An Unlikely Witch Page 3

  But cinnamon also called to bravery. Courage.

  Perhaps her fingers, meandering along her spice jars in the dawn hours, had known.

  Moira took her time, letting the fire and the coziness do their bits of magic. She settled Lauren in a corner of the couch and draped a fuzzy green throw over her knees. And then, finding her own seat, took two of Aaron’s cookie treasures out of the simple tin, still warm from his morning of baking.

  The man had infallible instincts, both as an innkeeper and as one of the witching community’s best caretakers.

  Lauren’s fingers worried their way into the soft green yarn. And ignored the cookie.

  The old healer sitting three feet away worried. There were degrees of sorrow—and a witch able to ignore a freshly baked cookie was pretty deep into them. She took a breath and found the words to begin. Love could go even where maple-pecan cookies couldn’t. “Tell me what makes you so sad today, sweet girl.”

  Another stuttering breath as one of Berkeley’s steadiest witches tried to right herself. Lauren picked up the cookie, tracing its edges. “The crystal ball is talking again.”

  Moira nodded in approval, even as her worry ratcheted up. “The two of you are beginning to learn to work together.”

  That flew past her visitor with nary a comment.

  Dread landed in an old witch’s heart. “What did it show you, love?”

  Lauren’s voice hitched as her fingers crumbled the cookie into dust. “Nat. With the little boy and the snowman.”

  Moira felt her soul catch. No more needed to be said. There wasn’t a witch alive who didn’t know of Jamie’s vision. A beautiful story of romance, magic, and love at first sight.

  And a story of two who waited, so patiently, to be a small boy’s parents.

  Moira was quite sure there were very few who understood just how deeply Nat and Jamie yearned. Or all the bits of why. But one of the people in the know was the fierce friend sitting under her green throw—and what lay in her eyes was almost defeat. An old witch reached for blind hope. “Are you sure the orb doesn’t bring good news?” This was a babe long awaited. A moment perhaps worthy of announcement.

  Lauren’s eyes were dark and full of sorrow. “I asked it that. It’s sorry, but it doesn’t know.”

  Moira blinked. In Great-gran’s day, the crystal ball had been mysterious, powerful, and greatly revered. But not once, in all the stories, had it ever had feelings.

  “I don’t know what to do.” The tears that had been threatening leaked down Lauren’s right cheek. “I can’t tell Nat,” she said hoarsely. “This will hurt her so much.”

  Nat Sullivan was one of the strongest people Moira knew. And one who loved deepest. “I don’t think the orb speaks to you lightly.” An old witch sat, torn, wondering if her next words were an act of kindness, or one of cowardice. “But it’s never a bad thing to proceed with care, especially when what you might be carrying is so heavy.”

  “That’s what Devin said.”

  A man far wiser than he looked.

  “This is more than just a baby.” A deep breath from a witch demanding much of her own wisdom. “He’s part of who they are.”

  “Aye.” Moira knew something of foundations and how deeply they could crack. “And more than that, too. To Nat, he’s a promise.” Of a family, and the end of loneliness.

  “She doesn’t want Kenna to be an only child.” Lauren’s breath hitched. “This is so tangled up for her. In how awful it was for her growing up, and how little control she had.”

  There were few journeys more painful than walking again through the ravages of childhood. Even for their strongest. “It’s a terrible thing to watch a friend in pain.” She reached out a gnarled hand and spoke truth. “And even harder if you think it might get worse.”

  Lauren bowed her head, mute. Moira held tight to hunched shoulders, trying to share the weight. Nat wasn’t the only one with a difficult journey ahead. Their wise, brave, grounded realtor was learning the walk of the matriarch.

  It would be time for an old witch to step out of those shoes, soon.

  She watched Lauren’s fingers work their way into the green yarn of the knit throw that had come from her great-gran’s sheep. Handwork of the most powerful healer of her generation.

  Moira touched the green and wondered. Maybe more than one message arrived this day. And an old witch who could listen was perhaps still needed.

  Sometimes magic spoke of the future—and sometimes it helped to create it.

