Sorcery and the Single Girl by Mindy Klasky Read Free Book Online

ulterior motive, I tried to figure out a solution on my own. Teresa Alison Sidney truly wasn’t likely to need a guide on controlling familiars. Nor would she need any of my numerous treatises on preliminary spells, or basic crystal-work, elementary rune-reading, or introductory hexes.
    I shuddered to think about giving her anything that fluttered around the darker edges of magic. In the best case, she might use my gift to consolidate even more power over the Coven—and, by extension, over me. In the worst case, she might interpret my gift as a veiled threat. Besides, my collection had precious few resources on the bleaker side of my gifts, and I was loath to give away anything I might conceivably need in the future.
    No. I needed to find the witchy equivalent of a coffee-table book. A grand volume that sang of riches, of largesse, one that collected fine pictures and minimal text. A book that evoked the spirit of being in another place, of living in another way. A book that Teresa Alison Sidney could display with pride, could invite other witches to peruse, could use to inspire admiration, and maybe just a hint of jealousy from all the members of her Coven who weren’t lucky enough to own such a treasure themselves.
    “I’ve got it!” I said. I crossed to the far wall and knelt in front of the lowest shelf on the bookcase. I ran my fingers along the spines of three giant volumes, each too large to stand upright anywhere else in the collection. The bottom one was the prize I sought.
    I wrestled with it for a moment, fighting to free it from the weight of its cohorts. It was even larger than I remembered, and the cover was more spectacular. Green morocco leather stretched over thin wooden boards. It was stamped with an intricate design of pentagrams, circles and flames of spiritual fire. Decorative brass hinges cupped the spine, echoing the patterns from the book’s cover. The hinges were matched by a metal hasp that held the book closed, protecting the treasures within. The brass devices had been charmed magically so that they never tarnished; even now, they gleamed like warm gold, whorls and fillips drawing the eye.
    I levered the volume against my chest and staggered to my feet, taking care to set it gently on the book stand in the center of the room. David came to my side, automatically reaching out expectant fingers to touch the fine tooling on the leather cover. Even Neko decided to give up his pouting and show some interest.
    “What’s the title?” David asked, craning his neck to look around my familiar. There were no words on the spine or the cover.
    I worked the be-spelled hasp, admiring the flawless mechanics as the volume sprang open. Perfect rag-cotton sheets were bound inside; the librarian in me knew that some skilled laborer had spent days creating the smooth writing surfaces. I turned to the title page and read aloud: “An Illustrated History of Witches in the Mid-Atlantic Region, Comprising Maryland, Delaware, the Virginias, and the District of Columbia.”
    I said to David, “It’s local history. Especially appropriate for the Washington Coven.”
    David nodded, raising his eyebrows in appreciation at the lush, hand-colored illustrations that filled the pages. “It looks impressive. It’s rare. It’s highly unlikely that Teresa Alison Sidney has a copy in her own collection, at least not with all the plates tipped in. I think this is the perfect gift.” Involuntarily, I grinned at the praise. “Now, for the wrapping, the binding you’ll create. Go ahead and get the citrine.”
    I dug back in my box of crystals and extracted the stone, resisting the momentary urge to replace the perfect specimen with one of lesser value. If David was right—and I had no reason to think otherwise—if we truly were negotiating my debut in the professional and social world of witchcraft, I didn’t dare cut a single corner.
    The citrine was warm in my hand as I turned back to the book stand. Neko came to