Witches in Flight Page 4
You might be made of sterner stuff.
Elsie went trapeze flying again this morning, accompanied by the unstoppable Helga, and apparently talked some poor scared child up onto the trapeze, much to everyone’s delight. This all relayed by Helga, whose arms were so tired she gave up trying to pick up her knitting needles this afternoon and just gossiped instead.
Give the two of them a few more days, and I won’t be at all surprised to see more of my knitters traipsing off to Oakland to join the circus.
All I’m picking up from Lizard is hunger, so Elsie must be making her tomato sauce again. Which means I’m entirely jealous you’ll get there before I will. (I have another obligation that will make me late, even for magical spaghetti).
Enjoy your tasty welcome home, and save me some if you can,
Caro
~ ~ ~
Jennie nearly blessed the cab driver as he pulled up in front of the duplex where her students lived. Home—or at least, reasonably close to it. Her husband, who had gone off to San Diego to visit the grandbabies, wouldn’t be home for a few hours yet, and magical spaghetti sounded like an ideal way to while the time away.
Then again, there might be more than spaghetti for dinner—Caro’s email had suggested something was afoot. If Elsie and Lizard had put their heads together, that opened up a fairly creative world of possibilities.
She was tired of creative. She just wanted a home-cooked meal.
With a nice tip to the cab driver, she hopped out and contemplated tucking her luggage behind the first convenient bush. Once upon a time, she’d known how to travel light.
“I’ll give you a hand with that.”
The looming voice of Freddie Grenadine shouldn’t have surprised her—but it did. As did the nerves in his mind. When he’d walked Lizard into the Starry Plough, he’d been a lake of calm. “I’d appreciate that. I’ve been lugging these things over half the country.”
He hefted one of her bags by the shoulder strap—and his eyebrows winged up. “What you got in here, rocks? Pirate loot?”
She grinned, very glad not to be the one doing the hefting. “Camera equipment. It used to be I could hike around with that on my back for hours, but apparently old age has made me soft.”
“Heh.” He grabbed her other bag. “Soft’s not the first word that comes to mind. Good thing, too—my Lizard doesn’t need soft.” He put a hand on her arm. “Before we go on in, I wanted to say thank you. I don’t know how she ended up with you in her life, or any of these other folks, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not worried about her anymore. She’s gonna do fine now.”
Jennie had spent a lifetime honing her ability to move in the moment. And in this moment, she wasn’t the one who needed to be thanked. “Without your bus, she wouldn’t have come to us with anything left to reach. It solved a big mystery for us when you walked into the Starry Plough together.”
A mystery she’d totally missed until after the fact, but that was her lacking, not Freddie’s. She’d known enough delinquents in her life that she should have recognized the strangely solid ground under Lizard’s feet. The pub had been full of mind witches going “oh, duh,” when Lizard had walked through the door with the man who loved her as his own.
Freddie shrugged, the uncomfortable feeling back in his mind. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen her off my bus.” He looked up at the door. “And now she’s invited me to Sunday dinner. The wife’s coming by in a bit, after she gets off at the hospital.”
Jennie felt the import of that whack her like a two-by-four. Lizard had spent a decade keeping her worlds very carefully separate. This was a very big moment. “Well, let’s go in then, shall we? I heard rumors of spaghetti.”
Freddie’s face collapsed comically. “I guess I was thinking it would be biscuits.”
She’d have given up her plate of spaghetti for that face in a photograph. Jennie wished for the million-and-first time in her life that the camera in her brain had a slot for film. She patted Freddie’s arm, about to sing the praises of Elsie’s spaghetti sauce, when the door opened and the smells wafting out did the job for her.
Lizard stood at the door in an interesting mix of delinquent regalia and nine-year-old-girl pink glam. Jennie blinked. “Nice outfit.”
“The girls helped decorate.” Lizard’s eyes were all on Freddie. “Thanks for coming.”
The big man produced a potted plant from somewhere inside a pocket. “The missus sent this for you. She’ll be by as soon as she gets off shift.”
Getting past Freddie’s bulk wasn’t an option, so Jennie leaned quietly against a post and watched two people who adored each other squirm in entirely unnecessary discomfort.
It was Lizard who finally broke the silence. “I’ve been getting on your home for ten years. It’s about time you came to see mine.”
Freddie grinned, tension draining in a relieved swoosh. “Seems like you finally got yourself one worth seeing, girlie. You put any meat in that spaghetti for me?”
“Yeah.” Lizard turned around and yelled down the hall, “Yo, Elsie. One incoming carnivore.” She winked at Freddie. “Go get a plate before the hordes beat you to the kitchen.”
Jennie turned around at the giggles behind her—and realized half of Witch Central was lined up in the front yard. Tomato sauce was better than a bat signal. And then she realized she should have expected a crowd, sauce or not. In Lizard’s world, homes weren’t buildings. They were neighborhoods.
~ ~ ~
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To: veronica.liantro@witchlight.org
From: Jennie Adams
Subject: One tired monkey.
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Dear Vero,
I am, at long last, tucked in at home—and I can’t sleep. I’m sure arriving home to what turned into a major party didn’t help. My husband lies snoring beside me, a talent of his I’ve envied for all of our married life.
