An Unlikely Witch Read online

  Again, a house full of people. Quieter this time, and fewer of the young ones. But no less intently focused. Energies throbbed fiercely in the little house by the sea. Sad ones, and bursts of exuberance.

  But mostly, determination. In all the many flavors that took in human minds.

  They readied to fight.

  The orb knew not what—the forces offered up no clues as to why the women and girls gathered on this night. In the grand fabric of the universe, tonight apparently didn’t matter.

  Not a single person in this house believed that, however.

  The orb felt a strange contentment settling. Perhaps not all things important were so easily defined.

  And perhaps, if it was very fortunate, the small ones would offer it a sense of this thing called ice cream.

  The orb didn’t know what ice cream was. It only knew that these humans considered it a mighty weapon.

  And a tasty one.

  -o0o-

  Lauren had laid out her weapons with a vengeance.

  Popcorn, six kinds of Ben & Jerry’s, chocolate fondue, four titles from the Silliest Movies of All Time list queued up on streaming video, body-art crayons and a dozen kinds of obnoxiously sparkly nail polish, fancy drink mixes of the alcoholic and non-alcoholic kinds, and a brand new blender.

  Fodder for the army that had clearly started preparing the instant she’d paged them.

  Helga was currently dragging a mirror out into the living room, the better to try on her collection of dress-up clothes. It had taken three trips to her car to bring them all in.

  Lizard and Mia had commandeered the body-art crayons and special paper and were busy designing tattoos in the corner.

  Sierra and Ginia were holding forks and delivering chocolate-dipped requests to the crew on the couch. Nell, Caro, Elsie, and Retha seemed happy enough with the arrangement.

  And all of them were resolutely ignoring the elephant in the room.

  Nat sat on the floor, Shay already at work on her toes, wearing her serenity like armor.

  Lauren ached for her—the mind underneath was anything but serene.

  Sophie had confirmed Moira’s bat signal a couple of hours ago, very worried about her patient. And her words had struck terror into Lauren’s innards. There were worse things than having trouble getting pregnant, and Sophie had run herself into the ground and only completed half of her full-body scan.

  The rest would have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, Nat’s mind felt like every awful possibility stalked her in the dark.

  Something only two other people in the room knew, and all of them sensed.

  They were being very gentle with the hurting soul in their midst. Quiet scouts bearing sparkly green nail polish and shy smiles. One chocolate-drowned strawberry, delivered with a hug. A light blanket of mellow, laughter-sprinkled conversation.

  An invitation and an offering.

  Balm for a bruised heart, even if Nat did nothing more than sit in their midst.

  Lizard had on a fuzzy green hat, a slinky black dress covered in sequins, and black vinyl boots that were at least four sizes too big and went up over her knees. She tottered in a circle. “So, what do you think?”

  Helga tipped her head and studied the ensemble. “I think it needs a feather boa.”

  Mia giggled. “You think everything needs a feather boa.”

  “When you’re eighty-one years old, young lady, you can tell me I’m wrong.” Old eyes sparkled at preteen ones. “Until then, I expect you to wear a boa and like it.”

  More giggles. The army, ramping up its attack.

  Lauren grinned at her associate on the front lines. Only deep loyalty and serious love had gotten Lizard into that get-up. “I dare you to wear that into work tomorrow.”

  Huge false eyelashes batted her direction. “Only if Helga gets to dress you up, too.”

  “I get to dress everyone up.” Helga looked around, mischief in every pore. “Has anyone seen the cat, perchance? I have just the thing for him.”

  Lauren was pretty sure Fuzzball had hitched a ride out of town under Devin’s arm. Her men, running for the hills. Off to inflict the boy version of this night on a certain Sullivan brother.

  Witch Central was nothing if not thorough.

  Moira had stayed away, not wanting to give a healer face to Nat’s fears. But the fancy drink mix was spiked in more ways than one, courtesy of an old Irish witch, and Lauren intended to apply it ruthlessly.

