Girl's Guide to Witchcraft by Mindy Klasky

for my glass and set it on the table. One part of my mind noticed that his hand was warmer than I expected it to be. His fingers were smoother, too, not the rough flesh that I anticipated, given his gruff tone. Another part of me noted that he took care to place the glass on a slate coaster, protecting my coffee table from the evils of water rings.
    “Listen,” he said. “We can end all this right now. The Covenants grant priority to any witch who actually possesses the materials—books, runes, crystals. You don’t have to take advantage of that presumption, though. If you’d like, you can give back everything in your basement.”
    “Give it back?” Even saying the words felt wrong.
    “The Coven would gladly accept the return. As it is, they will likely contest your ownership, but things move slowly in Hecate’s Court.”
    Hecate’s Court. He made it sound like traffic or small-claims court. I laughed uneasily, overwhelmed by the strangeness of all this.
    “Jane,” he said. “This is serious.”
    Jane. He’d called me by name.
    And all of a sudden, I was looking at Mr. David Montrose, Hecate’s warder, a little differently. He wasn’t a bully who’d come into my home to make me feel bad for fiddling with another person’s property. Instead, he was a protector. He was a teacher. He was one of the good guys.
    Neko snorted, and the moment was ruined. Montrose turned to glare at my familiar. “Laugh all you want,” he said to Neko. “But will you report to Hecate’s Court when the dispute over ownership begins?”
    Neko squirmed for a moment before looking away. I glanced back at Montrose, only to find that I couldn’t break his gaze. His eyes were brown, the color of dark chocolate. They were flecked with green, though, specks of color that gave them depth. All of a sudden, I was aware of the small creases around those eyes, the lines beside his mouth. He had a shallow cleft in his chin—just a hint of a flaw to balance a face that might have been too pretty otherwise. I could tell that he had shaved that morning, but chestnut whiskers pricked his skin.
    And for just a moment I imagined kissing him. I envisioned the feel of those whiskers against my cheek, and then the soft touch of his lips. I thought about his hands, those marvelously warm, smooth hands, moving down my arms, then one palm cupping the back of my head as he pulled me closer. I imagined my own fingers grabbing at his hair, closing around his curls.
    “So,” Montrose said, and the spell was broken. I was back in my living room, sitting rigidly on my couch. I stared at the mojito glass on the table, wondering just how drunk I must be. After all, I didn’t know the first thing about Montrose. I certainly didn’t know him like I did Jason Templeton—how could I even think of letting the warder supplant my Imaginary Boyfriend?
    Wait. No one was supplanting anyone. Montrose was here as a warder. He was here to teach me about my magic, to make sure that I didn’t break any bizarre astral laws, to help me keep the strange possessions that appeared to be mine. I might think that I was attracted to him, but that was probably just my old habit of developing crushes on men in power. I’d had my first crush on my fourth-grade social studies teacher, Mr. Solomon. And a monstrous one on my freshman literature professor. And a killer infatuation with my first boss for a summer job, at the Springfield Public Library.
    Whew. That was a close call. My entire career as a witch might be ruined if I let myself have a crush on my warder.
    My warder? My career as a witch? What was I thinking?
    Apparently, I had made a decision. I was going to learn about this witchcraft stuff. I was going to find out what powers I had, and I was going to explore how to use them.
    “So, what now?” I asked. I watched Melissa lean closer. I recognized the expression on her face as one of confusion. She couldn’t know all the thoughts that had just careered through my