A Modern Witch Read online

  Nell: Oh, really? Chatting with Mike, are you?

  Lauren: Do tell…

  Moira: Don’t tease her, lasses. Didn’t you see at the full circle?

  Sophie: Moira, you don’t miss anything, do you? We’ve been chatting a bit; that’s all, really. He might make a trip here later in the spring.

  Nell: He’s a great guy, Sophie. You’ll have beautiful witch babies.

  Sophie: Oh, shut up, girl :-).

  Nell: Want an eight-year-old chaperone? I could send Ginia—she’d go nuts for your garden and herbals room. She’s obsessed with flowers at the moment.

  Sophie: I’d be delighted to have her, as I’m sure Moira would. Maybe wait until early summer, though, when the gardens are at their finest.

  Nell: That’s what I was thinking. I’ll wait until Mike’s second trip to send a tagalong :-).

  Sophie: To quote Jamie, is nothing private?

  Moira: Of course not, dear.

  Nell: Speaking of training, Lauren, how is yours going?

  Lauren: I was hoping no one would ask that…

  Sophie: Good luck with that. Moira and Jennie are both very persistent on the issue of training.

  Moira: Indeed. You have solid basics now, child, but you need to stay in practice, at the very least.

  Lauren: I know it. I think I just needed a break. California was so intense, and being back home has been a chance to catch my breath.

  Moira: And you surely earned a break, but every witch needs regular practice. Start with something small, even a little barrier work.

  Lauren: Yes, ma’am.

  Nell: Jennie sends more or less the same message.

  When Moira and Jennie ganged up on you, that meant serious business. She’d do some regular practicing. Soon.

  Lauren wasn’t trying to avoid magic, exactly. But when she’d come down from the wondrous high of the full circle, she’d been terrified. She’d held the lives of at least fourteen people, and maybe more, in her half-trained hands. She was a realtor. She found people homes. She didn’t play in the world of life and death.

  She would seek to use her mind-witch powers for good; Jennie had instilled that much. The rest, she just tried not to think about.

  Lauren opened up the photo album Jennie had posted. Two pictures in, she already had the sniffles. Jennie was a genius with a camera. Her grandson with purple hair, cuddled up in sleep against the flat rock at Ocean’s Reach. Aervyn in the sandbox, little-boy glee as he levitated a sand castle. Three rapt faces watching a flower bloom in Ginia’s hand.

  The last photo wasn’t one Jennie had taken—it didn’t have her distinctive artistry—but it staggered Lauren all the same.

  It was a picture of her and Aervyn, sitting face-to-face on a flat rock, surrounded by impossible light. She looked every inch the witch he did.

  …

  Jamie wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Nat nervous before.

  He held open the door to Chez Lollo, the fancy restaurant where they were meeting her parents for lunch. The Smythes had flown in from Boston for what Nat referred to as “their quarterly checking-up on me”. She’d told him very little else.

  They were going to feed him; how bad could it get? Jamie looked around the restaurant as they followed the very starched hostess. Not a hamburger in the place, and some of the stuff on people’s plates didn’t look like food. Damn. He had manners—he just didn’t like to have to use them.

  The hostess stopped by a table where an older couple sat, looking like the opening shot in a ritzy financial-planning commercial. The hand Nat slid into his was clammy and not entirely steady.

  “Mother, Dad, this is Jamie. Jamie, these are my parents, Walter and Virginia Smythe.”

  Still feels like a financial-planning ad, Jamie thought. He pulled out a chair for Nat. “Really nice to meet both of you. I have a niece Virginia, although we call her Ginia. She loves Nat.”

  “I don’t approve of nicknames,” Virginia said. “Natalia, I see you haven’t developed the habit of timely arrivals, as of yet.”

  Jamie blinked. What was this, a trip to the principal’s office?

  He looked at Nat. Besides her clammy grip on his hand under the table, she was utterly composed. Or utterly vacant, like she’d tucked Nat away and trotted out Natalia Smythe from some storage closet. He wasn’t a fan of Natalia.

