Witches in Flight Read online

  Witches In Flight

  by Debora Geary

  Copyright 2012 Debora Geary

  Fireweed Publishing

  ePub Edition

  IMPORTANT NOTE

  for readers of

  my main series …

  This trilogy takes place in the

  timeline between A Hidden Witch and

  A Reckless Witch. Without giving up any

  spoilers, Devin & Kenna are not

  with us yet ;-).

  So, mentally slide yourselves back in time

  six months… and enjoy!

  Chapter 1

  The art world really had no idea what to do when the artist they were trying to honor was still alive. Jennie sat in a quiet corner of the Guggenheim hall exhibiting her work and decided it was really weird to wander through a crowd of people who mostly thought you were dead.

  She grinned as a lumpen man sat down beside her and grunted. From Charlie Tosh, that was an effusive welcome.

  He glanced her way. “I see you’re still kicking.”

  She looked around the room, lips twitching. Charlie had been through his own Guggenheim “retrospective” the previous year—he’d be one of the few who would truly understand how strange this was.

  He shifted his bulk around on the bench. “I hear something in Berkeley’s caught my great-nephew’s eye. You happen to know anything about that?”

  Charlie wanted to have a conversation? Maybe she was dead. Unfortunately, Josh Hennessey wasn’t a topic she really wanted to discuss. “Well, he’s just bought a house.”

  Her companion snorted. “Knowing my nephew, I suspect the ‘something’ in question is young and pretty. Why is it that men are so distracted by young and pretty, anyhow?”

  “Not you, Charlie.” She patted his knee and gave in to her urge to tweak his eternal grumpiness. “You’ve always been good at finding ‘pretty’ in those of us who are old and wrinkly.”

  Others might have mistaken his noises for choking—she knew it as his rare laughter. “That mean you’re finally going to let me take your portrait?”

  She’d been telling him no for twenty-five years. Charlie didn’t take portraits—he stripped his subjects bare. She’d been accused of the same, but she worked with an empathetic deftness that usually had people thanking her in the end. Very few people thanked Charlie. He had little empathy and even less need to be liked. What he had was an unstinting eye for truth.

  He was a genius at finding what people didn’t want seen.

  Jennie leaned back against the wall, contemplating the past few days. Lizard, the rebel poet, putting “stupid” in its place. Elsie on a trapeze, reaching for freedom—and purpose. Two moments of stupendous bravery and vulnerability. She knew to treasure those moments—they came all too infrequently in any life.

  Perhaps she was ready for another one of her own. If her students could put their innermost dreams out into the world, then maybe she could sit for Charlie Tosh. “When should I come?”

  Not by the flicker of an eye did he indicate she’d surprised him. Fortunately, mind witches had better tools. He was as shocked—and as intrigued—as she’d ever felt him. He stared casually down the hall. “Why now?”

  He’d find the answer with his lens anyhow—he always did. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him until then. “I need a new picture for my wall. I hear you take pretty good ones.”

  His choking sounds were back. She’d made Charlie laugh twice in one sitting—that was the stuff of which miracles were made.

  He snorted one last time. “I was thinking I might come visit that nephew of mine, anyhow. See that new house of his and whatever other pretty baubles are lying around.”

  It was probably a good thing Lizard wasn’t present to hear herself called a “bauble.”

  Charlie shifted beside her, never quite comfortable in his own skin, at least while it was perched on a skinny bench. “I’ll bring my camera and we can go for a little walk.” He scowled. “But if you put any picture of mine in one of those cute silver frames, I’ll shoot you dead.”

  If Charlie Tosh took her picture, it would go up on her wall in a place of high honor—but she didn’t need to let him know that. She glanced over, eyebrow raised. “What, my family snapshots aren’t good enough company for you?” They were pretty illustrious snapshots—she’d taken most of them herself.

  He growled. “If that’s the kind of picture you want, find somebody young and pretty with one of those newfangled digital monstrosities.”

  She grinned, appreciating his curmudgeonly soul as she always had. “Want to take a tour of the crowd and introduce me?” She’d lay a thousand dollars on no, but it was fun to ask.

