Feathers (A Witch Central Morsel) Read online

  He grinned up at her, totally unconcerned. “Me swim!”

  Kinda. He’d improved since the beginning of the afternoon. Nell smiled and gave him a good shove back Devin’s direction. Every single one of her kids had gotten into the water with Uncle Dev and come out a swimmer—these two wouldn’t be any different.

  Assuming Kenna ever got in. Currently she was sitting on a rock, watching the action and sending little sparks of discontent up into the air.

  One fire witchling, not entirely happy with the idea of getting wet.

  Nobody was pushing her—or rather, they all were. Fun eventually enticed Kenna, every time.

  This swimming party, however, was about to wind up. Nell could see the bright flickers of a bonfire in the distance. Dinnertime, and judging from the amount of food that had been hauled to the bonfire site, they’d all be lucky if they could manage to roll away later.

  Nell swam the short distance over to her niece and levered out of the water. “I think Uncle Téo’s got the fire started now, sweet pea. Want to go see?”

  Kenna’s sparks zoomed in excited circles. “’Tay. Me help wif fire.”

  Nell was smart enough not to negotiate with a two-year-old terrorist—she’d leave that job to Téo. The man managed difficult children the same way he handled noisy monkeys, landslides, and cranky patients. With a smile and an iron will you didn’t see until it had long since moved you where you were supposed to go.

  Benny and Devin had made it over to the edge of the pool, the last remnants of what had once been a much larger swimming-hole crowd. Dev’s eyes were already on the column of fire in the distance. “Téo’s not messing around.”

  Nope. And Nell was pretty sure there was more underway than some really charred hot dogs. Coast Rica always had undertones of things secret and mysterious. Witch heaven. “It’s been tugging at my magic for an hour now.” She scooped up Kenna, letting the girl scramble around for a piggyback ride. Little monkey.

  Dev gave them all a nudge in the direction of fires burning. “Come on—the bugs will be here soon.”

  Costa Rica at dusk was one big wall of bugs. Yet another reason for really big fires.

  She fell in beside Devin. Benny, already falling asleep, curled into his uncle’s chest.

  Nell smiled. Wild didn’t tame—but sometimes it grew extra roots.

  -o0o-

  Moira breathed deeply of the night air, so very happy to be exactly where she was.

  The bonfire, aided by warm breezes and excited witchlings, rose high into the dark sky, sending its primal message far out into the jungle night. Logs and chairs neatly ringed the fire, and for an old granny, even a cushioned hammock chair. Plates of food were piled high on a rough table set in the edges of shadow, somehow protected from the very curious howler monkeys moving closer in the night.

  Her ancestors had once sung and danced around fires such as this, ushering in the new seasons, bidding good riddance to the old. Defying death or honoring it. Soothing the wounds of war or readying for them.

  That’s a cheery thought. Firelight danced on Lauren’s face and tinged her hair copper.

  It wasn’t—but Moira didn’t apologize for it. The Irish had always remembered war and death and the gritty hearts of humankind that found a path beyond.

  A soft drumbeat rolled softly from the shadows to Moira’s left, mixing in with the sounds of the night jungle. Téo, drum between his jean-clad knees, adding a heartbeat to the fire.

  Her ancestors would approve. As, she suspected, would his. An old witch’s eyes didn’t miss the quiet signs of ritual. A small woven bag hanging over the red T-shirt. A single bright feather that matched the ones on the drum, braided into dark hair.

  And the quiet focus that spoke of long discipline working with things unseen.

  She smiled. Their Téo was a shaman, then, or whatever word was used in this part of the world for such things. A mystic. One who walked in the sacred.

  He denies it. Retha was also watching Matt’s partner, eyes full of fondness—and respect. Claims he’s got too much work to do patching broken bones and birthing babies.

  Both of which he did very well. Moira studied the young man who had chosen to make himself part of this family. And yet he unveils tonight. There wasn’t a soul present who would miss what that drumbeat was doing for much longer.

  Calling power.

  Tonight, Téo was offering his.