  A quiet chirp sounded somewhere in the room. Retha, hidden under a ridiculous hat big enough for three people, turned her head to and fro. “Okay, which of you lovely ladies is sitting on my cell phone?”

  That was apparently cause for more giggles.

  A lot of squirming and shuffling later, the phone tumbled out of a banana-yellow hat. Retha squinted at the display, and then looked up and smiled at Nat. “Téo says Kenna’s sound asleep in the middle of their bed after a big bonfire. And she would like a pet monkey.”

  Even the somber Nat smiled at that one.

  “And my son is…?” asked Nell dryly.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” said Retha, amused.

  Nell’s phone pinged moments later.

  Lauren rolled her eyes and reached for ice cream. Téo and Matt had swooped in hours earlier, delivering fresh mangoes and kidnapping Kenna. Aervyn had gone as well, because his uncles loved him too, and because someone had to babysit the fiery small girl’s magic.

  Ginia sat down beside Nat, a handful of pretty ribbons and tiny flowers in her hand. “Can I braid these into your hair?”

  She got another soft smile and a nod.

  And Lauren very carefully looked the other way as a competent set of small hands got to work.

  Nell raised a discreet mental eyebrow. What’s she up to? She spent ages picking exactly the right flowers to bring.

  There was a subtle, gentle warmth sliding into Nat’s mind as Ginia’s hands started a braid. Lauren smiled. She’s helping.

  They were all helping, in every way they could.

  Chapter 13

  Moira sipped her tea, quite certain her visitor this morning wasn’t an accident.

  Witch Central, conspiring to keep lots of people occupied while Sophie began her final scan.

  “So, what do you think?” Aervyn’s eyes twinkled over his plate of pancakes, hastily borrowed from Aaron’s kitchen. “The broomstick ride way high in the sky or a pet dragon or the motorcycle that can fly?”

  Moira was quite sure Jamie would be thrilled with any of them. She tried not to think too hard about the future of a boy, who, three days before his seventh birthday, was very capable of delivering them all.

  This visit was supposed to lighten her load, not add to it.

  “I don’t know, sweet boy. I think you’ve come up with three wonderful ideas that he would like very much.” Who wouldn’t like dragons or flying to the stars?

  Aervyn grinned, mouth full of pancake. “I can take you on a broom ride if you want. A nice, gentle one.”

  He’d done it before, and thrilled her heart nearly to stopping. “Perhaps one night when the stars are out and the moon is full.” That would be the kind of delight she could remember over months of tea and cookies.

  “‘Kay. I’ll come get you when it’s time.” He swallowed some of the eggnog that had been deemed the appropriate partner for his pancakes. “Maybe Uncle Devin will come too. He likes to fly over the ocean.”

  That he did—but Devin Sullivan didn’t have a sedate bone in his body. And separate trips would give the sweet boy on the other side of the table more time to let loose on his broomstick. “He tells me the two of you flew upside down the last time you went out.”

  “I did.” Aervyn giggled. “He mostly flew kind of sideways. All the way upside down makes his head feel funny.”

  She could only imagine.

  “Maybe I could do all of them.” Aervyn had his thinking face back on again. “Something different every day, kind of like that song with the
dancing ladies and the pear tree.” He looked at her, eyes solemn. “Uncle Jamie’s been sad a lot lately, so maybe that would be better than one really big gift.”

  Her boy wasn’t so little anymore. “That’s a lovely idea too. And not all of them need to be magical.”

  He nodded, attention somewhat distracted again by his breakfast. “I know. Sometimes the best gifts are the ones with tiny little magic or only the magic in our hearts and our toes.”

  That was a line straight out of her repertoire until the last few words. “Our toes?”

  “Uh, huh.” His smile did lovely things to her insides. “When the babies laugh, it comes all the way from way down in their toes. So I figure there must be something pretty special hidden down there.”

  She hugged the words, eyes a little misty. Little toes would never seem quite the same ever again.

  His eyes twinkled back at her. “You’re coming to visit today, right?”