  And babies were healer turf.

  -o0o-

  Something was up.

  Nell scooted through the three-foot opening that had doubled as the entrance to the thinking cave for as long as she could remember. It had been Daniel’s idea, the first time their oldest had needed a place of his own to sit and ponder.

  She took a seat, eyes on the lonely figure cuddled up in the small cranny under the stairs. Nathan hadn’t wedged himself in here in ages, and over the years, various tenants had redecorated to their tastes. The current version ran to glitter and pretty lights.

  None of which seemed to be making Ginia any happier.

  Nell reached out with a gentle mind channel, trying to gauge what she was dealing with. Some unhappy murmurs, but mostly thoughtful. So her sisters had reported. “Hey, kiddo. There’s hot chocolate brewing upstairs.”

  “’Kay.” Ginia didn’t move.

  Well, that raised things to yellow alert. “Down here thinking, huh?”

  A long silence. “I’m trying to figure out what to do for Auntie Nat.”

  Her name for the holidays. Nell resisted offering up any ideas. Ginia in particular was very proud of her growing independence lately. Support had to sneak in the back door—or in this case, under the stairs. “You guys picked who everyone got, right?” With uncanny instincts for pairings both interesting and pleasing.

  Ginia nodded.

  Now for the tricky question, and one their mama didn’t already know the answer to. “And how did you decide who you three got? Did you just take the names that were leftover?”

  “Nuh, uh.” That much came automatically, and then her daughter paused, assembling her words. “I’m not sure how it worked out, exactly. We just kept moving names around the table until they all seemed to fit. Kind of like that thing Dad does when he’s solving a puzzle.”

  The man who could swallow a garbage pail of data or code and spit out art. It made him one of the world’s best hackers. Apparently his daughters had found another useful application for their inherited talents. “So it just felt right for you to have Auntie Nat.”

  A nod, more assured this time. “I love her. It felt really nice to get her name.” And then a shrug. “I thought it would be easy to come up with something she’d really love.”

  It was still so damn tempting to offer up the easy reassurances. Auntie Nat would love almost anything. Conveniently true, and it might get them past whatever had her kiddo curled up under the stairs. Nell sighed and took the hard road instead. “How’s it feeling now?”

  “Mia and Shay both figured out what to do for their gifts right away, but I didn’t. Aunt Moira said it sometimes takes a while for special flowers to grow, but Solstice is next week.”

  And nobody had higher standards for themselves on this gig than her three girls. “You remember when you guys came up with this idea, and you sat down at Thanksgiving dinner and told us all?” It had stolen the stage from a spectacular roasted turkey.

  Ginia frowned, a little confused. “Yeah. People really liked it. We knew they would.”

  They had. “You know who loved it best?”

  Her daughter managed a grin. “Probably Aervyn.”

  A good guess. Nell grinned back, teasing her girl’s sunniness closer to the surface. “Nope. He liked it second best, I think. The person with the biggest smile was Auntie Nat. For sure.”

  “See?” Ginia let out a sound somewhere between a wail and a whimper. “That’s why she deserves the awesomest pr
esent.”

  “That’s just it, kiddo.” Nell laid a hand on her daughter’s knee. “You already started giving her a present as soon as you guys told us about your idea. She loves the holidays, and you made them extra-special this year. For everyone, but especially for her.”

  “But that’s from all of us,” said Ginia quietly. “I need something special just from me.”

  Damn. Nell remembered the fiercely independent walk of her growing-up years all too well. And because she did, she cuddled one forlorn knee and stopped trying to comfort. “Well, if you don’t think of something, you could always mail yourself to China. Pretty sure Gramma Retha still has the box.” Memories of what another preteen girl had once done—a quiet sneak in the back door.

  It did its work. This time, Ginia’s grin was full and bright. “I think it costs more to mail stuff to China now.”

  Nell laughed and tugged her girl in for a hug. “Probably. But you’re way lighter than my three brothers.”

  Small shoulders cuddled in and giggled.

  One more victory for the thinking cave. “Let’s go see if they left us any hot chocolate, huh?”