  The drumbeat thundered. The call of a leader.

  Moira felt the energies around the circle move in surprise—and then shift. Acceptance. Love. Not everyone had expected to go on a journey tonight, or to have Téo leading them. But they would follow.

  The drumbeat wavered the tiniest stitch, and Moira knew more than one message had just been sent. A man who had not been quite sure how deep he lived in their hearts.

  He knew now.

  Matt’s guitar, bending sound around Shay’s flute, danced a little brighter.

  Silly wiggles, sent Retha fondly, on a signal aimed at Moira, but splattered broadly enough that anyone within a hundred feet would hear. You think by now they’d know. Both of them.

  Indeed. Moira assumed her reply was spread just as widely. The Sullivan family only knew one way to love.

  Matt’s head dipped down to his guitar, hiding a somewhat soggy smile.

  Téo was made of sterner stuff. His drum picked up the beat again. Calling. Demanding.

  And then it went entirely still.

  -o0o-

  Well. That had gotten everyone’s attention.

  Lauren sat, Devin’s arm around her shoulders, and listened as the various minds of Witch Central processed what was happening. Daniel, arm around his own wife, had found himself oddly pulled by the drumbeats. Benny, nestled in Jamie’s arms, fought off sleep and watched the fire, eyes wide. Matt sat without moving, proud as hell of his family and feeding support to his partner. Aervyn sat straight and still, mimicking Téo’s posture, a quiet smile on his face.

  Hearts and souls responding to the beat of the drum. Lauren wondered if Téo had any idea what he’d called.

  And then the man in question began to speak—and she no longer had any doubt at all. Deep and resonant, his voice rose into the forest, speaking words none of them understood. And all of them recognized.

  An invocation.

  Said by one in complete attunement with the power he invoked.

  Holy hell. This was the guy who had been making hot-dog jokes with Mia five minutes ago and racing Benny in circles around the fire.

  She watched his face, transfixed, knowing every other person present did exactly the same.

  Shay grinned. “You never told us you could do that.”

  Téo winked at her. “You never asked.” He held out his drum. “Want to give it a try?”

  Her head tipped to the side. “Why does it have feathers on it?” Her eyes slid to his hair. “You wear one, too.”

  Lauren could feel the surprise in his mind. Not the question he’d been expecting. A direction he hadn’t meant to go.

  “I do.” A man grappling with something. And then accepting it. He picked up his drum again and beat a slow, steady rhythm. “Would you like to hear the story of the feathers?”

  Shay touched the edge of one and smiled. And then settled on the ground at his feet.

  For some reason, Téo took strength from that.

  Lauren wondered exactly what journey her Costa Rican brother-in-law was suddenly on. Whatever came next, it was taking no small amount of bravery on his part.

  Téo looked straight into the fire and began to speak. “When I was twelve years old, the elders of my grandfather’s village built a fire, much like this one.” The drumbeat still echoed in his voice. “They sat us in a circle, much like this one, our bellies a little hungry and our minds very curious.”

  Lauren felt her stomach rumble in response—and her mind quicken.

  “We sat under the night sky, one with the forest that gives us death and life and all in
between. And my grandfather told us this story.”

  The echo of words from long ago resonated underneath the tale reaching out into the night.

  “When a child is born, they arrive knowing everything. And knowing nothing. I held each of you as you arrived, and looked into your eyes, and gave you your name. And then I gave you back to the mothers and fathers and elders who cared for each of you, teaching you the gifts of the forest and the ways of the village.”

  A pause. Even the air of the jungle strained to hear a little better.

  Téo looked around the circle, eyes staying longest with the young ones. “You have learned well. You walk with confidence in the world, you have brave and generous hearts, and you know the strength that lives in those who walk with you. These things will serve you well.”

  Téo let the drumbeat crescendo, and then quiet again.

