Read Online Girl's Guide to Witchcraft by Mindy Klasky - Free Book Online Page B

didn’t use much of it on my own, and it always went bad before the carton was empty. Nothing stinks up a refrigerator as much as spoiled milk products.
    Besides, even if I’d had cream on hand the other night, I wouldn’t have shared it with the cat-man. I didn’t want to do anything to bring out the feline side of his personality. That just creeped me out. The night before, I’d come home from meeting with Melissa to find two voles and a mouse stretched out on my front porch, their tiny corpses lined up like a magical offering.
    Neko. I’d already decided not to mention him to Gran. Not Neko, not Montrose, nothing at all about that strange night. She’d only worry about me, and since I wasn’t going to be working any more spells, there was no reason to put her through that.
    A waiter swooped by our table and set down a tiered tray. I could make out some cucumber sandwiches (crusts neatly trimmed from impossibly thin slices of white bread). There were also tiny bites of curried chicken salad on glazed walnut bread, and a dollop of egg salad with feathery dill on pumpernickel. I would leave the egg for Gran—it was her favorite—but I could never get past the smell. I helped myself to smoked salmon on lemon brioche.
    “I really appreciate your getting away from the library,” Gran said. “I just wish you hadn’t changed out of your new outfit. I wanted to see it. I’m sure it’s darling.”
    I took my time chewing a pale orange bite. After I swallowed, I looked down at my neat A-line skirt. An A-line skirt that I’d never wear to work again. An A-line skirt that Jason Templeton would never have the opportunity to admire—even from a distance, much less from the up-close-and-personal view of the sometimes tricky side zipper. “I can’t wear those things in public, Gran. The skirt has honest-to-God hoops, and the quilted petticoat looks like something out of a museum.”
    “The stays must make you stand up straight, though. You’ve always needed a reminder about your posture.”
    Thanks, Gran. I love you, too.
    I settled for “Before I forget—here are your keys. I left the car with the valet.”
    Gran set them on the table between us. For just a moment, it seemed that she put them there to keep them available, like an escape hatch. In case one of us needed to flee the scene. How strange was that? I chased the thought away by asking about her board meeting. She had just come from her monthly session with the concert opera guild board of directors.
    “It was fine, dear.”
    “Fine?” Something was definitely wrong. Gran could talk about the opera board for hours—long detailed stories about the volunteers who performed above all expectations, or the prima donna sopranos who arrived at the theater expecting special treatment that wasn’t to be found anywhere outside of New York’s Metropolitan Opera.
    “Yes, dear, fine.” She glanced around distractedly, as if she were trying to find a waiter. A buffer. “Do you need more tea?”
    I looked down at my still-full cup. “Um, not yet, Gran.” Now I was beginning to get a worried.
    “Jane, will you make me a promise?”
    Whew. So that was it. Just another one of Gran’s promise binges. She had me going there for a moment. “About what?” I asked.
    “I can’t tell you yet.”
    “What?” I started to ask, but then I remembered my manners. “Pardon me?” I heard the sharpness, barely hidden under my voice.
    “I’m going to ask you to do something, and you aren’t going to be very happy about it. Promise me, though, that you’ll do it. It’s very important to me. More important than anything I’ve ever asked of you before.”
    Wait a minute. This was more than the usual Gran request. This time, she wanted to bind me before I even knew what was at stake. What was going on?
    Suddenly, all the bits slipped into place. Gran’s nervousness. Her luring me with afternoon tea. The “fine” concert opera guild board meeting.
    Uncle