A Sword in the Sun Read online

  “No thanks, not right now.”

  She gave me a theatrically aghast look. “Really? You know that a growing witchlet needs wine to grow her power.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve taken all I need at home.” It was the best I could do without outright lying.

  “Oh, how very sociable of you,” she said with a sniff. She poured a measure of sherry into the glass anyway, downing it before returning to her chair with her absinthe.

  I smiled at her and placed a hand on my belly. “I’m afraid all my appetites are just so hard to predict these days. So when I find I have a craving for something, I go ahead and satisfy it, without worrying about whether the timing will suit others.”

  Peony and Flora both nodded at this, though Peony frowned slightly. Looking for the barb? Leonora said, “That is most wise, my daughter. So long as you are listening to the needs of both your body and that of your witchlet, I expect all shall be well.” Her gaze turned toward Niad. “Niadine Laurette, perhaps Calendula would care for a glass of water or a cup of chamomile tea.”

  As enjoyable as it was to see Niad try to control the horror and disdain that threatened to take over her face at the thought of having to go to the kitchen to wait on me, I really didn’t want water or tea either. “I’m fine, Leonora, Niad,” I said. “Really. Maybe I’m even a little nervous about tonight.” I patted my belly gently, nudging Elnor as I did; she shifted and settled more comfortably. “I’ll have something with dinner.”

  “Very good,” Leonora said, sipping her Framboise before setting the tiny jeweled glass on the side table by her chair.

  The three older witches conversed among themselves as I let myself relax. Niad finished her drink and poured another. By now Elnor was on the floor trying to lure Grieka into a tail-batting game. Fletcher, Niad’s familiar, strode into the room. I hadn’t seen him in a while. He was a scrawny all-black tom who didn’t seem as closely bonded with his witch as most of our cats were.

  Can’t imagine why.

  Niad returned to her chair and gazed at me across the room. “Heard from Jeremy lately?”

  “Not for a little while. Have you?”

  “Why should I have?” she asked, all innocence.

  I shrugged. “You were acquainted with him before I was. You’re old friends, aren’t you?”

  A crafty smile slunk across her face. I should have known better than to bait her. I did know better; sometimes I just couldn’t help myself. “As may be, but not such…intimate friends as you and he are.”

  I stifled a sigh and tried to sound bored as I forced down the memory of the last intimate thing Jeremy and I had done together: performed a cautery on Flavius Winterheart, the warlock who had been convicted of stealing witch essence. That had been sickening enough. Now, I had my doubts about his guilt, which made it potentially ten times worse. And I could not think about this—not here, not now. “You know how difficult ætheric communication is from such a distance.”

  “They don’t have the internet in the Old Country?” she asked, her eyes widening in mock surprise.

  “Not that I am aware of.”

  Jeremy had checked in a few times, but his ætheric messages had been stilted and awkward, above and beyond the rigors and uncertainties of their transmission. He still believed he was the father of this child, and I supposed he still entertained the notion that I would agree to sign a contract with him. That we would become witchkind’s equivalent of husband and wife, at least during the years of raising her.

  I hated lying—to anyone—but as his father Gregorio had made utterly, painfully clear, I didn’t have any choice in the matter. I had to go along with this terrible charade.

  I wished I knew a way out of it.

  “Hm,” Niad said, taking another sip of her drink and glancing down at her cat. Fletcher was trying to join the game between Grieka and Elnor, but they were having none of it.

  Like familiar, like witch.

  “I’m not sure why the Old Country’s rulers would have allowed anything like the internet in,” I said, stupidly continuing the conversation when I wanted nothing more than to be out of it. At least, that’s what I thought I wanted. Apparently my traitorous mouth felt otherwise. “Why would they want to open mechanical portals to a system created by humans?”

  “You’re right, I suppose,” Niad said, still smirking. “I guess none of the fancy warlocks and witches there have lovers over here in the new world.”

  “Or if they do,” I said, “they don’t mind waiting for handwritten letters to come in the mail.”

  “Oh!” Niad cried, sitting up with a bright smile, the very picture of interested delight. “You’ve gotten letters from him, then?”

  “Here, kitty kitty,” I said, leaning forward and wiggling my fingers for Elnor. After a final bat at Grieka’s tail, she came. I scooped her up into my arms and got to my feet. “If you’ll all excuse me,” I said to the room in general. “It’s astonishing what a growing fetus does for one’s bladder capacity.”

  After the formal dinner in the coven house’s elegant dining room, we forwent our traditional Tuesday midnight Circle with our ancestress Nementhe in favor of a more unusual ritual, one I had never participated in. I stifled my nerves as the entire coven gathered in the back garden, obscured from the street by the house. Here, among the magical herbs, potent stones, and small creatures of the night, was where we performed rites that were bound with soil, or darker things.

  Creeping Jenny had grown over the disturbed patch of dirt out of which I had initially created Petrana, though the ground still bore the indentation of her body.

  A few feet to the side of that, under the cold light of the full moon, we sat in lotus position in a Circle on the ground. As ever, we arranged ourselves by age, from Leonora at the head all the way around to me, the youngest, at her left hand. The force of the Circle never failed to move me. All this concentrated female power, all our petty differences set aside.

