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

  I’m no threat to you, child—and I might be a help.

  Lizard’s fork clattered to the table, and her mental barriers slammed down with a crack that made Jennie wince. “Crap. You’re a mind witch?”

  Obviously that hadn’t been clear the previous night. “I am. As are you—a fairly skilled one, if that scan was any indication.”

  The girl glared. “Stay out of my mind.”

  Jennie decided not to point out the double standard. “Surely you know your mental barriers are strong enough to keep me out for as long as you choose.”

  It didn’t take a mind reader to see relief flitter across Lizard’s face. It seemed she hadn’t been sure.

  Jennie looked into her new student’s eyes and went with her gut. “I take it there was someone once who didn’t stay out of your mind.”

  Lizard stared for a moment, and then got up and went to the stove. “Want more bacon?”

  Pushing too hard. Trust took time, and she’d have a lot better idea where to push with more information. A serious chat with Vero was high on her list of planned activities for the day. First, however, she needed to find some level ground with her student.

  She watched as the girl refilled her plate and wrapped several biscuits in a napkin. The sleeves of her shirt were pushed up, revealing more of her tattoos than the night before. Jennie’s artist’s eye was captivated—the designs were really quite beautiful. Perhaps this was a good place to look for footing.

  “Your tattoos are lovely—did you design them yourself?”

  Lizard raised an eyebrow. “The last person who asked me that was my court-assigned psychologist. I don’t talk about my tats with people who are too proper or too scared to have one.”

  Jennie calmly turned around. Her yoga tank left most of her shoulders bare.

  Lizard snorted. “An angel and a demon? What were you, twelve?”

  Jennie smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Decent design work, at least.”

  “Mine.”

  “Not bad for a twelve-year-old.”

  Jennie laughed. Now they were getting somewhere, and her instincts were kicking in. “Let me photograph yours?”

  Lizard frowned.

  Ah, good. She’d thrown the girl a little. Being predictable was far too close to being dead. “I take portraits, informal pictures of interesting people. Your tattoos are beautiful, and they’d look spectacular in a black-and-white photo.”

  “Are you any good?”

  Newsweek had named her the photographer of the decade last year, but that didn’t seem to impress anyone under fifty. Jennie went with the easy answer. “I am. Very.”

  “Will you show me the pictures?”

  “Of course.” And we’ll see if they give you a bit of a different mirror to look in.

  “Okay.” Lizard paused for a moment, and then peeled off her shirt, leaving only the thin straps of a tank covering the truly glorious art on her arms and shoulders.

  Jennie looked at the designs, a fantasy of soft curls and intricate detail. A less tough-looking set of tattoos she had never seen. She grabbed her camera off the top of the fridge. “Tell me about your designs.”

  Well used to relaxing a subject, she kept up a casual conversation while she worked, gently moving her tattooed fairy through some different poses to better show off the art. She began with some close-in shots of the tattoos, and then as Lizard began to relax, started to include her face. Such amazingly expressive eyes.

  In the zone, Jennie moved and talked, waiting for the perfect shot. It came as they were winding down, and Lizard rested her head on her arms on the table. Morning light streamed in behind her, leaving shining blonde hair and eyes in shadow.

  Jennie moved in and caught the moment she wanted. She’d taken over three dozen pictures, and she’d develop a third of those, but this was the one. Those sad and seeking eyes, lying cradled on arms covered in art.

  For a gallery show, she’d have titled the portrait Vulnerable. And that little tidbit she’d be keeping to herself for a while.

  ~ ~ ~

  -------------------------

  To: [email protected]

  From: Vero Liantro

  Subject: Re: A little warning next time, perhaps?

  -------------------------

  Jennie dear,

  I’m terribly sorry about your surprise visitor, although not altogether unamused. Our Lizzie (I cannot possibly call that sweet child Lizard) has a fierce need to choose for herself, even if it is just the time and place of her arrival. I trust it is a trait you will recognize well.

