter what it meant? There were worse things in the world than having a beefy Viking warlock lodging next door.

  I grabbed my weeding fork and began tugging at some dandelions. As I popped the roots and flowers into my bucket, my thoughts were lost in sweaty biceps and a pair of devilishly blue eyes. I glanced at the big mossy rock and thought of Oliver. Oh, don’t you dare judge me, I grinned.

  2

  A Permission Slip

  “Mom, if you rub them any harder, you’ll wear through the glass! Didn’t you do them last week already?”

  “What? Oh.” I stopped cleaning the windowpane and took a step back, cloth in one hand, Windex in the other. Perhaps I had been going a little gung-ho. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “Something’s upset you, I can tell.”

  Hmmm. Pike was too smart for her own good. “It’s nothing, really.”

  “So, what is it?”

  I dropped my cleaning things on the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator door. “I’m having a glass of milk. You want one?”

  “Nah, I’m good. Well, are you gonna tell me or not?”

  It crossed my mind that this was a classic case of the kettle calling the cauldron black. I had half a mind to say as much, but then I thought, no. I was supposed to be the grownup here. Maybe if I confided in her, she would open up to me? She used to tell me everything after all.

  “Well, if you must know.” I grabbed a tall glass from a cabinet beside the fridge and poured myself a long one. “I’m a little bit anxious about Friday night.”

  “What? Oh. The PTA meeting. Why would you be anxious about that? I’m a straight-A student. None of my teachers will give you a bad report, you know that already.”

  “Yes, well….” Ever since Pike had waved her first wand, I had attended the annual Paranormal Teacher’s Association meeting willingly. I’d even taken cupcakes, because I was that mom. But this year was different.

  “It’s not your teachers I’m worried about.”

  “Wha…? Oh.” The penny dropped at last. It took her long enough. Pike snatched the glass from my hand and gulped some of my milk before handing it back to me with a grin. “So, that’s why you’ve been scrubbing everything within an inch of its life lately? Because of Mr. Wells?”

  “Yes, of course because of Mr. Wells. He’s gonna be there, and it will be embarrassing for us both to meet again.”

  “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal of it. He had to cancel a couple of times because of work, that’s all. It’s hardly the end of the world. Just reschedule it.”

  Oh, to be so young and innocent again. “Just reschedule? Just like that?”

  “Sure, why not?” Pike said.

  I snorted and hid in the safety of my milk glass. It had been quite a while since I’d viewed the world as quite so black and white.

  I sipped the remainder of my milk and pondered this. “People who really want to be with you don’t keep canceling.”

  “Mom, he had a legitimate excuse––both times.”

  “Yeah, right. Reversing a stink hex and running a detention are hardly life and death situations. It’s not like he’s the only teacher there, he could have asked someone else to cover for him if he really wanted to.”

  Pike rolled her eyes, and though I knew my daughter thought I was being unreasonable, I just didn’t think so.

  “Well, you can’t not go, you’re my Mom.”

  “Well spotted. Of course I’ll go, I have to, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to get all fluffy about it and want to.”

  “If you say so.”

  A strange expression came over Pike’s face, and before I could ask her about it, she reached down to her school satchel sitting at the foot of her stool and pulled it up to the island.

  “Um, there’s something I need you to sign,” she said, as she pulled a neatly folded sheet of paper out from between the pages of one of her books.

  My daughter was an underage witch, so I was used to signing all kinds of permission slips, but this time, something about her tone put me on my guard. “Ooookay.” I reached out across the countertop, eager to see what new delight was coming my way. “Let’s see it then.”

  I flipped open the white sheet and quickly ran down the page. “Field trip, yada, yada. October, blah, blah. Camden, Maine, Dragons––Dragons! Has your school gone nuts?”

  Ignoring the rest, I skimmed down to the signature line, already knowing whose bright idea this was before I even got there. “Well, of course, Principal Wells, I should have known it.”

  I shook my head and looked at my daughter over the sheet. “I’m sorry, but the answer is an absolute no.”

  Pike’s lips were already tight, and when she stared at me with her big baby blues, I felt like such a jerk.

  “Why, dare I ask?”

  “Dragons are not kittens. You can’t pick them up and pet them. And Camden dragons are the very worst. They are wild, dangerous creatures, and they bite. Not to mention they have talons that could rip your head off. And then there’s the fire. Have you thought about the fire?”

  Pike rolled her eyes, which was something she’d been doing a lot since she’d hit adolescence.

  “Of course we know all that,” she said, “but we’ll be wearing protective amulets, and Mr. Wells said we’ll have learnt the appropriate taming spells by then––we’ll be able to defend ourselves.”

  “Oh, does he now? And what if you don’t get it? Dragon magic is a very difficult art. I know some grown-up witches and warlocks who steer clear of it, for that very reason.”

  Pike shook her head and jumped off her seat so aggressively it almost fell over.

  “I knew you’d be like this!” Pike stomped over to the fridge and pulled out a large chunk of cheese and some bread which she dumped on a cutting board. She tore open the plastic wrap and slapped two slices of bread down, then cut some rather fat wedges from the cheese and placed them on the bread.

  “You forgot the butter.”

  “I don’t want any butter.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I folded the paper up and set it before me, knowing the discussion was far from closed. Without bothering to set the sandwich on a plate, Pike chomped at the hunk of food. It looked dry as hell to me. My daughter was a brilliant scholar, she could cook up a transformation spell before you could say hocus pocus, but ask her to boil an egg….

  “I just don’t see why not.” Pike had taken quite a while to swallow that bite, and she put the sandwich back down on the cutting board. She eyed my glass of milk, but I pulled it closer to me and held my hand on the glass. “Everyone in my clas
s is going, well, anyone who’s cool, that is. Whether you like him or not, Carter does the most rad stuff. I can’t believe you’re going to make me miss it.”

  I stiffened, annoyed by her familiarity. “It’s Principal or Mr. Wells to you, Missy. Anyway, cool he may be, wise, I’m not so sure. It’s ridiculous to think he can protect a whole class of fourteen-year-olds from a wild dragon, all by himself, assuming there’s only one. I mean, what if there’s more?”

  “Dragons don’t hang out in packs. Anyway, it won’t just be him. If you’d bothered to read all of the letter, you’d know he’s asking for volunteer parents to go with him.”

  “That’s a maybe, but I don’t like it. It’s too big a risk. And the cost. It’s not cheap, going up to Maine you know. We couldn’t afford it, even if it was safe, which it is not.”

  “I can pay for myself, Mom. I have money and you know it. I just need you to sign that form.”

  True. Pike had earned a pot of money working at Old Alice’s Apothecary, crushing herbs in a mortar and pestle for a few bucks an hour. It had been grueling work, but she’d never complained, even when the calluses had formed on her thumbs. She must have been thinking the same thing herself as she was rubbing the skin where they’d formed.

  “I thought you were saving up to buy a new familiar?” Not that I understood this latest trend. Back in my day we just picked a cat, or the cat picked us. Nowadays the kids wanted their familiars to be more exotic––which meant expensive.

  “I was, but this is more important. Look, don’t say no, just because the two of you aren’t getting along. That’s just not fair.”

  Ooh, that was low, and maybe true. I twitched my nose and unfolded the letter again. Maybe she was right. And Pike had worked so hard over the summer. She deserved something nice for all her efforts. But, dragons?