Witches in Flight Page 2

  Ha. Given how cranky her intern had been since poetry night, Lauren wasn’t looking to be the deliverer of unwelcome messages. “Maybe you can smooth out a few of her prickles.”

  “She did that herself,” said Nat quietly. “That poem was an anthem to setting your prickles aside. It’s just going to take her a little while to feel safe staying in the new world she drew.”

  The poem had been monumental, and the “new world” idea was an interesting one. “I thought the poem was about telling the world—and herself—that she isn’t stupid. She could be smart and still be plenty prickly.”

  She could feel Nat’s grin. “If you wanted totally smooth and easy, you picked the wrong intern.”

  Point. Although she hadn’t exactly picked Lizard. “Maybe I’ll send her for a massage. Dial down the office cranky factor.”

  Nat hummed as Boris clearly did something wonderful to her feet. “You might want to wait until after she crosses paths with Josh and finds out that he got to see her metaphorically naked.”

  Lauren squirmed. Not Kathy’s fault this time—Nat knew how to head right for the jugular. “You think I was wrong to invite him?”

  “No.” Nat chuckled. “But I’m pretty sure Lizard isn’t going to share my opinion.”

  That was a pretty safe bet. Damn.

  ~ ~ ~

  Melvin sat in his comfy chair and waited. He was pretty sure it was the last time in the afternoon he’d be doing anything quietly. Aervyn was a marvelous visitor—but four-year-old boys didn’t possess quiet genes. Even ones who that eventually grew up to be accountants started off as loud little boys, and Aervyn was no future accountant.

  A giggle in the hallway suggested his guest had arrived. And was taking a small detour past the kitchen first. Which was understandable—Vero’s cookies tempted witches far older than four. He was also reasonably sure his wife would send a cookie or two his way after she’d loved on Aervyn just a little.

  He gently touched the old, lonely place in his heart for the children they’d never had, and was grateful for all that his wife had done to fill it. There wasn’t a witchling in California who hadn’t been made welcome in Vero’s kitchen, where cookies, milk, advice, and love were doled out freely by the most generous heart he’d ever known.

  Without her, he might have thought his life’s work was accounting.

  And while he still had a fondness for neatly lined-up columns and musty ledgers, he knew well that his legacy belonged with WitchLight. A witch could hope for no more than to put their power out into the world and have it find root and multiply goodness.

  He was a very fortunate witch.

  And a distracted one. A gentle mind touch was all the warning he had before a small boy hopped up into his lap, fingers wrapped around a cookie offering. “Vero says this is all we get to have until after we eat lunch. But she’s making cheesy-moon sandwiches and purple soup, so I bet we’ll like that pretty well.”

  Melvin nodded solemnly. He’d never been brave enough to ask what his wife put in her purple soup, but very few witchlings protested its sweet goodness. “Well then, let’s enjoy these cookies now, shall we? I see you brought two—perhaps you can tell me which one’s bigger.”

  Aervyn studied the problem carefully for a moment. “This one’s fatter, but…” he tapped Melvin’s other hand. “This one’s got more bumps, so I think it’s the biggest one. You eat that one.”

  In more than three years of sharing cookies, Aervyn had never failed to offer up the biggest one. When other people talked of the most powerful witchling in generations, it wasn’t the scope of Aervyn’s magic that held Melvin in awe. It was the size of his heart.

  Melvin took a bite, inhaling cinnamon-y goodness and small-boy cuddles. “So what should we do with ourselves after lunch?” He loved visits from the small ones—life was never boring with a pint-sized imagination around.

  “Well, I already found a frog today, and glued the wheel back on my fire truck, and practiced my rhyming.” Aervyn happily crunched on a cookie. “We could have Vero teach us a new song. I liked the last one about the jingle bells.”

  Melvin smiled. Listening to his wife teach a small boy to sing a Christmas carol in July was one of his fonder recent memories. “I’m sure she’d be happy to do that. She’s been teaching Elsie some pretty tunes lately.”