  They would have. Sierra was manning the tap, and she knew what it was to think under the stairs for a bit.

  They all did.

  -o0o-

  She hadn’t meant to fondle baby clothes. Nat had wandered into the Christmas craft market idly thinking of something to brighten Trinity’s space. Something frivolous and luxurious and as unique and surprising as her holiday giftee.

  Instead, she’d ended up here, looking at tiny baby things and imagining she had a little bean to fill them. Nat stroked the soft green sleeper and smiled at the young woman selling them. “Did you sew these? They’re lovely. So soft.”

  “My mom did.” A hand went to a gently rounded belly. “She says they’ll help my little wiggler here to sleep when the time comes. I hope she’s right—my best friend had a baby three months ago, and they swear he’s part owl.”

  The cheerful chatter chased away the twinges of hurt. “Likes to be awake at night, huh? I have one of those.”

  “Yeah? How old?” Honest curiosity mixed with a dollop of savvy saleswoman.

  “Too big for sleepers, sadly.” Nat smiled, remembering when Kenna would have curled up in the cute red one, a snoring blob on her daddy’s chest. “She’ll be two in a few days.”

  “Aww, that’s awesome. I’m Marissa, by the way. I can’t wait to have a little one who can walk and talk and make trouble.” Competent hands moved around the cheerful little booth, adjusting things here and there. “Mom says I’d better have one who’s lots of trouble or she’ll write a letter to the complaints department.”

  A baby who would be well loved. It did something nice to Nat’s insides. “There is nothing cooler than watching them turn into little people.”

  “I already wonder about this one and who she’ll be.” Marissa hung a set of fuzzy bibs up on a string of lights. “I don’t figure she’s going to be shy. I can feel her swimming around in there when we’re out here in the lights and the music. She likes the market.”

  As did her mama. “It must be so much fun to sit here and watch all the people go by.”

  “You’re a watcher, huh?” The young woman kept moving as she talked. “Mom’s that way. I’m more of a doer—I kind of throw myself headfirst into everything. I’m trying to learn to relax some, though. I keep trying to do all those breathing exercises—for the birth. Can’t sit still long enough. I get twitchy.”

  Ah. Maybe not an accident she’d wandered this way, then. “Some people find it a lot easier to breathe and relax if they’re still moving.”

  Marissa glanced over, eyes curious. “You sound pretty sure about that.”

  “I am—I’m one of those people.” Nat smiled and reached into her pocket for a business card. “I own the yoga studio around the corner. We have a prenatal class on Wednesdays and Saturdays, if you want to give it a try. I can help you with some ways to focus that don’t involve sitting still.”

  “That’s really cool. I totally will.” Marissa grinned, and included an older woman just walking into the booth in her general cheerfulness. “I’m really glad you stopped by.”

  The new arrival beamed at both of them. “I hope you can help me. I just found out I’m going to be a grandma.”

  Marissa laughed and winked good-bye to Nat. “I can totally help you with that.”

  Nat strolled away, really happy she’d dug out of her funk and come. These bits of happiness, accidental and otherwise, were exactly why she loved the holiday craft market so much. The place was full of bubbly optimism.

  Nat’s hand went to her own belly. In this place of light and good intentions, it was so easy to find hope. Maybe this month. Maybe it was finally time.

  Letting her feet meander where they wished, she focused on her breathing, letting the chatter and sounds of the market flow around and over her. And did something she hadn’t done for nearly two years—sent a gentle pulse of light and love down into her hands.

  I don’t know if you’re there yet, sweet boy. Maybe. The timing of her cycle was right. If you are, know how very much we love you.

  Today, she was going to ignore any other possibilities.

  -o0o-

  Lauren backed into the shadows and tried not to puke.

  She’d intended a quick detour through the holiday market, nothing more. Ten minutes wandering the festive booths that lined the street, seeking a shiny bauble or a bit of silliness for one of the many people she loved.

  Instead, she was trying desperately to hold on to her lunch.