  She was, but she had entirely no idea why. Only that her presence had been requested on the cliffs of Devin and Lauren’s home precisely at 7 p.m. And it was a secret. The kind that had an awful lot of people swelling with gleeful pride. “I don’t suppose you can tell me why.” Whatever it was had involved some Fisher’s Cove magic—cookies had been in wildly short supply for the last two days.

  Aervyn forked the last of his pancake and grinned. “It’s a surprise. A really good one. Lizard got it ready faster cuz she says Devin and Lauren need some distracting.”

  The young poet was learning the power of anticipation. She’d let just enough leak—few would be talking of anything else this day. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. You’ll think it’s the very, very best.”

  She resisted the urge to ask.

  Or to brush away the pancake crumbs on his cheek.

  One witchling, lovely exactly as he was.

  -o0o-

  Nat stomped, furious, around the perimeter of her studio. Nothing. No brain tumors, no impending leukemias, no autoimmune meltdowns.

  No reason at all for why her entirely healthy body refused to make a baby.

  She should be happy. The deep dark hadn’t coughed up some horrible creature of the night aimed at her insides.

  Instead, all she’d seen was the defeat in Sophie’s eyes.

  Nat nearly slammed herself into the wall, needing to feel something solid enough to contain the ocean of anger with nowhere to go. And soon. Before Natalia Sullivan cracked.

  The world was being mean to her, and she wanted to punch it in the nose. For this, and for the thirteen-year-old girl who had cried herself to sleep every night. And for Kenna and Jamie and for a small boy who laughed where nobody could hear him.

  But mostly for herself and for how small and insignificant and powerless and empty this was making her feel.

  Her mat sat, silent and condemning, in the middle of the floor. She went nowhere near it. Yoga wasn’t going to fix this. It was way too big. Way too nasty.

  And way too bent on breaking something.

  She’d come to believe so easily in the power of magic and cookies to fix all that ailed the world. Nestled into the heart of the most wonderful family ever, she’d thought nothing could break her anymore.

  And all it was taking was one small, imaginary boy and his oversized snowball.

  God. She grabbed her hair with both hands, yanking hard. She was totally overreacting. And she totally needed to hit something. Fury spun her around, fists swinging.

  And she discovered she wasn’t alone.

  Trinity stood in the doorway, mouth gaping.

  Oh, hell. Nat hauled in on her temper, well aware she was a loose cannon and not at all sure she could stop it. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d put the closed sign up.”

  “You did.” The younger woman shrugged. “I saw you in here, figured we could have a chat. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  The street was washing off Trinity more than she knew. Nat’s fingers dug holes in her thighs. “I was just trying to work some things out.”

  “You want to hit something, you need to learn to throw a decent punch. Do it the way you were when I walked in and you’ll just break all your fingers.”

  This conversation was heading into the twilight zone. “I don’t hit things. I’m just having a crappy week.”

  “Yeah. I’ve had a few of those.” Trinity’s eyes were dark, assessing. “And all those people who tell you hitting doesn’t fix anything? They’re dead wrong.”

  Validation roared down to Nat’s fists. “Everyone’s being so damn nice. I can’t take it anymore.”

  Trinity managed almost a smirk. “I promise not to be nice.”

  Nat’s fingers relaxed. A little. “Why’d you stop by?” She couldn’t possibly be out of paint yet—but perhaps that connection had driven this visit.

  “That class you do on Wednesdays?” Attitude was gone, replace by obvious discomfort. “Missy’s making me come with her. Says I need to learn to chill out a little.”

  And Trinity, who outweighed Missy by a hundred pounds and three tons of toughness, was letting it happen. Nat smiled—not for the world was she going to ask. People came to yoga for all kinds of reasons, and she didn’t need to know them all. She nodded, accepting the gift that had walked in her door. “You’re both welcome. Same deal—come in comfortable clothes, and we have mats you can borrow.”

  “I can pay.” A clear point of pride.

  One that Nat almost accepted, until she felt the need rising up in her own heart. “You could.” She looked at Trinity and took a deep breath. “Or you can teach me how to throw a decent punch.”