  “Really?” Aervyn brightened. “Is that why Elsie got all brave and did the big circus tricks on the flying trapeze and everything?” He polished off the last of his cookie. “She needs a sparkly costume, though. All the people in the circus are really shiny so you can see them better when they’re way up in the sky.”

  Melvin was fairly certain a spangly leotard would have done in Elsie’s bravery altogether. “Not everyone loves sparkles quite as much as you do, my boy.”

  “It’s okay.” Aervyn reached up and patted his cheek. “You have lots of shiny stuff in your mind, so you’re really easy to see.”

  What a lovely and disconcerting thought. “My mind’s shiny, is it?”

  “Yup. Just like Auntie Nat’s.” His small visitor hopped down. “Mama’s is a little shiny, and Uncle Jamie’s sometimes, and Elsie’s was shiny when she dared Lizard to say a poem. But you and Auntie Nat are shiny almost all of the time.”

  Melvin considered himself a humble man. But he knew exactly what Aervyn was seeing in the lovely Natalia. A rare wisdom. And it tickled his heart, that to a small boy with unfathomable magic, wisdom was shiny.

  ~ ~ ~

  --------------------------------------

  To: jennie.adams@bythelight.com

  From: Nat

  Subject: The waters are calm. Mostly.

  --------------------------------------

  Hello Jennie,

  I hope it’s a joy to walk in fame again for a couple of days. I know we very rarely honor your genius around here, so enjoy the adulation. We all need a touch of that in our lives.

  We only have bits and pieces to report. Lizard and Elsie have been tiptoeing around both each other and the marvelous feats of opening they accomplished last week. Caro reports lots of strange early departures and late arrivals—two roommates in avoidance mode.

  She also believes that Elsie is readying, although she’s not sure for what. I do know that sometimes stillness comes just when we need it, although I admit to being insanely curious about where she will step next. I’m less worried than I used to be—the woman with enough guts to hang on to that trapeze isn’t going to be able to go into hiding again, even should she want to.

  Lizard’s bravery was no less stunning, and apparently her response has been an unprecedented level of crankiness. Lauren is surprised, but she’s always been adaptable—partly because she’s always known exactly who she is. Those of us used to hiding in the shadows take a little more time to get accustomed to the bright sunlight. And to me, at least, Lizard’s poem let us know she’s not going to go willingly hide in the dark of stupid any longer.

  I saw Freddie drive by the other day. I wonder if he has any idea that his bus is the reason Lizard still seeks the light.

  Jamie is reading over my shoulder now, and he says this is awfully mystical for a report. He’s just grumpy because Aervyn only brought back two cookies from Vero’s house. Apparently he and Melvin managed to consume the rest.

  I wouldn’t mind growing up to be a mystical and wise cookie monster one day.

  Lots of love,

  Nat

  Chapter 3

  --------------------------------------

  To: nat@spirityoga.com

  From: Jennie Adams

  Subject: Re: The waters are calm. Mostly.

  --------------------------------------

  To the wise Nat and anyone else reading over her shoulder,

  So those two are still avoiding each other, are they? That’s an interesting state of affairs, but I’m going to hold tight to the fact that their first reaction for each other was joy. I didn’
t expect it to stick—neither of them is secure enough in their own skins yet for that, but I trust that love will prevail.

  And if that fails, we’ll try cookies and meddling.

  Elsie’s flying was indeed one of the most beautifully daring things I’ve ever seen. You know, of course, that she was only able to stretch out her hands into the sky because you showed her how. I have a photograph of those hands I’m happy to give you. And one of the love on your face as you watched her fly. It is the second of those that reaches deepest into my heart.

  Lizard is cranky because, of our two students, she is the far more self-aware. And while she might try to wriggle off that hook in public, I don’t know that she’s ever had a whole lot of space to hide in her own mind. There are so many bits of truth she could have chosen to set loose at the Starry Plough—and she chose that one. Gave her biggest chain a name and shrunk it down to six letters. While she might be kicking herself all over Berkeley for it now, she has to know exactly how magnificent a choice that was.