  “You have learned well, my children. And tonight, you begin your walk beyond the life of a child. It is time for you to take the journey inward to discover the adult you will become.” His hand reached toward the fire, much as a grandfather’s hand had once done. “If I ask you now what that means, you will give me the answers of a child. You will speak of spears and machetes, of climbing high and running fast. Of battles won and foes subdued and the stories of prowess that will be told by the elders of your great-grandchildren.”

  Téo smiled, in memory of the boy who would have given many of those answers. “And you will not yet have spoken of the things that matter.”

  His audience breathed in and out with the cadence of the drum.

  “When I held each of you as a baby, I looked into your eyes, and I saw wisdom. You each arrived on this earth knowing your own heart. Knowing your purpose. Your job now is to remember that again. To seek until you find the truth that lives within you. To collect the pieces that will form the grown person you will become.”

  Téo touched his fingers to the feather in his hair. “He gave us each a feather to help us remember his words. And because he knew I didn’t always listen very well, mine was especially bright. To help me remember to keep looking for the most important pieces of my grown-up soul. He said that some minds required stillness to work best, and some required comfort or food or the power of song.” The young shaman grinned. “And that mine would likely require fast feet and a little wildness, and a lot of reminders.”

  -o0o-

  Oh, my.

  Moira leaned back in her hammock chair, impressed and a little bit in awe. Apparently they were going to have a wee bit of witch school while they were here. Because Téo might not have meant it in such a way—but no one in Witch Central would be able to resist such a brightly painted story.

  Or the chance to wear a feather in their hair.

  Shay looked up at her adopted uncle, her eyes deep pools of thought. “How long did it take you to find all your pieces?”

  He smiled down at her, proud and a little bit amused. “My grandfather tells me I’m not done yet. But he says I’m getting closer.”

  Matt elbowed him playfully.

  Téo leaned into his partner and then slid onto the ground in front of Shay. “Some take years to find even their first piece. My friend Clau found one of his before we even left the village. It doesn’t matter how long you take, or how far you wander looking for your pieces. It only matters that you find them.”

  All around the circle, minds and hearts pondered. Moira soaked in the wisdom of a story that could touch everyone who listened. Including, she suspected, the man who had offered it. An old witch knew a little something about being the chosen successor of a village’s revered wise one. Perhaps Téo, too, claimed something of who he was this night.

  His eyes caught hers again. She smiled, and offered a respectful nod to the grandfather spirit she expected was watching. Perhaps he would help her keep an eye on these hearts she loved so very much.

  Mia reached a hand forward and ran her finger along the edge of the bright feather in Téo’s hair. Orange, tinged with edges of blue. “Was this the feather he gave you?”

  “No.” He shook his head, eyes crinkling in humor again, and slid the feather out into his fingers. “I lost that one about ten minutes after we left the village. I found this one on our breakfast table this morning. I think one of our parrot friends must have left it for me.”

  “It’s really beautiful.” Ginia had joined her sisters now, and Moira could see the idea rooting.

  This one wouldn’t take any watering at all.

  Nell grinned as her husband snuck into their tent for the third time in an hour. “Lost something?”

  “Nope.” He grinned. “Apparently the parrots are being cooperative, and your daughters need stuff.”

  That sounded… busy. “Isn’t it the crack of dawn out there?” The girls had been up into the wee hours of the night, dancing around the bonfire.

  He chuckled and pushed a few more buttons on his phone. “Has that ever stopped them?”

  Not usually. Nell blinked as a small container of beads materialized on her sleeping bag. “You’re porting craft supplies?” They’d arrived with four loaded bins’ worth of glitter and goo.

  Daniel peered into the bead jar. “Do these look translucent?”

  Damned if she knew. It did, however, explain why Aervyn wasn’t doing the porting. If the girls were raiding their extra-special supply cupboard, something was clearly up. Nell felt around for anything that resembled her clothes. “It might be easier to port one of the girls back to look.”

  Her husband smiled slowly. “Nope. That would interfere with magic in progress.”

  That was more than enough incentive to find her shorts. Nell pulled a mostly-dry tank top over her head and eyed her man. “Exactly what kind of magic are we talking about?” And then she took a good look at his face, read the simple happiness there, and stood down her yellow alert.