  He realized the silence meant Virginia’s question hadn’t been rhetorical.

  “My fault. I was finishing up some programming code, and that delayed us.”

  “You work with computers?” Walter sounded like that might be an acceptable occupation.

  “I do. My family created a video and online-gaming world, Enchanter’s Realm. My sister and I handle most of the programming, although my nieces are starting to make a real contribution.”

  Dead silence. Strike one. Most people thought making video games was pretty cool. At the very least, it was usually a conversation starter.

  He dug around for something else to try. “Is most of your family in Boston?”

  Virginia nodded decisively. “The Smythes have lived in Boston for over two hundred years. We’re waiting for Natalia to wrap up her youthful adventures and return.”

  Crap. That would be strike two.

  Nat spoke. “My yoga studio is here, Mother. My life is here, for the foreseeable future.” Jamie saw just a glint of humor in her eyes. Ah, there was his Nat. He was more than a little tempted to bring up toddlers and snowmen. Foreseeable future, indeed.

  “The future can always be changed,” Virginia said.

  To hell with this. That pitch was high and over the plate, and guys who didn’t swing at those were wimps.

  “I’m so glad you realize that. It must be hard when your children grow up and live their own lives.”

  Virginia gaped. Solid line drive—now go for the double. “You must be so proud of Nat. She’s an excellent businesswoman. Spirit Yoga has a sterling reputation.”

  Virginia was still gaping. “Well, yes, I’d expect that of a Smythe. I’m sure Natalia does quite well with her little enterprise.”

  Jamie stood up. Time for a different playing field. Any good gamer knew you wanted the battle on your turf. “Why don’t we take a walk to her studio? It’s only a couple of blocks away. I’m sure you’ll want to see how it’s grown since the last time you were in town.”

  Three shocked sets of eyes were plenty of confirmation that Mr. and Mrs. Smythe had never set foot in Nat’s studio.

  Walter almost stammered. “But we have a reservation.”

  “Not a problem.” Jamie smiled. “My place is just around the corner from Spirit Yoga. Once we’ve done the tour, I’ll cook for you. I make a mean spaghetti sauce.”

  Jamie took Nat’s arm and led her out of the restaurant. Nat’s parents followed in more than a little disarray. They were probably allergic to tomatoes. Too damn bad.

  “Thank you,” murmured Nat. “I can take care of myself, but thank you.”

  She could, but who the hell needed to go on defense against their own parents?

  They walked in silence to Nat’s studio. There was a class just coming out, and Nat was swarmed. She was a very well-loved teacher.

  Jamie considered, and then pushed some of the emotions and chatter into the minds of Nat’s parents. Feel how your daughter is respected and loved, you idiots. This is her life, not a co-ed joyride.

  He wasn’t at all convinced his mind powers were up to the job of shifting Nat’s parents. Next time he’d bring backup. Lauren would have enough training in a few more months to give them an emotional transplant. That kind of drastic tampering was normally frowned upon, but she loved Nat enough, he could probably convince her to try.

  Nice fantasy, dude, but maybe figure out a plan that doesn’t involve enticing newbie witches over to the dark side.

  Jamie’s parents walked into the main studio, and he trailed them. A snatch of memory floated by from the first time he had been at her studio. He’d replayed his precog
memories for her.

  And what knocked her hardest, you idiot? Not the baby, not the snowman. Christmas with his family. How could he have forgotten her aching yearning when she’d watched that? He didn’t know what Christmas with Walter and Virginia was like, and he planned to avoid finding out for as long as possible.

  No wonder she loved his family so much.

  …

  Lauren walked down the Chicago Pier. She’d just left the Greenleys after admiring the beautiful murals in progress on the nursery wall. They loved everything about their brownstone, including daily visits from the little imp who lived next door.

  Even the wind couldn’t pierce her good mood. It was a really nice day for Chicago in mid-March, but that didn’t mean it was warm. She’d decided to combine work with work, and spend the afternoon at the Chicago Flower and Garden Show.

  She came to the show every year. As a realtor, it helped her keep up with the latest trends in landscaping. That, and wandering the flower displays always made her happy.