  And yes, Freddie is why she could do it—but not the only reason. Lauren’s security in herself is slowly leaking into Lizard’s heart. You can’t be around Lauren for long without wanting that same solid ground under your own feet—and I suspect you know that better than anyone.

  If it’s being a wise old cookie monster that you seek, I suspect all you have to do is wait for the old part. Mingling with people who think I’m dead has me convinced that growing old is overrated, however. Enjoy the wisdom of youth for a while first.

  Looking forward to coming home,

  Jennie

  ~ ~ ~

  Lizard stretched and tried to identify the sound that had woken her up—for the first time in weeks, it wasn’t her alarm or one of Elsie’s weird dreams. Then she heard the sound from the kitchen again and sighed. They had to have a talk about singing along to loud opera music at 6 a.m.

  She rolled out of bed, reached out blindly to the chair where she usually threw her clothes, and hit soft leather. Her eyes popped open, looking for the intruder—and discovered her poet pants, half hidden under a couple of other discarded outfits. The ones she’d worn when she’d dumped her insides out all over the Starry Plough stage.

  Maybe someday she’d want to thank Elsie for that. But since strangling currently seemed like the better option, she’d just stay in bed until her roommate left the house. It had worked the past two mornings—and evening classes had pretty much kept them out of each other’s way at night.

  That and hiding in the coffee shop until midnight.

  However, it didn’t take a psych degree to know that Elsie singing at 6 a.m. was another dare. The old version of her roommate had been pretty easy to get around. The new model had guts and brains and eyes that got all sad and made it difficult to be an obnoxious brat.

  Crap. Lizard reached for an old hoodie. It matched her disreputable mood. Time to get the inevitable over with—she probably wasn’t the only one still supremely pissed about her dare. They could fight over breakfast, assuming whatever Elsie was making was edible. If it was burnt waffles again, she was moving to San Diego.

  Hoodie on and mind barriers up, Lizard headed for the kitchen. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the stairs that the obvious sunk in. Elsie’s aria wasn’t the mad, fighting kind—or even the slightly pissed kind. It was all pretty and giggly and hopeful.

  At 6 a.m.?

  Lizard walked slowly into the kitchen, wary now. Nobody should be that happy at the crack of dawn. Her roommate stood at the counter, making grand, sweeping gestures—at a carton of eggs. Oooh, boy. “That’s probably the hard way to crack them.”

  Elsie spun around, pulling headphones out of her ears. “What?”

  “Why are you singing to the eggs?” Lizard’s brain was waking up enough to realize that was a fairly dumb question. “It looks like they’re your audience or something.”

  Elsie looked dismayed. “Oh, no—was I singing out loud again?”

  Yes. At 6 a.m. Lizard figured her scowl would convey that information just fine. “What are you making?”

  “I’m not sure.” Elsie grinned and held up her phone. “I was reading about these egg soufflé things, but they sound kind of complicated.”

  Lizard didn’t have time for French egg experiments. She reached for a frying pan. “I have to be at work in an hour, so how about good old scrambled eggs?”

  “On Saturday?” Her roommate looked disappointed.

  It was the freaking weekend? Lizard peered at the clock on the stove, ready to share some pithy thoughts on early wake-up calls on the two days a week she got to sleep in a little. And realized it was 10 a.m., not the crack of dawn.

  Elsie touched her hand. “I was hoping we could have breakfast together. I wanted to have a chance to talk, to thank you for what you did for me.”

  And she totally meant it—her mind was swimming in sincerity. Which was insane. “I dared you to hold on to a skinny little piece of metal and fling yourself into the sky.”

  “Yes.” Elsie’s face glowed with the memory. “And I’m going back to do it again on Tuesday. You should come try it.”

  When hell was manned by cute, mohawk-wearing Bean lookalikes. “I’m pretty fond of keeping my feet on the ground, thanks.”

  “I thought I was, too.” The leaking mental gratitude was back. “It was a life-changing gift. You picked exactly the right thing, and you got me up there. Honestly, I don’t know how you did either one, but I want you to know how much it means to me.”

