Capital Magic

1

JANE

Sometimes, cupcakes are the only reason I get out of bed in the morning.

Okay. Cupcakes. And pear oolong tea. And the chance to talk to my best friend, Melissa White, who just happens to own a bakery providing both of the above.

Most days, I can make do with a scone. Or a muffin. Something that remotely resembles what a responsible grownup eats for breakfast.

But other days, I really, really need a Yellow Brick Road cupcake—golden cake with intense fudge icing. And when I’m having one of those days, I’m always tempted to buy a couple extra, just to lick the frosting off the top. What can I say? They’re small—just a bite or two in each one. That’s what makes them all the more addictive.

Melissa refilled my mug with hot water. So? When do you need to be out of the cottage?

I mimed putting my fingers in my ears. I’m not listening to you.

I don’t get it. You’re the one who quit your job at the library to try something new. Why are you getting cold feet now?

Why, indeed?

My cold feet couldn’t possibly be because I was one week away from being evicted from my home, from the cottage that had been the only decent perk of the library job I had left behind. And the frost nipping at my toes could not possibly be because I knew I was letting my witchcraft skills lie dangerously fallow, finding it far too great a challenge to summon my familiar from the arms of the man of his dreams. And that icy draft certainly was not because my warder, my astral protector, the man charged with keeping me safe in the physical and magical worlds, had become my true, honest-to-Hecate boyfriend, complete with overnights at his rural home and silly little in-jokes that I was almost beginning to trust.

Almost. But not quite. Not enough to take the entirely reasonable step of moving in with David Montrose and founding the school for witches that had seemed like such a brilliant idea when I’d announced it almost six months before.

Damn. Melissa was still waiting for an answer. I gestured toward my Yellow Brick Road crumbs and tried to put her off with a Shakespeare quote: He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

"Troilus and Cressida, she responded grimly. I wouldn’t use that play as my guiding light for solving life’s problems. How many people do you know who have seen it?"

I had. And Melissa, too. But she had a point; it wasn’t one of the Bard’s best.

I sighed and gestured with my hands, clenching and unclenching my fingers as I tried to explain. I loved my work as a reference librarian. I don’t want to leave that behind entirely. I don’t want to have wasted all the years I spent gaining that expertise. I stared at the refrigerated case in front of me, with rows and rows of baked goods lined up like soldiers in an army. I wished my life could be so perfectly structured, so utterly organized. I want to do something that builds on my old job, I said. Something like… Like consulting for clients with private library collections.

Ta-da! The words echoed inside my skull, even after I had said them. They resonated like chords on a pipe organ, like an angelic choir reverberating in a massive cathedral.

That’s it! I said to Melissa. I want to be a library consultant! I can help small organizations catalog their private collections. Figure out the best way to present information so it’s accessible to everyone who needs it. I can identify holes in collections and help owners work to fill those holes. With every phrase, I grew more excited. I was absolutely certain: I had finally found the right job for me, the one I was born to do.

My best friend made a wry face. And to think—all it took was a handful of mini-cupcakes and the threat of eviction.

And pear oolong tea, I said. Don’t forget the oolong.

Melissa looked past me, putting on her friendliest smile to greet a new customer. In my excitement over discovering my new career path, I hadn’t even heard the shop door open. Good morning, Melissa said. May I help you?

I should have been embarrassed that one of Melissa’s customers had overheard my enraptured babbling. Somehow, though, I didn’t think the woman who stepped up to the counter minded. I didn’t think she’d even heard a word.

Even though it was early morning, the customer looked exhausted. She was about the same age as Melissa and me, but at first glance she looked about ten years older. Her makeup was worn, as if she hadn’t gone to bed the night before. Her green eyes were bloodshot. Nevertheless, her auburn hair was neatly brushed, and her Ann Taylor suit fit her precisely. She wore a coral ring on the middle finger of her right hand, and a hematite bracelet on her left wrist.

Even as she set down one of Melissa’s menus and lined it up precisely with the edge of the counter, something about her jangled. Something about the way that she carried herself. Something about that jewelry.

I closed my eyes, as if that would help me remember some fact I had momentarily forgotten. The information I sought was there… Somewhere… Just beyond my conscious thought…

I heard the woman order a slice of Almond Lust, with a couple of Mint Pillows on the side. Melissa made small talk as she boxed up the baked goods. Apparently, she knew the woman, had seen her in Cake Walk before. The register chirped, and money changed hands. Melissa offered a receipt, which was rejected.

The customer collected her sweets, but she hesitated before walking away. She shifted the golden elastic band on her box of goodies, settling the bow in the precise center of the box. The motion was tight, automatic, as if she regularly imposed order on the chaos of the world around her.

And somehow, it made my thoughts tumble into place.

Purification! I said, as if I’d been in the middle of a conversation. Melissa looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. The coral ring, I said, pointing at the customer’s hand. Coral is an ancient source of purification.

As soon as I said it, I knew I was right—there was something special about the ring, something charged. For that matter, the hematite bracelet was sparking as well, urging me to acknowledge its own unique magical properties. I smiled at the customer, surprising a look of comprehension on her face.

Precisely, she said, pinning me with a sharp gaze. Most people aren’t aware of the old meanings.

She was testing me, and I knew it. Some of us see more than others, I said, deliberately keeping my words vague but hoping she would understand.

And my response seemed to push her toward some decision. She raised her chin, almost as if she were defying me. I overheard you talking a moment ago, she said. I happen to be looking for a library consultant, and I think you might be the perfect woman for the job.

That evening, I found myself deep in the heart of the District of Columbia courthouse, meeting with my first consulting client. Sarah Anderson, she had introduced herself back in the bakery. Clerk of Court for the District of Columbia Night Court. Well, that explained the tired look on her face that morning—she had just come off a full night of work when she dropped by Cake Walk. We had agreed to meet in the evening, after she’d had a chance to sleep.

I had taken advantage of my otherwise quiet day to do some research in the multiple volumes that still lined the basement walls of my soon-to-be-forfeited home. I had remembered correctly—coral was known for its ability to purify all forms of contamination. It was also useful in taming tempers, subduing rages, and controlling compulsive disorders.

As long as I was reading, I looked up hematite as well. The heavy, shiny stone harmonized