  This year, everyone was flocking to indoor wall gardens. She personally thought hanging plants sideways on your wall was asking for an unfortunate water incident, but if green walls sold, she would learn about green walls.

  It was good to be home and back with the familiar. It was also time to stop slacking on her training. Message received, Jennie, at least some of it.

  Catching back up with her real-estate practice hadn’t been a snap, and neither had figuring out how to do her work with new mind-witch powers onboard. She’d caught herself peering into the mind of the selling realtor more than once, hoping to pick up information that might benefit her clients.

  She was finding her own rules and ethics. Lately, she’d been conducting most negotiations by phone, where telepathy was of very little benefit. However, a light read of her clients’ emotions as they went through properties was proving immensely helpful.

  She could pick up on unconscious wish lists reliably now, and it made matching people with the right home a lot more straightforward. The last couple of weeks had been some of the best of her career, and she had two more very likely deals on the table.

  None of that had left much spare time for magic training. However, Moira was right—she needed to at least run some drills on a regular basis. While she browsed the latest trends in green décor, she could also get in a little nudging practice.

  Nudging involved locating groups of two or three people and gently improving the quality of their interaction, much like she’d done with the boy who hated broccoli at the farmers’ market.

  The couple just ahead of her looked like a good place to start. The young and very pregnant woman was dragging a man from booth to booth, mostly against his will.

  Lauren settled gently into her mind and saw the small patch of back yard, all dirt and weeds. She also saw the dream—a picnic in the shade on a hot summer day, baby playing in the lush grass of a tropically landscaped yard. A little idealistic, perhaps, but very sweet.

  Lauren shifted to scan the man’s mind. His was full of the really big holes you needed to dig for trees, the really big mess in the back yard, and the really big dollar signs for anything his wife was planning. However, tucked in a corner was the idea that one day maybe he could roll a ball to the baby, or push a little tricycle around.

  Lauren grinned at his mental picture of a five-month-old baby on a tricycle. Not any more realistic than his wife, but equally sweet.

  She considered a moment. Probably either of them could be nudged to the others’ point of view, but as a realtor, she tried to find the middle ground. Gently she tucked an image into both minds, one with some grass, a sandbox, and a nice, shady tree that might one day hold a swing.

  The husband looked around and then pointed at a display of raised garden beds. Lauren was surprised—that hadn’t done what she’d hoped. Dipping back into his head, she realized maybe it had. Raised beds and sandbox frames had a lot in common.

  “What did you do to them?”

  Lauren jumped. The woman beside her was dressed all in black and seemed an odd mix of curious and very suspicious. She clutched a pendant hung around her neck. “What did you do to them?” she asked again.

  Cripes. Her witch training thus far hadn’t covered what to do if you got caught. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  The woman squinted a little, squeezing her pendant, and Lauren felt a very sloppy attempt to mind scan. She tightened her barriers.

  “Wow, you’re good,” said the woman, holding out her hand. “I’m a witch too. I’m a bit of an empath, but mostly I’m a kitchen witch.”

  “Hi, I’m Lauren.” And other than that, Lauren thought, mostly speechless.

  “I didn’t know there were any more empaths in Chicago. Do you have any other powers?”

  Lauren shook her head mutely. Darned if she was going to stand in an aisle at the Chicago Flower & Garden Show and talk about channeling or any other kinds of magic.

  “Too bad. We need someone who can call air to complete our circle.” The woman reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. “We’re having a coven meeting tomorrow night, and you’re welcome to come check us out. I can vouch for your magic. If you’re interested, come by at 7 pm.”

  Lauren looked at the card as the woman walked off. WITCHERY—books, cauldrons, potion ingredients, and more. Oh, boy.

  Chapter 22

  Lauren sat at her dining table with a pint of Mud Pie ice cream. She’d decided Karamel Sutra wasn’t appropriate for four-year-olds.

  Aervyn grinned from her laptop screen, his matching Mud Pie in a bowl. Nell had vetoed giving him the whole pint.