  Frack. Lizard shelved her need to get mad and rampage all over Elsie’s skull. It wasn’t in her to rant at those eyes. She’d find a target for all the pissy stuff inside her head later. “You need to separate the eggs for soufflés. I’ll show you how.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Elsie smiled, well aware she’d just won a major victory. Lizard had done a pretty good disappearing act for two days. The old Elsie would have let her keep doing it. The new Elsie had cracked opened her roommate’s door before heading down the stairs to make a joyous and purposeful racket.

  She reached for a couple members of her egg audience. Cracking their heads open seemed a little sacrilegious, but she was hungry. “The recipe says one egg per person.”

  Lizard snickered. “That’s for non-witches. Double it at least. More if you’re hungry or we’re expecting company.”

  Elsie was beginning to understand that in Witch Central, company was always a possibility. She picked up six more eggs. “If they turn out okay, I’m sure we can find someone to eat the leftovers.”

  “They’ll turn out.” Lizard squatted down and started pulling out bowls and mixers. “But soufflés don’t last. They’re egg perfection for about fifteen minutes, and then they’re cold rubber with air bubbles.”

  Elsie stared at her roommate’s back as a niggling intuition blossomed. That’s why Lizard cooked. And why her poems never got written down. Food disappeared—and then there was nothing around to remind her she was brilliant.

  Lizard’s back stiffened—and Elsie remembered, all too late, that her roommate read minds. Oh, God. So much for the attempt to bond over breakfast. She turned quietly and started returning eggs to their carton. “I’m sorry. It’s an occupational hazard—I’m always analyzing people and things, even when it’s none of my business.”

  “You’re not a therapist anymore.” The words were biting, angry.

  Elsie settled the last of the eggs gently in the carton and turned to face the music, even as hurt pierced her heart—she’d been a therapist most of her adult life. “I don’t know what I am. That’s what I need to figure out next.” And the emptiness tore at her, but she could worry about that later. Right now, she had things to say, and a roommate who was finally out of hiding. And before Elsie ran to hug a blankie, she planned to say her piece. “But I know you have insane talent. I heard your words—and even if I don’t know anything at all about poetry, I know what it feels like to hear something achingly right.”

  Liza
rd just stared, bowl in one hand, beaters in the other.

  Elsie dug for the right words, the ones to convince a poet of her worth. “You do what Vero does when she sings, or what Jennie does when she takes pictures.” She could feel the common thread, but she couldn’t name it. Frustration spiked—and then she had it. She squatted down on the floor in front of Lizard and reached for the bowl. “You unveil truth.”

  “They’re just words.” Lizard spoke in barely a whisper. “I’m no Jennie.”

  “Sure you are.” Elsie knew every therapy textbook in the world was screaming at her—and she didn’t care. Her gut knew this was what she needed to do. When friends cared, they earned the right to meddle. “You’re a mind witch—when you read your poetry, what did you sense from your audience?”

  “But those were just a bunch of witches.”

  “What, now you’re a snob?” Elsie grabbed two eggs and held them out. Change of plans—she wasn’t running for her blankie until this was all over. “Show me how to separate these.” She hid a grin as Lizard automatically reached out. “Half your poetry class was there, and the people who usually come to Poetry Slam. Did they think you sucked?”

  An egg cracked onto the side of the bowl with way more force than seemed necessary. “It was just one poem.”

  Elsie laughed in sheer wonder at the compass in her head that knew exactly where to go. “So do it again. Go back and read another poem, and see if that one sucks.”

  She was pretty sure the two eggs landing in the bowl, shells still on, weren’t properly separated. And the gobsmacked look on her roommate’s face was… completely awesome.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lauren stared at the emailed photos from Jennie. And the message. From one meddling witch to another—well done, and good luck with the fallout. There were several pictures of Freddie and the gathered crowd, a few of their rebel poet—and one of the sexy young man in the corner.

  Yeah. Even with a continent of miles between them, Lauren could hear the unspoken message. Time to ‘fess up. Inviting Josh to Lizard’s poetry slam had been a carefully considered move—and she’d known there would be hell to pay later. Apparently “later” had arrived.