Spellcasters by Kelley Armstrong Read Free Book Online Page B

Elders meeting, and thinking what a disparate group they made.
    Therese fit the image Gabriel Sandford ascribed to witches, right down to the blue rinse and polyester stretch pants. The stereotypical grandmother with a wide lap and a purse that held enough supplies to see her through a three-day siege. Savannah’s aunt Margaret was, at sixty-eight, the youngest of the Elders. A beauty in her youth, Margaret was still strikingly attractive, but, unfortunately, fulfilled another stereotype, that of the dim-witted beauty. And Victoria Alden? She was the model twenty-first-century senior, an impeccably groomed, energetic woman, who wore suits to church and khakis on the golf course, and sniffed at less active seniors, as if any physical or mental impairment they suffered was due to self-neglect.
    Once I’d undone the perimeter and locking spells and opened the door, Victoria barreled past and strode into the living room, not bothering to remove her shoes. That was a bad sign. Rules of Coven etiquette—which bore a disquieting resemblance to those by Emily Post, circa 1950—dictated that one always removed one’s shoes at the door, as a courtesy to the housekeeper. Walking in with your shoes on treaded the border of insult. Fortunately, Therese and Margaret did take off their orthopedic slip-ons, so I knew the situation wasn’t critical.
    “We need to talk,” Victoria said.
    “Would you like some tea first?” I said. “I should have fresh muffins, too, if Savannah hasn’t finished them.”
    “We aren’t here to eat, Paige,” Victoria said from the living room.
    “Tea, then?”
    “No.”
    Turning down baked goods was damning enough, but to refuse a hot beverage? Almost unheard of in the annals of Coven history.
    “How could you have kept this from us?” Victoria said as I joined them in the living room. “A custody battle is bad enough. A legal custody battle. But—”
    “It’s not a legal custody battle,” Savannah said, slipping around the corner. “Taking custody means kidnapping, like breaking in at midnight and dragging me away kicking and screaming. That kind of custody battle.”
    Victoria turned to me. “What is she talking about?”
    “Savannah? How about you take your aunt downstairs and show her your artwork.”
    “No.”
    “Savannah, please. We have to talk.”
    “So? It’s about my life, isn’t it?”
    “See?” Victoria turned to Therese and Margaret, and waved a hand at Savannah and me. “This is the problem. The girl has no respect for Paige.”
    “The girl has a name,” I said.
    “Don’t interrupt. You aren’t ready for this, Paige. I said so right from the start. We should never have let you take her. You’re too young and she’s too—”
    “We are fine,” I said, teeth gritted so hard they hurt.
    “Wanna see my art, Aunt Maggie?” Savannah asked. “My teacher says I have real talent. Come see.” She bounced off, wearing a “good-girl” grin that looked as painful as my clenched teeth.
    “Come on, Aunt Maggie,” Savannah called back, her voice a high-pitched singsong. “I’ll show you my cartoons.”
    “No!” I yelled after her as Margaret followed. “The oils, please. The oils.”
    Somehow I doubted Margaret would see the humor in Savannah’s dark cartoons. They’d probably give the Elder a heart attack. Just what I needed.
    Once they were gone, Victoria turned on me. “You should have told us about this.”
    “I just got the notice yesterday after we spoke on the phone. I didn’t take it seriously, so I didn’t want to upset you. Then, when I met with them this morning, I realized it
was
serious, and I was just about to call Margaret—”
    “I’m sure you were.”
    “Now, Victoria,” Therese murmured.
    “Do you know what they’re threatening to do?” Victoria continued. “Expose you. Expose us. They’re alleging you’re an unfit guardian because you’re a practicing witch.”
    “So are thousands of mothers in this country,” I said.