Witches on Parole: Unlocked (A Modern Witch trilogy book 1) Page 3

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  To: veronica.liantro@witchlight.org

  From: Jennie Adams

  Subject: Well, they’re here.

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  Dear Vero,

  I expect it amuses you to have sent me two such entirely different students. Lizard (I will persist in calling her that until the girl decides differently) might be more challenging on the surface, but I suspect it is Elsie who will have me pulling my hair out before this is done.

  I’m sure Melvin is chortling. Don’t encourage him. At least there was only one of me.

  Well, a status report. They’re both here, entirely suspicious of each other, me, and WitchLight, not necessarily in that order. Lizard will stick because she has to. Elsie will likely stick because I’ll bet she’s never consciously quit anything in her life. Perhaps I’m wrong. It won’t astonish me if she comes out of her room with a well-drafted and polite exit plan.

  Know that I’m sorely tempted to join Lizard in making hay with Elsie’s ordered life. However, I’m wiser than our punk fairy in at least one respect—I suspect we’re dealing with a fire witch. And never having seen a fire witch quite that bottled up, some seriously repressed magic.

  Even I’m not dumb enough to mess with a repressed fire witch in a house made of wood.

  It seems that WitchLight’s strategy is to throw all of us together and see what happens, but if you have any background on Elsie’s magic, that would be appreciated. My elemental powers are weak, and my assessment may have been off base. One of tomorrow’s tasks will be to call in some backup on that front.

  I will admit to not being entirely sure of your cleverness in assigning Elsie to me. See, Melvin? I’ve grown up—there was a time I wouldn’t have said as much even under duress.

  A mind witch, even one with some past traumas—that I can handle. A fire witch who’s had her genie in a bottle for decades? Would it not make more sense to assign her a mentor who could help her learn to free and control her magic?

  My feeble powers are no match for fire magic out of control—and yes, I’m aware that may sound like a bit of an excuse. But after an hour in my kitchen, it seems fairly evident that she’s either going to blow or drive herself totally insane.

  And my weakness lies in hoping the former happens before she presents me with another of her folders.

  I have pictures to go develop. Perhaps those will hold some answers. At the very least, it’s a quiet, dark room. Yes, you’re correct—I’m heading for my cave. I have some thinking to do.

  Blessed be, and then get me some answers.

  Jennie

  ~ ~ ~

  Busying her hands with the long-familiar task of preparing chemicals and trays, Jennie let her mind wander. It was time to stew a little, and her darkroom was her very favorite place to do that.

  Most photographers these days had gone entirely digital, but she just couldn’t get into quite the same funk over a computer screen.

  And she sorely needed her cave. After firing off her slightly panicked email to Vero, she’d rescued her sadly burnt biscuits, then sat down for a half-hour with Elsie’s obsessively neat file folder.

  She now knew her student was a professional therapist, well respected and thorough, and suffering from a bit of a self-imposed ethics crisis. Elsie had grown up a witch, but in a home where that meant a little extra skill with the tomato sauce. Her mother had minor earth talents and had diligently trained those same skills in her daughter.

  In twenty-three pages of paperwork, there was no mention of fire magic. And given the excruciating detail of all the rest of Elsie’s documentation, Jennie had to conclude that she truly didn’t know—which seemed highly unlikely—or she was in deep denial.

  Neither option suggested smooth sailing ahead.

  Also, she could hardly park the two girls in her spare bedrooms and wait for a fire to start. She had ninety days, and two witches to guide. Melvin had pulled off miracles in that same timeframe.

  Judging the timing on autopilot, Jennie began lifting photographs out of the last emulsion and hanging them on her drying lines.

  What to do, what to do. First, she needed help. She needed a stronger fire witch to do a decent assessment of Elsie—Nell or Jamie would be obvious choices.

  Next, she needed somewhere to put Lizard and Elsie during the day. A “service opportunity.” She looked around her darkroom. They weren’t coming in here, either of them.

  Melvin had handed her a camera and brought out a need and a creativity she hadn’t known existed. What did her students need?