  Whatever required translucent beads, it had his heart a little goopy, nothing more.

  Nell unzipped the tent flap, made her way out into the jungle morning, and immediately headed for the collection of criminally early risers at the picnic table, working industriously.

  Shay looked up as she approached, smiling widely in the weak morning light. “Hi, Mama. Hang on a sec—we’re just about done with yours.”

  Nell surveyed the adornments already nestled in three sets of curls. Shay’s feather was green and blue and had small silver charms hanging from the end. Ginia’s was a crazy rainbow that had clearly met up with things not native to a parrot. Mia’s was flaming red—if flaming red came in twenty different shades.

  Witch Central, already owning their new Costa Rican tale of magic and journeying. Téo was a dangerous man.

  “Here you go, Mama.”

  It was oddly unglittered—and yet, Nell felt her fingers moving quickly to touch. One sleek yellow feather, the edges fanning into amber and then red. A single invisible thread ran to a very utilitarian clip. With a fairy sitting on top.

  Shay grinned. “Don’t worry—once you’re wearing it, nobody will see the fairy.”

  But she’d know—and they would. A feather very carefully made for a practical warrior mama who thought she kept her whimsical side well hidden. Gods, they were getting smart.

  Nell clipped the feather into her hair and took a seat at the table. She was entirely useless at crafts, but they could probably find her some unskilled menial labor. She wanted a piece of this—and so would everyone else who woke up.

  Witch Central had adopted a new quest.

  It was a wet and bedraggled stream of river riders who made their way into camp for lunch, eyes bright and stomachs growling loud enough for the monkeys in the trees to hear.

  Moira, dishing rice and beans onto plates, grinned at the man beside her. “I think we’d better start scooping faster.”

  “There’s a second pot on the stove in our quarters.” Matt chuckled and added a heaping spoonful of fried plantains and caramelized sweet potato to the plates she’d filled.


  Rice and beans were the Costa Rican equivalent of a good fish stew—warm, solid food that could sit on the stove for days and feed however many needed to be fed. “I brought some of Aaron’s fish rub. He’s hoping you’ll send back some of that spicy mix you sent last fall.” Stew in Fisher’s Cove had taken on a distinctly Latin American flavor this past winter. No one was complaining.

  Matt’s eyes twinkled even as he started laying plates in hungry hands. “I think that can be arranged.”

  Aervyn’s eyes brightened as he took a plate and then held it back out. “More plantains, please. This one’s for Benny, and he likes them the very best.”

  He wasn’t the only one. Matt added an extra scoop onto two plates, smart enough not to make hungry seven-year-olds wait either.

  Moira smiled as he ran off. “Bets on who falls asleep first in their dinner tonight?”

  “That’ll be me.” Jamie held out his plate and grinned. “I had Kenna on one inner tube, trying not to get wet as we floated down the river, and Benny on the other, trying to pick shiny rocks off the bottom like his uncle Devin.”

  Presumably without Devin’s skills at getting back to the surface. Matt laughed and loaded up his brother’s plate. “Karma, dude.”

  Lauren grinned over Jamie’s shoulder. “Yup. I’m never having children—I’m way too aware of what Dev deserves.”

  Moira was quite sure that was an empty threat, but she wouldn’t push just yet. She was fairly certain the next Sullivan with a baby in his arms was going to be Matt. Newborns got left on the clinic steps on a regular basis, and it was a wonder Téo and Matt didn’t have a houseful of them already.

  You just want a baby to rock. Retha’s eyes twinkled as she helped herself to some of the spicy mango chutney. Kenna must on her way—she ate the stuff by the bowlful.

  Moira filled a bowl with just plantains and sweet potato, and then a generous spoonful of spicy mango, and held it out to the small, steaming girl as she arrived. Kenna didn’t like rice and beans any more than she liked getting wet. “It looks like you have the hang of the quick-dry spell now, sweetheart.” Progress—yesterday’s attempt had left her clothes a wee bit crispy.