  “What the hell for?” He pulled to his feet, far more graceful than he looked. “Half the place thinks you’re dead, and the other half thinks you’re a man. Let’s go find some decent whiskey instead.”

  She laughed and hooked her arm through his. Retrospectives were highly overrated. It was the life ahead of you that mattered.

  Chapter 2

  Lizard stared at Bean, scared down to her bones. His face was doing that scowly, unhappy thing again, which meant he was going to wail. It was an immutable, unstoppable law. “Cut me some slack, little dude.”

  His face screwed up into something that might possibly be interest, so she kept talking. “I’m new at this whole babysitter gig, and your mama just wants to have a nice, long bath, which she won’t be able to do if you get all loud and cranky. So work with me, okay?”

  Sigh. She was negotiating with a week-old baby. Yeah, that was going to work. Quickly, she ran through the baby checklist in her head. Fed? Check. Thea had done the whole nursing thing just before she’d fled for the bathroom with a look of profound joy on her face. Dry? Check. Which was good, because the whole diaper-changing-while-avoiding-random-boy-parts-leakage thing was way, way above her pay grade.

  Since that was the end of her very short checklist, she was hooped. And then Lizard remembered she now lived in a universe where other people liked to be helpful.

  Pulling out her phone, she texted Nell. Aervyn’s mom had five kids—her baby checklist was probably a mile long. The kid’s not hungry or wet, and Thea needs time to have a bath. What else can I try?

  The reply came quickly. Take him for a walk. If that fails, I’ll send you an experienced nine-year-old :-).

  It was totally embarrassing to think that she might need rescuing by the preteen squad. Tempting, though. Lizard looked around for anything resembling a stroller. Thea used a sling to carry Bean, but that contraption made changing a diaper look like child’s play. And Bean might be less than impressed when he discovered that her chest didn’t conveniently leak food.

  Finally she spied something that looked like an English pram, piled under four hundred pounds of other baby stuff. The neighborhood had been emptying their garages into Thea’s house, as best as she could tell. There was a freaking two-wheeler in the corner.

  Gingerly, Lizard extracted the pram and laid Bean down, waiting for the wail that never came. She got halfway out the front door before realizing her mortal error. Quickly she backed the pram into the house and closed the door. “Back in a minute, little dude—don’t go anywhere.”

  Yeesh. That was the eleventh stupid thing she’d said in the last three minutes. Talking to babies was hard. Lizard flew up the stairs and knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, Thea—I’m taking Bean for a walk, okay? We won’t go very far.”

  “You’re my favorite friend,” came the sleepy, happy response.

  Taking that as permission, Lizard raced back to Bean, opening the front door just as his first protests hit the airwaves. “Hey, don’t do that. We’ll go visit the neighbors and they can all tell
you how cute you are, okay?” And maybe they could even find someone who actually knew something about babies.

  Thelma waved from the front garden next door. “How’s Bean this morning?”

  Lizard still thought it was hilarious that Thea lived next door to a real-life Thelma and Louise. “He’s grumpy, so I’m taking him for a walk.”

  “Smart.” Thelma nodded in approval. “You must be good with babies. Enjoy your walk—if you head left, you might run into Louise. She ran to the store for beer and applesauce.”

  Only in Berkeley did seventy-year-old women run to the corner store for beer. The applesauce was probably for Thea—apparently Bean liked applesauce milkies. Which was way, way more than Lizard had ever wanted to know about milk or breasts or infant dietary needs.

  Lizard waved and headed left. The more people on their route who had baby experience, the better.

  The street was oddly quiet, until she turned the corner and drove the pram into Josh. Literally. “Nuts! Crap. Sorry—this thing corners worse than Freddie’s bus. You probably need a permit to drive it, or something.” Jeebers. She was totally babbling.

  Josh’s lips quirked as he juggled beer and groceries into one hand and reached out with the other to rub Bean’s belly. “Got him to sleep, did you?”