  Elsie—a chance to lighten up. She was nearly as prissy inside her head as out. No, it was more than that. She needed a chance to meet the part of herself she’d tightly bottled up. Magic was a piece of that, but maybe there was a more gentle way to open that door—something a little more subtle than throwing a match on a bonfire. And something fairly persistent. No one let go of their most cherished self-beliefs easily.

  She picked up the picture of Elsie’s sudden laughter, the single moment when she’d finally been prodded out of her shell.

  Jennie grinned. Elsie needed a serene and stubborn invitation to life—and she knew just the woman to provide it.

  That left Lizard. As Jennie pulled her best photograph out of the tray, it was Lizard’s eyes that spoke the picture’s truth. Vulnerability. This was the girl that cooked breakfast unasked, fondled big words in her head, and cut a break to a stranger. All tucked behind a wall of scowls, piercings, and tattoos.

  She needed someone to deal with the facade while taking enough care with the girl behind the tough. And if Jennie followed her deepest instincts, Lizard needed a challenge she couldn’t resist. One that called to the blonde fairy with the sensitive eyes.

  Jennie hung the best portraits of each of her students side by side. Lizard’s seeking eyes next to Elsie’s unexpected mirth. A most unlikely pair.

  But perhaps, not an entirely accidental one.

  A slow grin crossed Jennie’s face. She needed an apartment for the two of them, and a challenge for Lizard. She knew just the person who could help her with both.

  With a last satisfied look at her pictures, Jennie left the darkroom. Time to call in some favors.

  Chapter 4

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  To: jennie.adams@bythelight.com

  From: Vero Liantro

  Subject: Re: Well, they’re here.

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  Jennie dear,

  Since when have you been frightened by a little fire? Melvin’s theory is that you’re more afraid of Elsie’s rather prim persona than whatever magic she’s tamping down. Prove him wrong, my dear—it does get tiresome that he’s almost always right.

  We’re a bit embarrassed to admit we didn’t assess her powers. She seemed such a put-together young woman—with some issues, to be sure, but we believed them to be of the psychological kind. She’s far too firmly attached to her lists and plans, and you seemed the perfect person to shake things up a little.

  I stand by that evaluation, but a little fire magic thrown into the mix is definitely going to make the shaking up a necessarily more delicate maneuver.

  We’d be happy to help find an appropriate trainer for the magical side of things, but I think you’re related to most of them. Young Jamie would be an excellent choice, if you can drag him away from that gorgeous pregnant wife of his. It’s a true shame his Nat isn’t a witch. She would be a magnificent one.

  I assume you have some thoughts in mind to keep your unlikely duo busy for the next three months. I look forward to hearing more about them.

  Best of luck,

  Vero

  ~ ~ ~

  Lauren watched in astonishment as her best friend Nat inhaled her third bread roll in two minutes. They weren’t kidding about the appetites of pregnant women.

  Nat looked up and blushe
d. “Sorry. I’m suddenly starving all the time. It’s like the morning-sickness switch turned off and the eat-like-a-teenage-boy one turned on. I had four helpings of lasagna last night. Even Jamie was impressed.”

  Lauren laughed. Nat’s husband was used to witch-sized appetites, but not in his yoga instructor wife. “I’ve repaired the damage you did to my ice-cream stash the last time you were over. Pregnancy might be worth it just to eat like that.”

  Nat grinned and grabbed another bread roll. “Jamie says fire-witch babies need more calories than normal babies.”

  “Yeah, you stick with that story.”

  Their waitress arrived with a second basket of rolls and the guest of honor. Lauren reached out as Jennie sat down. “If you want a roll, grab it now. Nat’s vacuuming anything that resembles food.”

  Jennie chuckled. “One day it will be you with a babe in your belly, my dear, and then you’ll be more sympathetic.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes for form. “Everyone always sides with the pregnant chick.”

  “Just you wait.” Jennie’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll be a part of Nat’s birthing circle. There’s a very good reason we spend nine months honoring pregnant mamas. Trust me, they earn it.”

  Nat’s smile was loopy and full of sunlight. “I can’t wait.”