It’s hard to imagine that the bedraggled blonde fairy and the precise psychologist have evolved into a partnership that can roll with a Witch Central invasion. Heck, I think they planned it, although I never got in enough words with either of them to find out.
You would have truly loved the quiet story going on underneath, however. Lizard invited Freddie and his wife to what is I’m sure the strangest Sunday dinner they’ve ever attended. Both of her families—the Grenadines in their Sunday best, and Witch Central in our typical chaos. It took about two minutes, one bite of Elsie’s delectable sauce, and a certain witchling in Freddie’s lap, for Lizard’s worlds to meld.
Somehow, a big black man without a whit of magic is now one of us. And his wife sat down beside Helga, pulled out her knitting needles, and didn’t move the rest of the night. My husband just chuckles and says it’s likely my fault.
I only wish I could take the credit.
The quiet story doesn’t end there, however. Somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, I realized that our Italian witch stood holding court over her pot of sauce. Not bewildered this time, not scared and searching for a foothold.
We’ve always seen Elsie as a born organizer. That’s far too sterile a term. She’s a born matriarch. And today, in that kitchen, I could finally see it. I wonder if she does.
Full of noodles and headed to bed,
Jennie
~ ~ ~
Caro’s eyes flew open, the fog of sleep vanishing from her brain. She frowned at the streak of moonlight kissing her cheek—it wasn’t moonbeams that had woken her up, even frisky ones.
Elsie was dreaming again.
The trapeze dream had ebbed in the past few nights. Snippets still flew in Elsie’s sleeping head, but usually not with enough emotional force to wake anyone else up for long. Caro reached out gently—no, Lizard was still sleeping. Good—and a smart thing for all witches to be doing at 3 a.m. She stretched and gave her pillow an extra squoosh, enjoying the feel of the soft silk yarn under her cheek.
She’d just settled her eyes closed when Elsie’s dream trail started up again. Disjointed and blurry, but with the deep ruts of a dream played over and over. Strange. Caro pulled down her mind barriers a little more tightly. The girl hadn’t asked for monitoring, and purposely intruding on someone’s sleeping thoughts was far outside of ethical.
But it was interesting, and a little concerning, that Elsie was dancing under the stars held by a sexy cowboy with Freddie’s face. It didn’t take a psychology degree to interpret that one. The girl needed a father—and a little sexy dancing in the moonlight.
Both were important. And both could dig Elsie into a world of trouble, even with the newly bold head on her shoulders. Or perhaps because of it.
Chapter 5
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To: jennie.adams@bythelight.com
From: Vero Liantro
Subject: Re: One tired monkey.
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Lovely Jennie,
I hope you’ve slept well, nestled in the comfort of being home. You and I have always been witches who ranged far and wide with ease—and I think for world travelers, coming back to our roost is a particular pleasure.
It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Witch Central adopted Freddie and his wife—we have big hearts, but we would have treasured him simply for loving one of ours. It also doesn’t surprise me that the witch leading the envelopment was Aervyn. Tell him to enjoy driving Freddie’s bus (how could that not happen one day soon?)—and perhaps suggest that he keep the wheels on the ground. Our Freddie might not be used to witchling antics just yet.
Melvin would like to know why I’m giggling. I don’t precisely know, but I liked Freddie very much in our brief time together at the Starry Plough. And it was clear that he has the kind of steady rock in his life that I do with my Melvin, so I’m sure I’ll very much enjoy his wife as well.
It sounds like we may need to brave Jamie’s computer transport again soon. If anyone had told me I’d be beaming around like those cute boys from Star Trek, I’d have eaten my rather ample corset—but Realm’s taxi service has some lovely benefits, even if I do feel a bit concerned part of me might not make the journey. Jamie assures me I have nothing to be worried about, and Melvin tells me I’ve done far crazier things in my life.
He might have a point.
It occurs to me that perhaps Lizard has brought her worlds together in preparation. I think that her next step is to honestly see the woman she’s become. Letting us all look at her at the same time is a good first step.
Then again, we weren’t all there. She still keeps that sexy boy far away. Someday I’ll have to tell her the story of the man I held far away—those are the most dangerous kind.
And of course Elsie is a matriarch. Her instincts led her to psychology years ago, and I don’t think that was entirely a miss. She was born to mother and to lead—hers isn’t the heart of a soloist, even though she’s been flying alone for a very long time. Now that she’s surrounded by people who love her, I believe we’ll see the stirring of her need to make a difference—properly directed this time.
But that is for the lovely Natalia to help her with, I think. My job is to help Elsie find her passions. All of them, including the less comfortable ones still eluding her.
She will be a force, our Elsie. I can hear it in the music that calls to her soul. It will be such fun watching her discover her truth.
Welcome home, Jennie dear,
Vero
~ ~ ~
Nat looked at the image on her computer screen and sighed. The graphic was beautiful—one of Caro’s paintings. The lettering said everything it needed to. And the flyer was still ugly. Spirit Yoga didn’t do ugly.
She looked up as the door to the studio opened. Her prodigal intern, looking happy and full of energy. Ah, perfect. “Good morning! How are you at visual design?”