  Usually the senior witch begins any ritual, but since we were naming my daughter, I was tonight’s leader. I cleared my throat and tried to clear my mind. I opened the phial of my preserved menstrual blood, dabbed three drops onto the ground, and began the chant. My sisters joined in; Elnor settled on my lap, though it seemed like there was less room for her there all the time. Had I eaten that much stew? Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second dinner roll. It had seemed like a good idea at the time…I put a hand on my cat’s soft fur and tried once more to clear my mind as I continued chanting, my voice melding with the others.

  A silver light began to glow, enveloping us as the earth answered our call. The droplets of blood vanished into the soil, and I recapped the phial. I would lock it back in the menstrual closet with all the others later. I continued the chant, seeking for my daughter’s name among the many possibilities. Her second name would be Leonora, following general coven tradition. Her first name should be a botanical, as were all the witches in my mother’s line. Within those bounds, there was much to choose from.

  I felt a chill as the moonlight seeped into my bones, bringing the silver earth-light with it, joining the blood in my veins, probing my womb, seeking to know my daughter. I stifled the urge to shake off the uncomfortable, invasive magic. I closed my eyes and clutched Leonora’s hand, feeling her send silent reassurance. Long before she had created our coven, I knew that she had borne several daughters, and that they had all been named in this manner. The tradition was cold comfort. I did not understand why this particular magic could not be gentler. After all, as Peony had pointed out, “Pregnancy is the most sacred, and the most perilous, time in a witch’s life.”

  But I continued the chant, not breaking the rhythm, though my teeth chattered and my knees and hips ached from sitting so long in lotus. If the old sisters didn’t even twitch, I certainly wouldn’t. After a numbingly long while, my throat raw from the repetition, I suddenly smelled the distinct aroma of rosemary. My eyes snapped open as I broke off the chant. A large sprig of the dark green herb s
at inside the circle. The plant grew on the other side of the yard, near the fence. None of us had moved.

  Leonora gazed at the rosemary. “So it is done!” she cried. “The first daughter of Calendula Isadora shall be called Rosemary Leonora.”

  “Rosemary…Rose, for short,” I whispered.

  Leonora turned to me, raising an eyebrow. “Rose? The barkeep?”

  Someone—Niad, no doubt—snickered softly. Rose’s Bar was a favorite hangout of the younger witchkind crowd.

  “It’s a perfectly nice name,” I said, my voice stronger. “And perfectly common. Ordinary.” I hated being called Calendula Isadora. It always made me feel like I was in trouble. Or that I should be wearing a long, elegant gown over a corset. And a snood.

  “As you wish,” my coven mother said after a slight pause. “Rosemary Leonora is now named, and our Circle doth ratify this choice. Amanū essūlå!”

  “Amanū essūlå,” echoed Honor, our next oldest sister after Leonora. This bound the naming. The rest of us joined in, sealing the spell with the salt of our joyous tears.

  — CHAPTER TWO —

  Here,” Sebastian Fallon said.

  I looked up from the lab bench to see my friend holding a syringe. “What’s that?”

  He grinned. “Just vitamins. Mostly.”

  I was at the witchkind clinic. Yes, the same one that the warlock Gregorio Andromedus had built—Gregorio, who I was not entirely convinced was working for the good of all witchkind…though I couldn’t prove anything. This was part of why I was here. I had brought in a new batch of my research homunculi from my home lab to test. My quieter purpose was to see if I could surreptitiously increase my sample size of witches’ blood to test back at home.

  “Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”

  “Ha, ha.” He waved the syringe at me. “Come on, Callie. I brewed it just for you. It can’t hurt.”

  I shook my head. “No, really, I’m good.”

  “Trust me. I’m a healer.”

  Technically, he wasn’t yet, he was just a doctor. But that wasn’t the reason for my hesitation. I set down my pipette and put a hand on his arm. “Sebastian, you’re so sweet, but seriously. I don’t need anything more. I’m keeping real careful track of my nutrition, I’m taking a strength potion regularly, and everything’s going great. I’m fully nourished and I feel terrific.” Before he could argue further, I added, “You can examine me—and her—if you like.”

  He frowned a moment before setting the syringe on the bench beside the pipette. “Sure, I’d appreciate that.”

  I turned to face him so he could more easily reach the swell of my belly. It was a small price to pay to assuage the guilt I felt about deceiving my friend. He knew there was something I wasn’t telling him, and I could tell he was hurt about that, though we had never spoken about it directly. I hated it, too, because he was, in fact, my friend. Even though we’d only really gotten to know each other a few months ago, I trusted him all the way down. He had my best interests at heart, and he had no idea what was really going on. It killed me to keep him in the dark. But I had no choice. Because I cared about him, I could never tell him. He was Gregorio’s freakin’ postdoc, after all.

  He was endlessly curious about the process of witchkind pregnancy, of which I was our community’s only current example. As a healer-in-training, of course he would focus on every aspect of the process.

  Too bad anything he was learning from me would be…only halfway useful to him in the future.

