Page 1 of Wooing the Wiccan
CHAPTER ONE
Jared
“Bye, Mr. Veddy!”one of my tiny students lisps, grinning and waving at me as her grandmother ushers her out of my classroom. I wave back, my grin just as wide as hers despite the fact that I’m exhausted and desperate for coffee. The kids were super hyped up today, and I haven’t had a second to think like an adult since I got here and found an impatient parent waiting at my classroom door, full of apologies about an early meeting he had to race off to, and I didn’t mind if Josh hung out with me, did I?
I did, in fact, mind, since I have a long list of things to get done before my students arrive, but he was already halfway down the hall, and Josh was smiling hopefully. So I mentally waved goodbye to my quiet organization time and unlocked the classroom door.
Now, though… now I finally have a quiet moment. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, then exhale, releasing all the cares and stresses of the day on my breath. When I open my eyes again, I feel much more centered—and ready to take on the last jobs of the day before I can go home.
At this point in the school year, my students are pretty good at tidying up—well, as good as any five-year-old is. They knowwhere everything belongs, and our end-of-day tidy-up is now part of their routine, so there are very few things still out of place. I’ll grab those and put them away, then do my usual round with the disinfectant spray—little kids are adorable, but also gross.
I’m nearly finished when Gretchen, the other kindergarten teacher, wanders through the connecting door between our classrooms.
“Ready?” she asks, then does a double-take at the paintings drying on the line that bisects the room. “Jared, please tell me one of your kids didn’t paint a giant c—” She cuts herself off, looks around to make sure there isn’t a parent or child ready to surprise us at the worst possible moment, then leans forward to whisper, “Cock.”
I laugh. “It looks like it, doesn’t it? I was having visions of the very awkward parent meeting I’d have to call. But I’ve been reliably advised that it’s one of those bladeless tower fans wearing a hat.”
She squints and tilts her head to the left. “I… guess?”
“That’s what innocent minds think, and I’m not going to question it. Ready for the staff meeting?”
“As much as I’ll ever be. I’m nearly a hundred percent sure that I’m going to get voluntold to do something extra for the holiday concert.”
I grab my jacket and satchel and follow her out into the hallway, pausing to turn off the lights and lock the door. “The holiday concert hasn’t even been discussed yet. Wait until the usual tasks have been assigned before you worry about anything extra.”
She tsks and shakes her head. “I don’t know how you get through life with that positive attitude, Jared. If you’re not prepared for the worst, it blindsides you.”
“If you spend your whole life worrying about things that haven’t happened and might not, you take on a burden that isn’t yours to carry,” I counter. It took me a long time to accept that, and, being the imperfect human I am, sometimes it’s still hard to live it. Carrying burdens that shouldn’t have been mine to begin with was the norm in my family, and it wasn’t until I was in my late twenties and had put some distance between myself and my upbringing that I realized how toxic it was for me.
Gretchen makes a sound that’s part chuckle, part sigh. “I honestly don’t know if you’re naturally so chill or if becoming Wiccan did that for you. Sometimes I wish I’d known you before so I could compare.”
I hold the door to the staffroom open for her, my other hand instinctively coming up to rest on where my amethyst pendant lies under my sweater. “It’s a bit of both.” Becoming a witch definitely taught me to let go of the things I couldn’t control and embrace the parts of me I like best, but even as a kid, I was pretty laid-back.
She winks at me as we take our seats. “Whatever it is, it’s working. You’re awesome.”
The principal stands and begins to speak before I can tell her she’s awesome too. Another great life lesson: Hold on to the friends who raise you up, and let go of the ones who drag you down.
It’sa little later than I’d planned when I get home, because Gretchen was totally right and the vice principal had already made a list of holiday concert tasks that she planned to pressure us into taking on in addition to what we already have to do for our classes. I’m now in charge of coordinating the final numberswe can expect on the night, which means my colleagues are going to quickly learn to hate me as I nag them to follow up parent RSVPs.
I drop my satchel by the front door, hang my coat on the peg I installed for it, and remove my shoes, setting them neatly on the rack. I like to leave my “outside things” in the little entryway, a line of demarcation between my time in the hectic world and the haven I’ve turned my home into. The scent of the incense I was burning last night lingers, mixing with the tang of the lemon oil I use in everything—soap, shampoo, moisturizer, room spray—and thanks to the app on my phone that controls my lamps, the living room is already lit with a cozy glow as I pad through the doorway in my socked feet.
“Pspsps.” I continue toward the tiny kitchen, listening for the sound of Marge’s almost-silent feet. She used to sneak up on me easily, but she’s getting older now and doesn’t play games as much.
She appears from behind the couch, stalking toward me with her tail in the air and head held high. It’s her Queen of the House walk, and it usually means she thinks I haven’t been giving her enough attention. I rectify that immediately, kneeling and giving her all the pets and scratches she demands, until she pulls away and heads for the kitchen, looking at me over her shoulder. The queen wants dinner.
I get her settled with her food dish and put one of the meal portions I prepped on the weekend in the oven to heat up for my own dinner before going to the bedroom to change into sweatpants and a hoodie. My cottage is a dream come true, but it’s small, cold in winter and hot in summer, desperately needs to be updated, and isn’t in the best neighborhood. There’s a reason a kindergarten teacher was able to afford to buy a house in this economy—nobody else wanted it.
That’s not entirely true—the older couple who lived here before they moved to an assisted living community had a few offers, but they liked me best, even though mine wasn’t the highest. They insisted that if they had to leave their home, they wanted to know they were leaving it in good hands. It’s one of the nicest compliments I’ve been paid, and I hope they’re still happy with their choice. I know I am—for all its flaws, the house has amazing energy, and the small fenced yard out the back gives me ample space for a herb garden and outdoor rituals. The heating might not be great, but that just gives me an excuse to wrap myself in a blanket while I’m watching TV or reading. Marge and I are happy here, and I can make little improvements over time.
Back in the kitchen, I turn on my laptop and log in to my email while I’m waiting for dinner. This is the time of day when I browse social media and reply to personal emails. I used to have the apps on my phone, but when I found myself twitching toward it every time I heard a notification, I decided it was time to delete them. The kids deserve every ounce of my attention when I’m at school, and that applies to other tasks as well. If I want to check something from my phone, I can always log in via a browser, but having to actually take those steps usually stops me from doing it for anything nonessential.
I reply to a few messages on Facebook and Instagram and comment on a post I’ve been tagged in, then switch to my email. I can scroll while I eat, but I’ve learned the hard way not to try typing and eating at the same time.
First is an email from an old coworker who moved to Canada, asking if we can catch up when she comes home for the holidays. That’s a lovely surprise, and I immediately reply in the affirmative. Next is a newsletter from the travel agent I used last time I went on vacation, a sales email from a clothing store,a quick note from a college friend confirming our next dinner, what looks like spam, another sales?—
My eyes slide back up to the email I thought was spam, and I read the subject line again.Deepen Your Ability to Use Magic.I’m not sure what’s caught my attention—it still looks like spam to me. I get emails like this sometimes, probably because I occasionally buy supplies online. Usually I prefer to visit local stores, and living in a densely populated area means I have options to choose from, but there have been times when a particular bowl or something that I see online calls to me. One of the stores must have sold their mailing list, though, because I don’t know why else I’d be getting emails from random senders that are targeted to my interests. Magic is something the scammers frequently use to tempt me into opening and clicking… not that I’d ever click something in an unsolicited email from a stranger.
My finger hovers over the Delete key, but instinct niggles, and instead, I click to open the email.
