Witches on Parole: Unlocked (A Modern Witch trilogy book 1) Read online

  Witches on Parole

  Unlocked

  by Debora Geary

  Copyright 2011 Debora Geary

  Fireweed Publishing

  Kindle Edition

  Chapter 1

  Some birthday presents made you feel really old. Jennie looked at the neatly wrapped box with the WitchLight logo on the front and shook her head. Surely she wasn’t old enough for senior witch status already?

  Gingerly she opened the box. Inside she found two aquamarine pendants—gorgeous, faceted blue stones set in simple silver teardrops. They were lovely. And they were a message.

  She was to have two students, then.

  She touched the matching pendant around her neck. A sense of calm and clarity radiated from the blue stone, stronger than usual. Jennie laughed. Clearly someone at WitchLight thought she might need a little pacifying.

  She hoped they’d put as much effort into bespelling the pendants for her two students. Most new WitchLight recruits weren’t volunteers, and, as she remembered all too well, it was often the guides who took the worst of the reaction.

  Nothing like standing in the line of fire of a pissed-off witch.

  Ah, well, she thought. WitchLight had done well enough by her all those years ago. It was only right that she return some of the good that had come to her.

  Perhaps she’d be lucky and get a couple of students with open hearts and a desire to serve. Or at least, ones a little less cranky than she had been. Her guide really hadn’t deserved the singed eyebrows—he’d only been the messenger.

  Jennie’s sense of humor kicked in. If there was any karmic justice in the world, her two students would be doozies.

  She took a deep breath and opened the letter that had come with the box.

  My dearest Jennie,

  It’s your time to serve. WitchLight needs your insight, your humor, and your creativity. I suspect we’ve made you feel old this morning, but it’s your wisdom we seek. It’s a curious trick of fate that wisdom generally finds those of us who are getting on in years.

  You’ve lived courageously and made us both very proud. Now we ask you to share that courage, that driving will to be the woman and the witch you were meant to be, with two who need a bit of a kick in the pants.

  Invitations have been sent, and your students will arrive in the next couple of days. We ask you to send us regular reports—further instructions will follow via email, as we’ve now embraced the wonders of modern technology.

  Use our help. You’ll likely find yourself needing it. Melvin said to tell you that eyebrows do grow back.

  And a most happy birthday. I hear the triplets have taken over Nat & Jamie’s home for the event. I trust it will be very glittery and full of love, just as you deserve.

  Blessed be,

  Vero

  Jennie leaned back into her couch as memories swamped her. Melvin’s crusty voice, always gently pushing, never, ever letting her take the easy road. He’d put a camera in her hands. Her first pictures had been terrible—a task completed only because he’d insisted. He’d kept pushing until she’d been willing to put herself into the pictures.

  It had always appealed to her sense of the absurd that the career of a world-famous photographer had been launched by a blind accountant. A very tenacious blind accountant.

  And at fifty-seven years old, the knowledge that she’d made him proud was enough to bring her to tears.

  In three months, Melvin had changed her life.

  It was for him that she’d serve as WitchLight asked—and hope to be half the guide he had been.

  She stood up. There were things to get ready, but first, she had a birthday party to attend, and the guest of honor shouldn’t be late.

  Chapter 2

  He was a totally evil jerkwad of a slime-ball, and may he rot in hell. She had the worst freaking luck with roommates. What prehistoric idiot still thought it was the girl’s job to do all the cooking and cleaning, and then take care of a couple of his friends’ “needs” on the side?

  He was just a pimp with a fancier name. Although, truth be told—and if you couldn’t tell yourself the truth in the middle of the night, you were a delusional idiot—it was the cleaning that had made her run. Apparently baseball players shared the slovenly gene with druggies and frat boys.

  “Slovenly” was such a cool word. The kind you said quietly in your head. She’d learned long ago never to say anything that weird out loud.

  Maybe it was the words in the letter that had her walking through a nice neighborhood in the dead of night. It was totally creepy. No noise, nobody skulking on the sidewalk, nothing.

  She pulled the crumpled paper out of her back pocket. It had an address and directions. She was looking for a house on some stupid cul-de-sac. Which was another very cool word, but she was pretty sure she’d never actually met a cul-de-sac in real life.

  Something about the words on the page sucked her in again.

  Elizabeth,

  We’re delighted that you’ve chosen WitchLight as your way of giving back to the world around you, or perhaps as a form of penance. We trust you’ll find it an acceptable alternative to your ninety-day sentence.

  Your guide for the next three months is Jenvieve Adams. You can find her at the address listed below, along with directions on how to get there. We trust your ingenuity and the threat of lock-up will ensure your arrival on or before July 9th of this year.

  Give us a chance. It’s possible we might surprise you.

  Blessed be,

  Veronica

  There were so freaking many things wrong with the letter. First, nothing surprised her anymore, and second, they’d had the nerve to call her Elizabeth. Maybe that’s why they’d sent her off to visit some wimp named Jenvieve. A name like that could only belong to some do-gooder witch who ate bonbons all afternoon and cuddled her cat Fifi.