  He put both hands gently on my belly, as he’d done so many times already, and closed his eyes, sending his magic carefully into my system. It always surprised me that he didn’t detect what was unusual about my baby. (About Rose; she had a name now. I had to keep reminding myself.) Then again, I had barely been able to detect her mixed parentage when I searched for it myself, and I had known what I was looking for.

  Sebastian finished his probe and, as ever, gave me an apologetic smile. It lit up his gawky features, making him much better-looking. “She seems great. Growing and thriving.”

  “Yep,” I said. “But you’re always welcome to check.”

  “I just wish I could do more.” He huffed out a small, frustrated sigh.

  I unsuccessfully tried to stifle a grin. “Typical warlock. You-all just hate letting witches be in charge of anything, don’t you?”

  Now he laughed. “Touché.”

  “You’re already taking such good care of me,” I assured him. “You’re a fussier mother-hen than even my coven sisters.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure Niad dotes on you day and night.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Most of them, I mean. With her, I consider it a win that she’s not actively trying to poison me.”

  He held up the syringe. “You’re absolutely sure about the vitamins?”

  I patted my swelling belly. “One hundred percent. Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.” He tucked it in the pocket of his lab coat, but then stood there a beat or two longer. He seemed to have more to say but was unable to broach it.

  Trying to nudge him along, I turned back to the lab bench and picked up my pipette, leaning over the tray of samples and pretending to focus on them.

  “Dr. Andromedus, um, is excited about the baby?”

  Wow, Sebastian, way to fish, I thought. I turned back to him with a careful smile. “I think everyone in the community is.”

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable, even though he pressed on, undeterred. “Well, I mean, he is her grandfather.” I could see his face reddening. “I know he’s not a very cuddly guy, but he seems pretty stoked about this.”

  He was practically begging me to confide in him, but given that he was already too close to the truth, that was the very last thing I could do. I let my smile linger, bland and polite. “Yes, he is very pleased.”

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “Even though, well, with Jeremy still in the Old Country…”

  Hmm. “I’m sure his research there is very complicated,” I said, “though I haven’t heard any details about it.”

  “You don’t get regular updates from him, I imagine?”

  This was safer territory, at least. Niad had asked much the same question, but for very different reasons. “You know how things are between us,” I said. “He still can’t believe I didn’t want to sign a contract with him the minute I learned about the baby.”

  “Yeah. He is a traditionalist.”

  I nodded. “And there’s the technical challenge as well, with communication being so hard at that distance. Plus, even if things were great between us, it’s not like I can just pop over there to say hi.” Witches and warlocks can, if we must, fly in airplanes, but the speed and elevation required really mess with our equilibrium, our connection to the threads of the world. There was more than one documented example of a witch losing her magic altogether after a lengthy flight, and plenty of occurrences of access to magic never being quite the same again. Ley line travel is far easier on our magical systems, except for the fact that it only exchanges one set of issues for another—the incredible distances involved, the disruptive effect of large bodies of saltwater, and the energy expended to make it work. There had actually been more overseas travel by witchkind back in the days of steamships.

  In many ways, we weren’t built for this modern world.

  “Right.” Sebastian glanced at the bench behind me. “Well, I should let you get back to work, I guess.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, though I was grateful that this latest gentle interrogation was finally over.

  He turned to go, then suddenly turned back and blurted, “Did you ever wonder why such an old, esteemed warlock came to live all the way out here in San Francisco?”

  I blinked, startled. “Who? Gregorio?”

  “Yeah. He was in the Old Country for centuries. He even left his son to be raised there. And then he came to live here? Why?”

  I shrugged, unsure what he was trying to get at, and not bothering to cor
rect his timeline. Gregorio had been long established here when his mate died and he sent young Jeremy off to be fostered. “I don’t know. I never really wondered about it. Maybe it was so he could be a bigger fish in a faraway pond. Maybe he had an argument with someone there. Maybe he liked the climate here.”

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow as if wondering if I was kidding, then shook his head. “From what I hear, there are some pretty toxic fish in the Old Country pond. So maybe you’re right.” He bit his lip. “Still, it seems out of character. He doesn’t seem like a San Franciscan.”

  I thought a moment. “Sebastian, remember when we talked after my dinner party?”

  “Of course. When I told you that I’m gay. And you pretended not to be astonished.” He smiled.

  “Yes, that too,” I said, grinning back at him. “But the rest of the conversation—about independence, about not just blindly following all the rules of our elders. About making our own way in the world. Making our own decisions.” I was warming up to my own narrative, trying hard to put recent events out of my mind and remember the Gregorio I’d known all my life. To remember who I’d always thought he’d been, and how much that had impressed me. “I think Dr. Andromedus must have done that. He could have had a comfortable life in the Old Country forever, but he chose to make a new life here. To bring his experience and wisdom and power to this fledgling community.” I stopped, suddenly feeling a little uncertain at my own words. Had I laid it on too thick? Yet it was only what I had believed. Until recently, I had no reason to question any of it.

  Now my life was full of questions…and I was on my own in finding the answers. Gregorio Andromedus might truly be working for the good of witchkind, or he might have everyone fooled. If my daughter and I were to remain safe, I had to keep mum about my doubts—at least until I knew more. Much more.