  Lizzie is the first student in our new pilot program. While it is fairly unusual for our community to leave a witch in the hands of the regular justice system, it does happen. We’ve established some credibility with the state’s judges in the hopes of convincing them that WitchLight offers a viable community service placement for some of our young people.

  While I’m not above using magic to get what I want, in this case we’ve put our organizational reputation on the line instead. Don’t let us down, Jennie. Jail is a terrible place.

  That said, our Lizzie most certainly needs some direction in her life. She’s had a rough start. It’s up to us to help her choose a better future.

  You have significant latitude in how you operate. I’d appreciate regular reports, but we asked you to serve because of your creativity. Use it.

  I believe that setting her up with a space of her own is a necessary, but risky, step. Our Lizzie has a distressing tendency to acquire roommates of highly dubious character. You needn’t worry about the previous jerkwad—while he’s a sad specimen, he poses no threat to either of you. The next jerkwad, however, may be less harmless. Let’s see if we can steer our girl to brighter ground, shall we?

  Melvin would like you to know that he didn’t assign Lizzie to you. I did. He selected your other student. Expect her at 2 p.m. today—she’ll be right on time.

  Walk in the light,

  Vero

  Chapter 3

  Elsie nodded in approval at the excellent instructions in her hand. Just another bit of evidence that WitchLight was a well-run organization. Exactly what she needed to help herself get back on track.

  Being a witch was complicated, and everyone needed an extra bit of guidance from time to time. WitchLight offered the opportunity for three months of service under the auspices of a mentor. While they’d been somewhat unclear on her guide’s credentials, she had been assured all WitchLight staff had high standards of professionalism and confidentiality.

  Which was important, when you were a therapist and somewhat concerned about your ethical boundaries.

  She slowed her car down for a moment and checked the directions again. 0.3 miles to the next right turn. Excellent. Almost there.

  Not that getting wrapped up in your clients was a bad thing, but seven years of psychology training had made very clear that a certain distance was mandatory. Therapists listened, empathized, offered questions that might expand a client’s thinking.

  They didn’t act. And lately she’d been fighting off the strangest urges.

  She’d almost kicked Mr. Monroe out of her office last week simply because he’d requested twice-weekly sessions. Worse, she’d had the most unprofessional need to tell him to grow up, move out of his mother’s house, and find something to do with his life.

  Then there was sweet little Jenna, whose parents wanted her to have some help building self-esteem. When her mother had complained about lack of progress, Elsie had been hard-pressed not to point out that she and Jenna’s father were the source of the problem. In a very loud voice. The kind that might be mistaken for yelling.

  She never yelled. That would be beyond unprofessional.

  So, she’d done what every therapist does when faced with a professional crisis. She’d consulted her own therapist.

  He had listened, nodded, and asked gentle questions—he was a very competent psychol
ogist. He’d carefully nudged her to see that her issues were a classic case of transference. Her clients weren’t taking action in their own lives, so she felt a counterbalancing need to act.

  Which, as her therapist was quick to point out, was a noble instinct. She just needed to find an outlet other than interfering in her clients’ lives.

  Most satisfied with that conclusion, she’d carefully researched and compiled her top three options. WitchLight had stood out as a clear winner, offering an opportunity to serve others while perhaps taking advantage of her small witch talents. That had tipped the balance against fundraising work for the United Way. It would be fun to be a witch again.

  She was trying very hard to forget her outrageous third choice—a month-long workshop in trapeze flying. It wasn’t hard to recognize the poor judgment of an impending mid-life crisis. Lord knows she’d seen it in enough clients, although thirty-two seemed rather young to be suffering such a fate.

  Seriously, trapeze flying? Clearly a very strong signal from her psyche that if she didn’t find a mature and responsible outlet for her need to do something, she’d end up jumping into something truly crazy.

  Needs shouldn’t be repressed. Any good psychologist knew that. They could, however, be channeled.