  However, they had one thing right. It had to be better than jail. Curses on the previous stupid jerkwad who had turned her in for borrowing his car. Memo to self—if you’re going to suck up to some old guy so you can take a joyride in his really nice car, make sure his daughter isn’t a cop.

  It had, however, been a really mag car. Almost worth it.

  She looked at the attached map and directions. She should be close. In a normal neighborhood, she’d just ask one of the street skulkers for directions, but they were conspicuously absent here.

  “Conspicuously” was another one of those cool, inside-your-head kinda words.

  Taking the last turn on the map, she discovered that “cul-de-sac” really meant “dead-end street.” No wonder she’d never seen one—no escape routes. Who the heck lived in a house with nowhere to run?

  She eyed the fences. They’d slow her down some if she had to take off, but at least there was no barbed wire.

  Geez. The jerkwad had really done a number on her if he could make her feel fifteen again. She was legal now. Twenty-one blessed years old and no one could make her run if she didn’t want to. And if she did want to, she sure as hell didn’t need to go fence-hopping anymore.

  Yeah, she could just go creeping around hoity-toity neighborhoods late at night. That was so much more grown-up.

  The letter said “on or before July 9th.” Well, she was going to be a little before. Take that, Jenvieve and Fifi.

  She peered through the night at the house in front of her. Yup, she’d found it. Hard to tell in the dark, but it was more angular and modern than she’d been expecting. “Angular.” Good word. One of the upsides of this little adventure was the opportunity to sweep out the little-used corners of her mental vocabulary. r />
  Time to see how Jenvieve felt about late-night guests. Probably not great, but given a choice between that and spending another delightful evening with jerkwad and friends, she was gonna take her chances with Fifi.

  She knocked on the door, and then snorted. Jenvieve was probably one of those matronly types who slept with eyepads and earplugs. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she leaned on the doorbell. Rise and shine, people—you’ve got company.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jennie was carefully clipping the second-last image to her drying wire when the doorbell started to ring. Sighing, she glanced at the last photo. Not ready to take out of the processing fluids—it would have to be redone.

  She left her darkroom, closing the door carefully behind her, and hurried to deal with whatever minor emergency had someone on her doorstep at 2 a.m. Whoever it was either knew her darkroom habits very well, or had terrible manners—the doorbell had been ringing incessantly for over a minute now. Good thing her husband slept like the dead.

  She yanked open the door. “Hush now, I’m not deaf.” And stopped in surprise. A total stranger at 2 a.m.?

  “You Jenvieve?”

  A lot of years of surviving in less-than-hospitable environments had taught Jennie the value of flexible mind-witch ethics. Normally she stayed out of the minds of strangers, but she made exceptions for feisty ones who showed up at her door in the middle of the night.

  A quick scan of the outer mind of the young woman in front of her said there was nothing to fear. A thick layer of pugnacious disdain lay over top of a solid dose of insecurity. That matched the girl’s looks—tattoos and piercings could only make you look so tough when you were five-foot-nothing of blonde fairy.

  Then the blonde fairy surprised her. Two things happened together: a last stray thought—“pugnacious, cool word”—and slammed-down mental barriers.

  Well, well. The new arrival was a mind witch—and good enough to have picked up thoughts from Jennie’s outer mind.

  “Come in, my dear. Do you like chocolate cake? I was just about to have a bedtime snack.”

  Her stranger stood frozen on the doorstep, a mix of caution and surprise on her face.

  “I’m Jenvieve, although most call me Jennie. I assume you’ve come to find me. You’ve also got enough talent to have read that I mean you no harm.” She waited a beat, just long enough for the girl to acknowledge her meaning.

  Then she turned and began heading toward the kitchen. “Stand there all night if you wish, but the cake is exceptional, if I do say so myself.” She smiled at the sound of footsteps entering her hallway. Chocolate. Worked every time.

  Turning on the hanging lights over her kitchen’s island, her eyes fell on the box from WitchLight. Ah, she should have figured that one out faster. The skittish new arrival must be her first student.

  She puttered in the cupboards and fridge, assembling a late-night snack. “So, do you have a name?”

  A long silence. “Lizard.”

  Jennie was grateful her head was in the fridge. She was fairly certain such a pronouncement wasn’t meant to be met with laughter. When her sense of humor was under control, she pulled her leftover birthday cake out of the fridge, set it on the counter, and carved off a couple of slices. “And how did you come by such an unusual name?”

  An even longer silence. “It’s what I choose to be called.”

  Ah. “Did your parents saddle you with a fluffy name like Jenvieve too?” Good. She’d surprised the girl.

  Maybe she could take it just a little further. While she’d made peace with her name decades ago, she vividly remembered punching six-year-old Jimmy O’Connor in the nose for having the audacity to suggest that only girly girls had girly names. With careful precision, Jennie packaged that thought and sent it toward her new charge, being very careful to leave it sounding like a casual leak.

  Audacity. I like that one.

  The unguarded response caught Jennie by surprise. The girl clearly had a fondness for big words. Fascinating, and possibly useful. Before she could be of any use to her student, however, she needed to know more about why the girl was here.

  She passed Lizard—that was going to take some practice to use with a straight face—another slice of cake. The first had evaporated. “I assume Veronica sent you, but what brings you to my door at this hour of the night?”

