After my class, Antony was leaning against the wall waiting for me. He had a three-level Japanese bento box in his arms. I had seen it before. It was beautifully made of black lacquer and inlaid with mother of pearl flowers. We found it at a Goodwill. It was with the jewelry and underneath the glass because the owner of the shop thought it was a jewelry box instead of a fancy lunch box. Antony bought it and now whenever he needed to bring food, he brought it in the bento box. The girls always went wild and I kept where he got it a secret.

“I brought you lunch,” he said cheerfully.

“Aw. You shouldn't have,” I said, meaning every word. “What is it?”

I walked together with Antony down to the cafeteria. It was an important room in the school, and during the winter, it was used all day long for teaching table manners. The walls were papered blue, elegant like paper boats, with enlarged crown molding at the windows and in the corners. It made every diner feel they were experiencing the big time of what wealth and society had to offer.

Sitting down in the empty room, I gave myself a little neck rub.

“You're stressed,” he commented as he tucked my chair in.

“I'm not stressed,” I said as I pulled a cloth napkin from the center of the table and placed it in my lap. “I'm annoyed.”

Antony narrowed his eyes. “It's Salinger, isn't it?”

“No,” I said quickly. “He's probably annoying, but I haven't had time to form that opinion. It's the cousins. They have big mouths.” Antony didn't realize I was including him in the fact that I was annoyed with 'the cousins.' He was more annoying than the girls were. They weren't trying to put the moves on me. “Although I am interested in his visit and whether or not he'll choose one of the cousins to be his bride,” I drawled sardonically.

“Why?” It was Antony’s turn to be annoyed.

“Have you heard their cackling? In the halls of the school no less,” I said firmly, diverting him from my true intention. “I thought we were keeping our witchcraft a secret.”

Antony frowned. He opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again. He was going to warn me against getting to know Salinger better, but he thought that if he did, it would make Salinger more interesting. He didn't want to spark my curiosity, so he refrained.

He opened the bento box. The top layer was mini slices of French bread and artichoke dip. The second layer was red grapes and strawberries. The third layer was tiny beef and horseradish sandwiches. It was all stuff from the deli down the street.

“Lovely,” I said. “Anything to drink?”

He produced pomegranate and apple sparkling juice. I nearly smiled! It was my favorite drink. “Wow,” I gasped, almost sarcastically.

The cafeteria was amply equipped with champagne flutes, so he snatched a few and poured.

I had just accepted my first glass when Salinger strode in. “Am I interrupting?” He came up and shook Antony's hand. He was shorter by at least three inches, but there was nothing shameful in that. Antony was like a tree.

“Would you like to join us?” Antony said as discouragingly as possible, which was completely inviting. He had been trained for years at a school for deportment.

“Just for the drink,” Salinger said as he sat down. Antony poured for him. He brought the sparkling beverage to his lips and after one sip asked, “That tastes like what?”

Antony made a show of checking the label. “It's pomegranate and apple.”

“That's strange. I don't normally like fruit, but it tastes like magic,” he said the last word while looking straight at me. “Sorry for mistaking you this morning.”

“Think nothing of it. I know I am not like the other cousins.”

“How so?” Salinger pressed.

“Well for starters, I have no tattoos or rebel piercings. I wash my hair regularly and wear a normal shade of lipstick.”

“Everyone has tattoos,” Salinger said, latching onto the first thing I said. “They symbolize power and identity. Don't they, Antony? How many do you have?”

“Four,” Antony admitted.

I glanced at him. As far as I knew, he only had one. It was a star on his shoulder blade, but beyond, I had no idea. He must have had them done recently since he had only been eighteen for a few months. 

“What have you got against a little tattoo? You're a witch, you should love them.”

I smiled. “I don't want to have my identity cemented. I may never get one done.”

“Not to insult you,” Salinger said. “But you look very secure in who you are. Look at you.”

I picked up my fork, skewered a piece of bread, and dipped it in artichoke dip.

I was gorgeous and I knew it. I wore a black and gray plaid skirt that was perfectly proper by Scottish standards. It was one hundred percent wool. I wore a black linen shirt with a pointed collar and adorable gathers around the wrists. It was covered by a vest that was shiny black in the back and a black woolen weave in the front. My tights had a tiny rectangular pattern on them and my boots came up to my knees. They were beautiful boots. The toes were pointed and the heel spiked. My hair was perfect and hung in excellent thick ringlets down my back because my hair was the first thing I learned to enchant. The makeup I had to do myself, but it wasn't a complex look at all. Brown eyes, black eye makeup, white skin, red lips. I looked stunning, which was why Salinger hadn't been able to let me walk by that morning without commenting and why he couldn't stay away from me now. He had not thought for one second that I was June.

“I just don't like being pressured to do what everyone does. I'll do what I want.”

He looked intrigued. “Tell me more.”

“Have you been up to the library yet?” I asked, changing the topic.

“No,” he said briskly.

“Why not? I'm sure any of the cousins would have been willing to take you,” Antony put in.

“Everyone has offered to show it to me, but I don't want to go. Not until I decide if I want to…”

“We all know why you're here,” Antony said roughly. “We all know that you wrote your stupid book so you could have your pick of any of the girls, not just here, but in the other covens and you're here to interview them to see which one you'd rather... Why not just be straight about it? Mother of--”

“Pearl,” I finished for him. I saw that he still had a lot to learn about profanity and concealing his temper.

He inclined his head to show that he was willing to accept my amendment.

I didn't comment further. Even though I was the very picture of politeness most days, I had another student coming in under forty minutes. From experience, I knew that Antony would leave me to wash the dishes we dirtied and if I didn't hurry, I would get to my next session underfed. It wouldn't do. The next student was a boy I was teaching to ballroom dance. I continued eating at a pace I hoped would not attract attention.

“Who said it was a secret? I just don't know what to call it. You know as well as I do that men don't practice witchcraft with the same zeal as women because of all the social stigmas. They don't want to mix potions because it's too much like cooking. They don't want to make books because then they'd have to write about their feelings. They don't use glamor because it's too much like wearing makeup. But I'm not like them. I like being magical, and I don’t feel like it stops me from being a man. It is no secret that I want to be with a woman who is actually a witch. What would you call my search?”

“I don't know,” Antony said, deflating slightly. “I just don't like the way you're talking to Veda. Why don't you just tell her you want to interview her and ask your questions?”

I was surprised to hear Antony say that. It was a trifle too mature for him. Why would he be willing to share his time with me with Salinger?

“I will.” He paused. “Just not with you watching.”

That was it. Antony wanted to watch the interview. He wanted to see what Salinger did when he spoke to a prospective date. Antony knew his attempts to win me over were unsuccessful. Perhaps I had made him feel desperate when I walked out on him the day before.

Antony knocked a steak sandwich closer to his cousin. “Well, then eat something, idiot. You're hogging all the juice because you're hungry.”

Salinger took one and I used the moment to scrutinize his face. Was he using glamor? After about a minute, I concluded that he was. He had really bad acne scars, but he covered them with immaculate skill. As soon as I realized what he was doing, I could see what he looked like without the magic. His cheeks were a mess, but they did nothing to spoil his looks. He just had that kind of face. Scarred from cheekbone to jaw line, he was still perfectly handsome.

I said nothing and continued eating.