Elsie blinked. “I’m not much of an artist—what are you working on?”
“A flyer for our new yoga workshop, but I can’t make it look right.” She peered at her screen again. “It’s not balanced or something.”
Elsie moved in behind her and considered. “Try moving the title to the bottom third. It’ll ground the text. Right now it looks like it’s floating, and that’s uncomfortable to the eye.”
You had to ground text? Nat grinned. Yoga for marketing materials. She carefully dragged the title down, aiming for the bottom third. “That looks a lot better. Any other ideas?” Then she looked up and realized Elsie’s hands were practically twitching. “You’re clearly a lot more skilled at this than I am—why don’t you see if you can make it look a little better? I’ll get us some tea.”
She took her time, enjoying the delicate smells of the steeping tea and the lovely lack of morning nausea. Second trimester rocked. When the tea was ready, Nat got down two pretty and delicate cups—an indulgence that made her husband chuckle. She figured teleporting witches could break just about anything, and teacups were replaceable.
On the way out, she grabbed a tin of muffins as well—the second trimester had apparently woken her hungry gene, too. She carried the tea back up to the front counter—and nearly dropped a cup when she saw the flyer coming off the printer. “Wow. You did that?”
Elsie smiled, looking rather proud of herself. “You had all the elements. I just moved them around a little.”
The flyer no longer focused on the center of Caro’s art, but teased your eye to the edges. It exuded invitation and a taste of mystery. It was absolutely perfect—a message on more than one level, reaching out to both heart and mind. Nat touched her pendant lightly. “Sometimes I have a student who is out of alignment. Often it’s just a light touch in the right place that’s needed, and everything falls into balance.” She smiled at Elsie. “Knowing the right place to touch is an art. You touched this flyer in exactly the right way.”
“I just used some of the basic rules of visual design.” Elsie picked up her tea, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I used to do a lot of things like this for my practice. It’s something I enjoy.”
Nat picked up the flyer. “Did you actually read this, or just make it beautiful?”
“Mostly the second.” Elsie blushed and reached for the paper. “Reading the words is distracting when you’re focusing on the visuals. You’re offering a workshop?”
“No.” Nat reached out a hand. “We are. Sometimes journeys are more fun with company.”
Her intern looked confused, but curious. “You don’t need to make more work for yourself to try to keep me busy. I didn’t come back for that.”
“I know.” And it was lovely to see that shift. “But busy in the right ways can be a beautiful thing. Summer is a wonderful time to explore the fullness of who we are. I want to hold a workshop where we use yoga to encourage people to take a look inside and discover something new about themselves. I was hoping you might help me with the workshop design and supporting the people who come to class.”
Elsie looked a little panicked. “I can barely fix my own yoga poses. I’m not ready to be fixing anyone else’s.”
She wasn’t as far away as she thought, but Nat left that alone. “You’re a trained psychologist. Supporting people through change is what you do.”
“You want me to do psychology? Here?” Elsie looked like she’d been asked to dance naked in the streets. And then she just looked sad. “I don’t think I’m a therapist anymore. I don’t think it’s what I’m meant to do.”
Nat wasn’t at all convinced of that, but she knew how to be patient. Some truths were best discovered slowly. “I wasn’t thinking of anything too complicated. Help me come up with some short group exercises we can do during the classes. Ways to be mindful, to focus on a question or an idea that might help participants explore themselves in a new way. Use your own journey as a guide.”
Total silence. Nat waited patiently, trusting the rightness of the idea. It had come to her in the night, fully formed. She knew better than to ignore that kind of gift.
Elsie’s smile, when it came, was worth waiting for. “I can do that.”
“Good.” Nat leaned over for her bag, pulling out a notebook. “Let’s brainstorm. We start in two days.” She hid a grin as Elsie’s tea nearly came out her nose. She really hadn’t read the flyer.
~ ~ ~
She knew he was there. Lizard waved distractedly at a friend down the hallway and headed out of the building, wondering what the hell Josh was doing skulking outside her computers class. She was pretty sure he was one of those geek types who had graduated without even blinking hard.
And if he was going to skulk, he could at least do it without attracting so much attention.
Okay, maybe she was a little grumpy. Sitting through a lecture on the impact of online social networks while half the class was on their phones texting would have been funny, if she hadn’t heard echoes of half of their conversations in her head. Her mind barriers were totally leaky today, and she had no idea why. And the professor had no idea how many of his students wanted to get naked with somebody on the other end of their phone.
Which wasn’t helping her grumpy quotient at all, given that the closest-to-naked guy in her life was a week old and liked to nap all day.
Josh wasn’t an option—for naked or anything else. Especially if he was going to skulk.
She walked out the main doors and found her stalker sitting on the end of a bench, nose in a computer. He looked up as she got closer—there were benefits to walking like an elephant. “Hey. Glad I caught you. Want to grab a burger?”
“No.” Her stomach growled loud enough to cast its own vote. “I’ll get something on the way to the office—I have to work on some client maps.” She didn’t add that her fingers itched to borrow the prototype tool his team had worked up. Knowing it could be done faster made doing things the old-fashioned way really annoying.