  The feisty look was back. The girl dug a crumpled mess out of her pocket and threw it on the table. “It said to arrive on or before July 9th. I did.”

  Jennie ignored the paper and raised an eyebrow. “So you did. Does your letter perhaps say what it is that I’m supposed to do with you?”

  A spurt of fear, covered by a snicker and more attitude. “Didn’t they tell you to expect me?”

  “Nope.” Jennie grinned. “I’m assuming WitchLight expected you to pick a later arrival time.”

  Another long silence. The girl clearly didn’t babble just to fill space. Lizard finally shrugged. “I probably would have, but the jerkwad got on my nerves, so I left.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “And what jerkwad would that be?”

  “The one I was living with.”

  As circumspectly as she could, Jennie examined the girl’s arms and face. No bruising. There were many forms of abuse, especially for a mind witch, but Lizard didn’t look like she’d been on the receiving end of any fists lately.

  “No guy hits me twice.” Lizard scowled. “This one was just a slime-ball and he had mutant slimy friends, so I left. No big.”

  Jennie mentally cursed Vero for leaving her to dig around in the dark. “If it’s no big, why did you ask for a WitchLight guide?”

  Lizard started to laugh, a grating and slightly desperate sound. “I didn’t ask.”

  Karma really did flow back at you, thought Jennie ruefully. Thirty years ago, she hadn’t asked for WitchLight’s help either.

  The girl guzzled her glass of milk like an Irishman with a pint. “You’re not my guide. You’re my parole officer. Ninety days with you, or I have to do time in lock-up.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Jennie sat down at her computer. She’d tucked Lizard into her guest room, tossed out the hopelessly overcooked photo she’d left drowning in her darkroom, and put away the much-reduced remains of her birthday cake.

  Now it was time to give a witch a little grief.

  -------------------------

  To: [email protected]

  From: Jennie Adams

  Subject: A little warning next time, perhaps?

  -------------------------

  Dearest Vero,

  A blonde fairy by the unlikely name of Lizard showed up on my doorstep tonight. It appears she has preceded any instructions about what I’m to do with her.

  It also appears she’s joined WitchLight under duress. I’m sure those echoes of my own history weren’t an accident. Tell Melvin I’m impressed he waited this long to get even.

  Lacking any idea what to do with the poor girl, I’ve fed her and put her to bed, and erected some wards around the house in case the jerkwad is more dangerous than she believes. Do I need to be concerned?

  It also appears she may be somewhat homeless at the moment. Given her shudders at my guest room’s purple decor—done to please my grandsons—I’m thinking she would prefer her own space. Unless WitchLight’s mandate has changed a lot in the past three decades, I assume that would be in line with your goals for our Lizard. I have a friend who should be able to help with that.

  Barring any further 2 a.m. arrivals, I’m off to sleep.

  Blessed be,

  Jennie

  ~ ~ ~

  Jennie woke up to the glorious smell of frying bacon. Since her husband was still curled up in bed beside her, it was a bit of a mystery. She sent a sleepy tendril of mind magic out to investigate.

  Ah, Lizard. She’d managed to forget about her middle-of-the-night visitor for just a moment. Jennie didn’t have to wonder why the girl was up and cooking at 7 a
.m.—her mind screamed “hungry.”

  With the ease of long practice, Jennie slid out of bed without waking her husband. She’d always caught her sleep in snatches wherever she could, but he was a bit of a grump without eight hours straight. When you’d been married almost thirty years, you learned to respect these things.

  She pulled on yoga pants and a tank top. Perhaps if she dressed for yoga first thing in the morning, she’d actually make it to class. First, however, that bacon was siren song.

  When she stepped into the kitchen, Lizard spun around, holding a spatula out like a weapon. Jennie put her hands up. “Don’t shoot—I just came for the bacon.”

  Lizard frowned. “I guess I made enough for two.”

  Jennie tried not to laugh. Even by witch standards, there looked to be enough food for six. When her guest turned to pull fresh biscuits out of the oven, it was hard not to drool.

  Between Jennie and her husband, they managed to assemble food well enough, but their efforts were simply competent. One look at Lizard’s biscuits, and it was clear she was another class of cook entirely. “If you save one of those for my husband, he’ll be your willing slave.”

  Lizard scowled, and her mental reaction was hard to avoid. I thought I was done cooking for guys.

  Ah, she’d stepped into that one. Not everyone grew up in a world where skills were freely shared and gifts easily given. For some, everything had a price.

  Lizard carried two plates to the table and slapped one down in front of Jennie. “I’ll go eat in my room, if you don’t mind.”

  Jennie knew a challenge when she heard one. She was also smart enough not to meet it head on. “I’d love the company, actually. Why don’t you sit for a bit and tell me a little about what you expect out of the next three months?”

  “I expect to do whatever you tell me to do so I can keep my butt out of jail.”

  She felt the girl’s mind reaching out. Interesting. It took practice to be that subtle with a scan. Jennie debated for a moment and decided to get into the ethics of uninvited mindreading later. Instead, she softened her barriers and let the scan touch the outer levels of her mind.