  “It’s shiny and red and it goes really fast!” Aervyn was very excited about his new bike.

  “Do you know how to stop it?”

  Aervyn shrugged. “I’m a’posed to peddle backwards, but that’s hard to remember. If I’m gonna hit something, I just port—that’s easier.”

  Lauren pointed her spoon at the monitor. “No cheating, little dude. You gotta learn that stopping stuff, or I’m going to be afraid to stand and watch when I come visit you.”

  “I could port you, too.”

  “What if your magic breaks one day and you don’t know how to stop? You’ll roll downhill all the way into the ocean, and then what?”

  Aervyn giggled and tried to lick the ice cream off his chin. It was a losing battle. “Magic doesn’t break, silly. Besides, I know how to swim.”

  Lauren wasn’t sure when she’d fallen in love with the ridiculous logic of a four-year-old, but video chatting with Aervyn was always the highlight of her day. She heard her front door open.

  “Shhh,” she whispered. “Uncle Jamie’s coming. If you’re really quiet, you can surprise him when he walks in.”

  The silence was total. Lauren was really impressed until she realized he’d just hit the mute button. Punk child. When she heard Jamie’s footsteps behind her, she winked at Aervyn.

  “Surprise, Uncle Jamie! It’s me, Aervyn!”

  Jamie’s longing screamed into Lauren’s mind. Oh, crap. Never surprise a mind witch, even a pretty weak one. His barriers down, Jamie had broadcast everything he felt seeing his nephew’s face on-screen.

  Lauren got up off her chair so Jamie could sit down. In just a few seconds, he was barriered and back to friendly Uncle Jamie, chatting with Aervyn and saying all the right things about the new bike. Four-year-olds had no problem repeating themselves.

  Lauren turned toward the wall, tears in her eyes. She hadn’t known. Somehow, in all that had happened, she’d failed to really understand what Aervyn was to Jamie.

  They were more father and son than uncle and nephew. Well, not really—Aervyn had a wonderful father already, and no shortage of other people who loved him deeply. But what Jamie felt for that small boy was fierce, and coming to Chicago had nearly ripped him in two.

  She waited quietly while the video chat wrapped up and tried to decide how much she wanted to pry.

  Jami
e looked up. “You going to share that?”

  Lauren handed over her ice cream. “You really miss him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, you eat my ice cream, you talk in more than one-word sentences. House rule.”

  Jamie’s smile didn’t make it all the way up his face. “I miss everyone, but yeah, especially him. It’s different with a little guy, harder to stay connected without actually being there.”

  “We’re going to visit in less than a week now.”

  “I know.” Jamie paused and looked at the ice cream. Apparently, Mud Pie didn’t cure everything. “He was telling me how his training’s going. Jennie’s doing some mind stuff with him. That’s a good thing. We probably focused too much on elementals and spellcasting when I worked with him.”

  Missing his trainee, too. “It’s what you’re best at, right? So that makes sense.”

  “It was fun, that’s all. Aervyn’s got power to burn, and we could do all kinds of things you can’t do with most trainee witches. Heck, with most any witch. I miss that, too.” He looked up at Lauren. “Do you miss doing magic with him?”

  Lauren wasn’t sure whether to offer up truth or comfort. “Some. But honestly, it was a pretty crazy week in California. It’s been nice just to coast for a while, try to put my life back together.”

  Jamie nodded. “It can get intense even if you grew up there. That’s when I used to take my motorbike down to Carmel.”

  And dammit, thought Lauren, just one more whack on a homesick guy’s skull. Time to change the subject. “Want to go to a coven meeting tonight?”

  Jamie looked like she’d suggested an orgy. “You want to join a coven?”

  “I don’t even know what a coven is, exactly. My mental picture involves stirring cauldrons and reciting lines from Shakespeare, but I’m guessing that’s not any more accurate than anything else I learned about witches in school.”

  “In theory, a coven is just a group of witches working together.” Jamie looked pained.

  “In practice?”

  “In practice, it tends to be really heavy on ritual, really light on actual magic.”