  She pulled over to the curb, looked at the instructions in her hand one more time, and nodded in satisfaction. She had arrived, and with a comfortable five minutes to spare. Elsie Giannotto was always on time.

  The house she’d arrived at looked somewhat out of place in the neighborhood of bungalows—a modern-looking two-story home of wood and glass, and pretty, but slightly over-run, gardens. Her mother would enjoy tending to the flowers.

  Earth magic or not, Elsie had never enjoyed playing in the garden. It always made her feel… tense.

  Not unlike how she felt now. She sighed and reached for her bag. Sometimes being a competent self-analyst could be a pain in the neck. It was entirely normal to feel nervous at the beginning of a new venture.

  Imagine if she’d chosen trapeze flying.

  Holding her bag and the folder with her carefully crafted suggestions on how she might serve WitchLight best over the next three months, Elsie made her way through the gardens and up to the front door.

  She checked her watch. One minute to 2 p.m. Perfect timing. She reached up to the purple fairy-wing knocker on the door and paused. Purple fairy wings didn’t fit her perceptions of an ideal mentor, but perhaps she was being hasty in her judgments. She rapped on the door three times and waited.

  In moments, she heard clumping footsteps, as if someone were running down the stairs. The front door popped open, and Elsie gaped in surprise.

  The young woman who had opened the door was covered head to toe in tattoos and an amazing assortment of piercings. The bandana on her head looked like it might have been there for a month, and the leather jacket thrown over her shoulder was entirely disreputable. It did, however, fit the juvenile-delinquent scowl of its owner.

  Elsie prided herself on accurate first impressions. This couldn’t possibly be her mentor. Even a far less-competent organization than WitchLight couldn’t have made an error of that magnitude.

  She looked down at the paper in her hand. “I’m here to meet with Jenvieve Adams, if you would be kind enough to let her know I’m here.”

  The blonde hellion turned around and yelled down the hallway. “Hey, Jennie—I think we have the other one. What do you want me to do with her?”

  The other one? Elsie’s heart bottomed out.

  “The same thing I did with you, child,” said a disembodied voice from the back of the house. “Invite her in.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Jennie slid the sheet of biscuits into the oven and tried to brush some of the excess flour off her hands. Hopefully the cooking lesson had accomplished two things—a little bonding with Lizard, who really was an excellent cook, and some serious bonus points from her husband, if she could replicate the biscuits he had swooned over a couple of hours ago.

  He was a pretty adaptable guy, so she hadn’t expected him to react badly to Lizard’s arrival, but after the biscuits he was ready to adopt the girl.

  Lizard was still fairly suspicious, but she’d been willing to go to the store for more bacon. They were entirely cleaned out, and bacon seemed like a required ingredient in a really good biscuit sandwich.

  Jennie looked down at her hands. Oh, well—a little flour wasn’t going to hurt anyone. She listened as two sets of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Lizard’s clomp—the girl had a hundred ways to make herself look and sound tougher than she was—and the clipped beat of high heels.

  Make that sensible heels. Jennie took in the new arrival as she hung back in the doorway of the kitchen. The perfectly conservative career woman. Oh, Lord. What had Melvin done to her?

  While she could feel shock and dismay oozing out of the woman’s mind, her face showed nothing but polite interest. “Hello, I’m Elsie. You must be Jenvieve—am I pronouncing that correctly? I believe WitchLight has assigned you as my mentor.”

  Jennie choked back the urge to be a punk and reached out with a handshake of welcome. “I am, but please call me Jennie. Easier to say, and I’m more likely to answer.” She waved toward a chair. “Have a seat. In a few minutes, I can offer you a passable biscuit if you’re hungry.”

  More polite interest, coupled with leaking distress. “Are you a chef, then?”

  Lizard, who’d been leaning against the wall, snorted, but said nothing.

  Jennie hid her grin. “I’m getting a lesson, actually. Lizard here is a terrific biscuit maker.”

  Finally, the polite interest cracked. “Really?” It came out in a squeak.