  Jennie patted her hand. “I have a little project for you in the meantime.”

  “I knew it.” Lauren tapped the menu. “I want one of their tiramisu desserts as a bribe.”

  “Maybe it’s just Nat’s help I need.”

  In five months of being a witch, Lauren had learned to roll with the goofiness and general teasing. “It could be expensive—she’ll probably want six desserts.”

  Nat didn’t even bother to look offended. She just nodded and grinned.

  Jennie chuckled. “You might want more than one yourself. Let me tell you what I have in mind.”

  As they nibbled on bread rolls and waited for their lunches, Jennie filled them in on her latest assignment. Lauren had never heard of WitchLight. Not a big shock—since moving to Berkeley, she’d been catching up on twenty-eight years of living as a non-witch, but there were still a lot of holes in her education.

  She leaned back, enjoying the story of Jennie’s misspent youth. She suspected it was the short version. “So, some guy at WitchLight gave you a camera to keep you out of trouble? What was he, psychic?”

  Jennie laughed. “No. As far as I know, Melvin has no precog. He claims it was simple desperation.” Her face softened. “Whatever it was, he deeply shaped the woman I became, and I’ll always be grateful.”

  Tears slid down Nat’s cheeks, and Lauren handed over a napkin. She’d learned that pregnant women also cried over cheesy commercials, cute babies in strollers, and chocolate chip cookies—one stereotype that was apparently all too true.

  Nat sniffled and touched Jennie’s hand. “What can we do to help?”

  Lauren studied the two of them, considering. She wasn’t going to be quite as easy a sale. Well, probably she was, but any good negotiator knew better than to agree before the deal was on the table. She might be the realtor to Berkeley’s witch population now, instead of Chicago’s elites, but she was still a terrific negotiator.

  I’m asking the much larger favor of her, Jennie sent dryly.

  Lauren hid her grin. Taking advantage of a pregnant woman, are you?

  Yup. I don’t think there’s much she can’t handle, even with a fire-baby in her belly.

  Well, that was definitely true. Nat could find a path through anything, which stood her in good stead now that she’d married into Witch Central. Her serenity rarely wavered.

  Nat rolled her eyes. “Whatever you two are talking about, let it go. I’ll be fine.”

  Lauren laughed. Two mind witches at the table, and Nat was more tuned to thoughts and emotions than either of them.

  Jennie reached into her bag and pulled out two photographs, laying them down on the table. “These are my first two students.”

  Lauren looked at the pictures, caught first, as always, by the sheer artistry of Jennie’s work. Two young women—one in a bandana and tattoos, with soft, sad eyes. The other could easily have been a colleague—professionally stylish and caught in a moment of laughter.

  Nat reached out and touched the laughing face. “She doesn’t laugh often, does she?”

  Jennie beamed in approval. “Not at all. You always see what matters.”

  Nat shrugged. “It’s right there in the picture.”

  Lauren stared. She still couldn’t see it. She reached toward the other photo. “Why the sad eyes?”

  “The official story, or my guess?”

  Lauren inhaled blissfully as the waitress delivered plates of pasta heaven. The smell alone was worth the trip. “A little of both.”

  “The background I know says she’s had a fairly traumatic past. Nothing really awful, but a lot of manipulative people in her life, and not enough who cared. She’s a mind witch, so she felt all those things deeply.” Jennie paused for a bite of linguine. Her mind oozed pleasure. “My guess—she has an innate desire to help others and she’s never had a healthy outlet for it, one where her efforts were appreciated.”

  Nat nodded. “She feels worthless.”

  Jennie smiled. “Again with that magic intuition of yours, Nat. You’re exactly right. She needs a purpose.”

  Lauren was starting to catch up. “And you’re thinking we can help with that.”

  “Exactly.” Jennie touched the two portraits. “I’m hoping to assign one of them to each of you, as sort of an intern. Just during work hours.” She grimaced. “Then I could really use your help, Lauren, finding a place for the two of them to live.”

  That was a curveball. “You’re going to have them live together?”