  Surprise hit the young woman’s face. And then something that looked suspiciously like understanding. “Yeah. I can do that.” Trinity grinned, and it didn’t look at all nice. “Get yourself a pair of stinky shorts. I’ll come back in an hour.”

  Nat grinned back. “I’ll be here.”

  Ready to hit something. So. Ready.

  -o0o-

  Lauren steadied her mind. She’d heard the news. Heard the finality.

  The healers had found nothing.

  And every single cell in her body refused that message. Nat was everything that was good and right and holy in the world. She didn’t deserve this, and there was an army of people who would do anything in the realms of earth and magic to try to fix it.

  But they needed information. And right now, their best source just might be a self-important paperweight.

  She sat down in front of the bay window and took the globe into her hands. Wake up. And because her negotiator instincts apparently extended to balls of glass, added one more word. Please.

  The strange, not-quite-alien presence of the orb slid into her head. Cautious, but lacking its usual delusions of grandeur. Amused, almost.

  I need to know more. About the little boy and the snowman.

  Amusement fled abruptly. Have said all that is known. All that is important.

  That damn well wasn’t good enough. I need more.

  Is. Not. Permitted. To tell. Have said all that is possible.

  Wow. That was new information. Lauren felt her instincts humming. And tried to translate them into the weird reality of a glass ball. Have you said everything you know? Perhaps you know something that doesn’t seem important.

  Confusion. Yes. And no. Perhaps.

  Dammit. She’s mine. My best friend and my sister, and this is killing her. I need everything you know, and I need it in a way I can’t possibly misinterpret.

  She felt its protest rising. Too hard, too complicated, too unknown. Humans have small brains. Limited.

  Like hell they did. She leaned forward, smelling something worth going to the mat for. It knew something, even if it didn’t know how to say it. Give me the best you can. Please.

  Confusion. Frustration. And the sense of a really big hammer hanging over its glass head.

  Lauren knew that game. Real estate agents dealt in the currency of veiled hints and threats and things behind the
scenes. She needed to help a giant marble bend the rules. Okay, so some things can’t be said. The important stuff. Find something that doesn’t seem important to the powers that be. Give me that.

  She felt it move. The narrow, tightly channeled thinking. The delicately reformed thoughts. It was trying.

  The surface of the crystal ball whirled, little storms of white building and then dispersing to the edges. Framed clearly in the middle, the image of the little boy and the snowman.

  Lauren held her breath.

  And then watched, horrified, as both of them faded away.

  As if they’d never existed.

  -o0o-

  Moira pulled her cloak tighter around her and walked the last steep bit up to the rocky point, face pointing straight into the sharp sea spray. Lizzie had come flying in her door with the report—one very angry healer, throwing stones and power out into the winter sea.

  Sophie’s head jerked around as Moira traversed the last stretch of gravel-strewn goat path. “Dammit, you shouldn’t be up here.”

  Well, they weren’t wrong about the anger. “I’m not dead yet. And until I am, I’m as surefooted on a bit of wet rock as anyone in this village.” She hadn’t been a barefoot Irish hoyden for nothing.

  “Sorry.” The younger healer looked it—marginally. “I needed to work off some steam, and I don’t think I’m ready to be reasonable yet.”

  “No one’s asking you to be.” Moira looked carefully out to sea, inhaling its icy strength. “Although, if you’ve a mind to kick a boulder, you might wait until we get a little closer to home.” Sean had broken his toes three months back on the very same rock currently tempting Sophie’s boot.

  A whiff of amusement touched the other woman’s face. “I’ve learned how to throw a good temper tantrum without earning myself several doses of your vilest green stuff.”

  Moira smiled. “I’d have made wee Sean’s goo tastier if he hadn’t broken his toes trying to defend his kingdom with my best kitchen pot.” Not that it had done the pot any harm, but she had a reputation to upkeep.

  Silence. Amusement had gone, lost in the real reason Sophie stood here throwing defiance at the gray and turbulent ocean.

  “Come back inside with me, sweetheart. Your channels are tired, I can feel it.” She couldn’t tell any such thing in this wind, but it was a likely guess.