  Holy crap, she had. He looked so damned innocent all curled up like that. “Is that why people take babies on walks all the time? Does it always do this?”

  “When they’re little, yeah—pretty much.” Josh grinned. “Want to walk me home? You can protect me from the hordes of little-old-lady matchmakers.”

  Yes. No. Dammit—why did being around him make her feel so freaking weird lately? She might not be white-picket-fence material, but he lived in her neighborhood. She could handle a casual conversation on the sidewalk.

  Josh was staring down at her quizzically. Frack—conversations required actually talking out loud. Lizard shook her head and tried to find her balance. “The little old ladies all know I’m your realtor.”

  “Sure.” Josh touched a gentle finger to Bean’s mohawk. “But I’ll tell them that this is my long-lost love child and my heart belongs to his mother.”

  It would be so much easier if he wasn’t nice. And funny. And all googly-eyed over a baby with cute hair.

  And she was falling down on that whole conversation thing again. Lizard tapped on his beer. “If you think that’ll work, you’ve been drinking too much of this stuff.” She was pretty sure every little old lady in the neighborhood already recognized Bean on sight. “But we’ll walk you home.” It was a purely selfish move—Josh knew a crap-ton about babies, so if Bean didn’t stay asleep, she’d have an expert two feet away.

  And he was probably the one person in Berkeley who didn’t know she’d spouted poetry, which should put him on her safe-people-to-hang-out-with list. Everyone else was making her really uncomfortable lately—she’d spent the last several days dodging people who expected her to recite poetry just because they asked nicely.

  The vibes she was picking up from his mind said his brain would be totally gooey-baby the whole way home anyhow. She didn’t hold it against him—Bean seemed to do that to almost everybody.

  And yeah—that was a whole crap-pile of justification for spending two more blocks in the vicinity of a guy that was way, way out of her league. Lizard scowled and pushed the pram a little faster.

  Carefully. No point mowing down Louise, too.

  ~ ~ ~

  Helga was positively giddy, the kind of effervescent bubbly most people thought belonged to teenage girls. Elsie sat, needles clicking, and listened while Marion and Jodi went about the pleasurable business of digging Helga’s story out of her.

  It was a nice change from the empty house she’d been facing lately—but she had a plan for that. Lizard couldn’t hide forever.

  “So, wait—this is the old guy you met at Elsie’s spaghetti breakfast, right?” Jodi sighed. “I can’t believe I missed that, but Sammy is a night owl. He’s always sleeping in the morning.”

  “My Joey did that,” said Marion from the rocking chair, a ball of flaming orange yarn unrolling onto her needles. “Awake in the wee hours and then slept until noon.” She grinned at Jodi. “You just wait until Sammy’s a teenager and goes completely nocturnal.”

  It sounded like they’d totally lost the initial thread of the conversation, but Elsie was getting wiser. Jodi had a mind like a steel trap—it might wander through a conversation fairly randomly, but she never forgot anything. If you waited patiently, they’d circle round. They always did.

  Then again, Elsie was also learning it could be fun to be part of the digging crew.

  She looked over at Helga, currently the knitting picture of innocence. “This is the guy you decided to use for flirting practice?” She was darned sure Helga was also the author of that particular suggestion in her Silly Jar—a suggestion that had started in her “impossible” pile and was slowly inching toward the “maybe” pile.

  Helga blushed. “Well, I’ve always loved a good flirt, but Edric isn’t the kind of man you can just flirt with and walk away.”

  Flirting sounded a lot more complicated than mud volcanoes.

  “Ooooh. You’re holding out on us.” Jodi pointed her knitting needles. “Dish. With Sammy up all night, my love life is non-existent, so I have to live vicariously.”

  Elsie giggled. It was a strange world where Helga had a steamier life than twenty-something Jodi. Or thirty-something Elsie, for that matter—and she didn’t have a night-owl baby as an excuse, only her own basic ineptitude.