  “Yup.” Jennie’s eyes twinkled. “You might find something where the neighbors aren’t too close by.”

  Witches didn’t always make the best tenants. Lauren sighed and pulled out her phone to make a note. She’d find them something. Then Jennie’s first request sank in. “Wait a minute. You want one of them to work for me?”

  Jennie grinned. “That’s right. And the other with Nat.”

  Lauren gazed at the two portraits. Blondie with tattoos and piercings, or the woman in a suit who never laughed. No contest. She pointed at the pictures. “Can I have this one? Please?”

  “I think that was Jennie’s plan.” Nat laughed softly. “I also think she underestimated you.”

  Jennie blushed. “I did, and I’m sorry. I thought I might have to talk you into my girl with the tattoos.”

  Lauren looked at the pictures again. “You’re not so far off. In Chicago, yeah, I might have taken some convincing.” She grinned. “But this is Berkeley, and most of my clients are witches. What are a few piercings?”

  “Besides,” Nat said, “she needs to help people in a really tangible way. You find people homes. She’ll totally dig that.”

  Jennie shook her head, laughing. “Want my job with WitchLight, Nat? You’d be a star.”

  “Nope,” Nat mumbled around a huge mouthful of spaghetti. “I hear you have to be old to get that job.”

  The look on Jennie’s face was priceless. And how Nat managed to swallow her spaghetti while laughing that hard, Lauren would never know. Marriage to Jamie was letting her best friend’s sense of humor loose more publicly. Go, Jamie.

  So, her real estate office was about to acquire an assistant. Lauren looked down at the photos one more time. Blondie for her, and Suit Girl with Nat. That would work—Nat could get anyone laughing.

  Jennie touched the second picture and looked at Nat. “Elsie, here—I think she needs yoga. She’s all in her head, and she’s got some of her magic locked up tight. I’ll ask Jamie to work with her on that, but first, we need to get her to breathe and feel and move.”

  Nat grinned. “Done. Can I make her scrub yoga mats, too? The smell still makes me nauseous.”

  Lauren laughed. Nat had the cleane
st yoga mats in Berkeley since getting pregnant. Her sense of smell was becoming legendary—even students who brought their own mats faced the lemony spray bottle.

  She looked down at the picture. Elsie would have no idea what had hit her. Then the other photo caught her attention one more time, and she looked back up at Jennie. “My student—what’s her name?”

  Jennie snickered. “Lizard.”

  “Seriously?” Lauren stared in disbelief for a moment, and then waved over their waitress as Nat dissolved into giggles. “This is definitely going to cost you more than one tiramisu.”

  Jennie rolled her eyes. “Just send me the bill for your ice-cream stash. Three months’ worth.”

  Lauren grinned. That was an acceptable bribe.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jamie turned to his four-year-old sidekick in the back seat. “Ready, partner?”

  Aervyn grinned. “Fireman Walker, at your service.” He unbuckled his car seat and picked up the red fireman hat off the seat beside him.

  Jamie laughed and hoped this was a good idea. Testing a fire witch could be tricky business, and a second witch to act as fire control often came in handy. However, a four-year-old was always unpredictable backup, even when he was the strongest witchling in the west.

  He opened the door for Aervyn and dumped the fire hat on his head. “Remember, dude, your job is to make sure we don’t burn down Aunt Jennie’s house.”

  Aervyn rolled his eyes. “I know how to do a training circle, Uncle Jamie.” He grinned. “Besides, if we burn down her house, she might not make me any more cookies.”

  “You’ve got a point there.” Jamie pulled empty Tupperware containers out of the trunk. Jennie was part of the massive witch brigade keeping his pregnant wife supplied with cookies. His job was transport. And keeping four-year-olds and other sneaky beings out of her cookie stash.

  Easily the worst moment of his marriage thus far had been Nat’s devastation when she found out he’d eaten the last snickerdoodle. He might’ve come to test a couple of witches, but he wasn’t leaving without a snickerdoodle resupply.

  Aervyn stood at the front door and waited. Jamie walked up behind him, balancing a stack of empty containers. “You going to knock, superboy?”