  She couldn’t see Nat anymore, but she could still feel the small bowl of hope settled gently in her belly. The viral happiness, caught from a pregnant woman with curious eyes and a bright soul.

  Nat had missed the curiosity, but she’d latched on, body and soul, to the shining light. Opened. Unshielded her heart yet one more time.

  Best friends didn’t take aim at that kind of exquisitely vulnerable happiness. Even when they were terribly afraid the orb’s message meant it wasn’t enough.

  A small train of dancing elves moved past, singing a far-too-chirpy song about decking the halls and tossing strings of shiny silver at everyone in their path.

  Lauren squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensory overload. She had to leave before she conked some poor over-caffeinated elf on the head with a mind hammer. Had to find a place to curl up and hug her knees and feel entirely sorry for herself until she was fit to join the human race again.

  She kicked her new black boots into action, one foot in front of the other.

  And felt the press of people and happiness and nausea and holiday expectations begin to recede.

  Realtors understood about timing. Maybe Nat needed to hear the crystal ball’s message, or maybe not. But she damn well didn’t need it today. The orb might be a pawn of destiny—but Lauren Sullivan wasn’t.

  Lauren had spent one awful holiday in the Smythe home. Nat deserved to greet the Solstice with light shining in her eyes.

  Anything trying to get in the way of that was going to have to go through a pesky real estate agent first.

  -o0o-

  Moira settled into a comfortable chair at the inn. Her timing was good. The young ones, full of pancakes and sausages, had just headed out to the beach, a cheerful Marcus tagging along to fish errant trousers and toys out of the water.

  Aaron had tucked back into his kitchen, muttering something about meat pies for dinner. And Elorie had headed out to her studio, off to fulfill an insane number of holiday jewelry orders.

  Which left the inn’s gracious and welcoming parlor to the healers. Sophie sat at the large dining table, her jars stretched out over a good deal of the weathered wooden expanse. Inventorying. Moira eyed the light purple jar partway down the first row. “The hyssop’s running low.” Good for burns and the odd rash in the summer, but it did yeoman’s work on chest colds in the winter.

&nbs
p; Sophie looked up and smiled. “Ginia’s going to harvest more for us.”

  It was very handy having a healer in California’s balmy climate. “She’ll want to be sure to take off the bottom leaves. They lose potency at this time of year.”

  “I imagine she’ll remember that just fine.” The woman at the table wasn’t making much of an effort to hide her amusement. “And if she forgets the first lesson you ever taught her, we can set Lizzie to leaf pulling.”

  Moira chuckled, hearing what hadn’t been said perfectly well. “Looking over shoulders a wee bit tightly today, am I?”

  “Perhaps.” Amusement had shifted to curiosity. “Any particular reason for it?”

  Sophie’s healing talents lay as much in her careful, dogged pursuit of hidden truths as they did in the magic in her fingers. Moira tilted her head, giving the question careful consideration. “I’ve reason to sit on my hands. Perhaps I need to find them a job to do.”

  Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Anything you can talk about?”

  Healers often carried secrets—it was the nature of their magic. But keeping them wasn’t always the right answer. Moira stared into the fire and contemplated. She’d come to talk to the wise and quiet woman who carried more power in her fingers than Great-gran had ever known, even if that conversation might have to be a wee bit cryptic. “Do you ever wonder why we have so many healers?”

  “Hmm?” Sophie was easing a stopper out of a dark green bottle.

  “This generation has more than we’ve seen in hundreds of years.” And an astonishing number of them touched more magic than Moira had ever thought possible.

  The woman at the table had a quick mind. “Perhaps because we’re needed.”

  Moira nodded slowly. “I think, perhaps, we’re about to be needed again.”

  Sophie’s fingers pulled another stopper from another bottle. But her eyes sharpened.

  Moira settled back into her chair, content. Message delivered. Whatever came, the healers would be awake now. Ready.

  Chapter 4

  Jamie raised an eyebrow and handed the wrench to Devin. “I think I’m being grilled.” Mercilessly. If he had any idea what he wanted for a Solstice gift, he totally would have given up the goods by now.