  “It’s just been a couple of coffee dates,” said Helga, cheeks still glowing pink. “And one trip to the old-fashioned milkshake place down the street. You have to appreciate a man who loves a good double-chocolate shake.” She winked at Jodi. “We shared a glass. Two straws, though—a lady has to have her standards, even on the third date.”

  “I don’t know,” said Marion, still rocking. “In my day, sharing a milkshake was pretty brazen. Has he kissed you yet?”

  “No.” Helga paused a beat. “But I kissed him. He’s a bit shy.”

  In the midst of the good-natured whoops and giggles, Elsie realized something. She was jealous. Of an old woman’s milkshake-and-kisses date. And she didn’t have the foggiest clue how to go about remedying that.

  She needed a plan. The newly bold Elsie Giannotto needed a purpose—but she also needed a life, the kind that didn’t leave her jealous of a seventy-something-year-old woman.

  So she rocked some more, soaking up easy friendship. And she thought.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lauren moaned as strong fingers pushed into a particularly tight spot between her shoulder blades. It always amazed her that Kathy, five-foot-nothing of massage therapist, had hands that felt like they belonged to Boris, ex-Olympic wrestler.

  The guy who looked like Boris was working on Nat. He specialized in pregnancy massage—just another case of appearances bearing little attachment to reality. When you worked in real estate, that was a useful reminder. Lauren looked over at her friend, whose mind was even more of a serene puddle than usual. “Feel good?”

  “Mmmphfft.” Nat lifted up slightly out of the neck cradle, and then lowered back down when Boris protested. “Totally heavenly, thanks. Jamie tries, but he just doesn’t find all those weird little places pregnancy messes up.”

  Lauren was pretty sure she didn’t want to know what a baby could do to a body that had started off as a yoga pretzel—it didn’t bode well for the rest of womankind. “We can come back as often as you want.” She’d take any excuse for feeling like melted chocolate. “We deserve it for all the early mornings and late nights we’ve been putting in as WitchLight mentors lately.”

  Nat giggled. “You know we don’t need to justify this, right? Grown women are allowed to do nice things for themselves.” She yawned. “And Elsie’s great flying adventure wasn’t that early.”

  Said the woman who got up regularly to teach a 6 a.m. yoga class.
“Right.” The yawns were contagious. “It was pretty spectacular, though. I think more than one person in the crowd was tempted to get up there with her.” And some, including one four-year-old, didn’t need a trapeze to do it. Uncle Jamie had been pretty busy keeping Aervyn’s feet in contact with the ground.

  “I wonder what she’ll do with it?” Nat sounded more contemplative now. “That kind of opening creates space.”

  Lauren’s hips still hurt from the last time Nat had gone about creating space. “Maybe she’ll need a massage too.”

  “Not a bad idea, but I was thinking more about her mental opening. She’s spent a lot of time in the last weeks learning who Elsie Giannotto isn’t. Now she has this beautiful piece of who she is, or at least who she might be.”

  Now Lauren was the one who was contemplatively curious. She sighed as Kathy’s hands started smoothing out the kinks in the back of her neck. “And what do you think the piece is? Being brave? Or vulnerable, maybe?”

  “Some of all of that.” Nat was silent a long moment. “But mostly, I think she learned the power of feeling oriented. That she is at her most wonderful when she has a direction. A compass.”

  It took Lauren a moment to twig to the wistful note in her best friend’s voice. “You want her to come back.”

  “Yeah.” Nat sighed. “I miss my intern.”

  “So tell her that.” As soon as she said it, Lauren knew that was the wrong answer. “Never mind. That’s advice for my intern, not yours.” Lizard needed the possibilities spelled out to believe them. For Elsie, it would just be another kind of pressure—and Nat would only want a choice freely given.

  Lauren tried not to squirm under Kathy’s relentless fingers. Maybe she had a ray of hope to offer up in the meantime. “Lizard’s considering coming to a class. Says it might be good to know more about what you offer. Lots of clients are looking for things like yoga in their neighborhood.”

  Nat laughed, delighted. “At the risk of repeating myself, tell her that grown women are allowed to do nice things for themselves. We don’t need an excuse.”