  Jennie brushed flour off her countertop. It hadn’t been a particularly tidy lesson. “Apparently the trick is to grate frozen butter into your flour.” Then she took pity on their new arrival and tried to find safer ground. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” Elsie frowned. “Did WitchLight not pass along my profile? I sent them quite a detailed one.”

  “There was a small delay in the paperwork, I believe.” Jennie was fairly sure she’d never get Elsie’s profile. “Why don’t the three of us sit here while the biscuits finish baking and get better acquainted?”

  Elsie turned white. “The three of us?”

  Curse Melvin and his sense of humor. “Yes. The two of you have been assigned to me for the next ninety days. Elsie, meet Lizard. Lizard, Elsie.”

  To a mind witch, Elsie’s reaction was clear as day.

  As was Lizard’s mind-hurled response. Supercilious snot.

  Jennie let a hint of her amusement leak into her mind response. Pugilistic brat. She counted it a sizable victory when Lizard’s lips twitched.

  Lizard raised an eyebrow from her place against the wall, stance slightly less combative. “What’d you do?” At Elsie’s wordless confusion, she elaborated. “How come you have to do the WitchLight program?”

  Concern pooled in Elsie’s eyes. “It’s not required. I was looking for an opportunity to serve others, and I look forward to making a closer connection with other witches.”

  Lizard burst out laughing. “Gee, that’s kind of different from the marketing pamphlet I got.”

  And the one she’d gotten, Jennie thought dryly. Vero’s a tricky witch.

  She could see Elsie working very hard to reassemble her professional armor. Acting from instinct, she moved back and reached quietly for her camera as her two new recruits faced off. Go ahead, Lizard—stir her up a little more. If they were going to help Elsie, they needed to know who she was under that suit.

  “Have you been required to participate in WitchLight?” Elsie asked, reaching desperately for her manners.

  “You could say that.” Lizard snickered. “This is my court-mandated community service. You can put whatever pretty words you want on this, but in my world, we’re witches on parole.”

  Jennie watched through her camera lens as shock hit El
sie’s face, followed in quick succession by disbelief, panic, and then a single burst of genuine laughter. Long years of experience had her preserving each on film.

  And then watching in regret as Elsie’s face shut down again. Armor back on. This one would be a tough nut to crack.

  Elsie folded and re-folded her hands on the table. “While I’m sorry to hear that, I assure you I’m not here under duress.”

  She pulled files out of her bag and handed them to Jennie. “Here is a copy of the personal profile I sent, along with a skills self-evaluation and a list of the types of service opportunities I feel might be a good match with my talents. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I thought it would save time if you had some background.”

  Supercilious snot indeed, thought Jennie, after making sure her mind barriers were firmly in place. Then she took a deeper look at Elsie and gave herself a good, quick mental kick. Elsie was in over her head, and less adaptable than Lizard. They could work on change tomorrow. Today needed to be about welcome.

  She reached out for the files. “Come. Let me show you to your room. I’ll take some time to look at your paperwork, and give you a chance to settle in.” And we can both regroup.

  Lizard levered off the wall. “I’ll go get that bacon.” After a pause, she looked at Elsie. “Do you need anything from the store?”

  Jennie raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Lizard scowled. I don’t kick dogs or pull the tails off bunnies, okay? She’s scared. I reserve the right to kick her when she gets back to being a prissy know-it-all.

  The student had gotten there faster than the teacher. It was going to be a very interesting next few days.

  Jennie reached for Elsie’s arm to lead her upstairs, and took the opportunity to do a basic power scan. She was guessing air witch—with the notable exception of her nephew Jamie, most air witches leaned a little bit toward the know-it-all camp. However, apparently this day was destined for surprises. No air power, minor earth talents—and crap, crap, crap.

  Elsie Giannotto was a fire witch. And since she was currently practically sparking, not a very well-trained one.

  Not funny, Melvin. Not funny at all.