“And there.”
Yes. And pink-and-glittery celebration mattered, no matter how much they poked gentle fun at Marcus and pretended otherwise. “I could wait a couple of days. The wedding isn’t until Saturday.”
“Go.” Retha closed the lid of the suitcase.
Nell blinked. Sullivans always had strong opinions, but that had sounded perilously close to an order.
“I’m sorry.” Her mother winced, followed rapidly by the mental apology to back up her words. “You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about this.”
Nell waited, the unease in her gut growing.
“I was sitting at home just two days ago, watching the monkeys play on the back porch.”
The monkeys had been joined by a small boy the last time he’d gone to Costa Rica. Getting him back had been no small feat. “Missed us, did you?”
“Always.” The smile was instant—and fleeting. “And then this feeling hit. A bit like nails on a chalkboard, but there was no sound.”
Just like Jamie. Their two witches with precog. “That’s eerie. A warning Hannah was coming, maybe?”
“Perhaps.” Retha sounded unconvinced.
Something was up. Nell sat down on the bed, inner warrior waking up. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“I don’t know.” Brown eyes met hers, full of worry. “But the chalkboard hasn’t stopped.”
Crap. Nell knew better than to doubt her mother’s spider senses. “That’s not good.”
“It isn’t.” Retha zipped the suitcase closed. “Go. Nat’s leaving with Kenna. Jamie can hop back and forth. I want Aervyn and Kenna clear of this, whatever it is.”
Nell felt her panic igniting. “You think they’re involved? Or will be?”
“No.” Retha gripped her arms, tight and real. “This isn’t precog, sweetheart. Only a nervous grandma talking. Those two have so much power—I just don’t want them close. Or Ginia, either, if we can manage that.”
Her healer daughter was already in Nova Scotia, reading dusty history books and honing her pirate sword-fighting skills. “Moira will keep her busy.”
“Good.” Eyes lost in thought, Retha stared out the window for a minute. “Has Aervyn said anything about his head hurting?”
“No.” And now that she was finally catching up, Nell’s unease was blooming into full-fledged fear. “You think he might have precog?”
“I don’t know what to think.” Retha’s eyes held some of her daughter’s steel. “But Hannah has precog far stronger than anything I’ve ever known. And the only two witches who share her magic have sudden, screeching chalkboards.”
Oh, hell. The final pieces slammed into place. Being around strong magics was a well-known trigger for emergence. And there were very few magics Aervyn didn’t have. Nell grabbed the suitcase. They were leaving. Now.
-o0o-
Moira set her bundle down inside the door of the inn. She had some fresh herbs for Aaron, but those could wait. There was an unhappy child sitting inside on a warm summer’s afternoon, and that was a far more pressing concern.
She found Ginia curled up in the parlor’s biggest armchair, a stack of books on the table to her right. The one in her lap was massive, old, and entirely depressing. Moira grimaced—any child who had picked that one up was on a very determined mission. “Hello, sweet girl.”
Ginia looked up, her smile not making it entirely into her eyes. “Hi. I’m doing some research to help Hannah.”
Trying to make herself useful. Moira sat down on the couch. “Would you like some company?” Young Kevin sitting by himself was never cause for concern, but Ginia had a heart that drew her to people. “Or Lizzie’s about to head down to the water, if you’d like to get your toes wet.”
The grin was real this time. “She’s gonna get a lot wetter than that.”
More than likely. “I remember playing on the beaches when I was her age. My mother used to wring out my skirts when I got home and ask me if my knees had suddenly grown toes.”
Lines like that were supposed to get a giggle or two, not half an unhappy smile. Moira leaned over and touched the dusty pages of the book in Ginia’s lap. “It’s making you sad, lovely girl. Perhaps you’ll tell an old witch why.”
Still-small fingers traced some unknown image on the page. “Why are there magics that are just awful?”
A big question, from a witchling who was never looking for easy answers. “All magic carries risk, child. It can all harm. None know that better than healers.”
“I know that.” Ginia studied her own hands. “But I can make somebody feel better. And Sophie fixed your brain so you could be here to love us some more and help us grow up right.”
Sometimes love hit the heart so fiercely that it was a wonder it kept beating. Moira touched her chest and felt her eyes growing wet. “You will grow up wonderfully, Ginia Walker. And I’m blessed every single day that I get to be here to see it.”
“So what about the people who love Hannah?” Their young healer’s eyes weren’t so dry anymore either. “They don’t get to see her all grown up and happy. Her magic doesn’t do any good. It’s just mean and awful and terrible.”
There were some things ten-year-old girls just shouldn’t have to contemplate. But when they did anyhow, they deserved the most honest answer you had. “I don’t know, sweetheart, I truly don’t. In our history, sometimes those with precog saved lives, or even whole countries.” More often they had died cruelly for being the messenger.
“It isn’t even always true. How can that be useful?” It was the deep rage of a child who had grown up in a generous and mostly just world. “Nobody should have magic like that. Or like Morgan or Evan or any of the other people who die just because they were born an awful kind of witch.”
No one would ever have cause to doubt the size of Ginia’s heart. Moira gathered her close, knowing that it wasn’t words that were needed now. She let her own tears leak down into the blonde curls, two hearts hurting together. For those with untenable magic now—and for a small boy they both loved who might one day walk that road.
Sometimes the price of magic was impossibly high.
-o0o-
Retha stepped out of her car, taking a moment to appreciate the salt-laden air and the sultry heat of the noonday sun.
A moment was all she had. Her grandchildren weren’t the only Sullivans who needed tending to this day.
A door creaked to her left and Devin stepped out of the woodshed.
She crossed over to his side and hugged his broad shoulders, ignoring the axe in his hand. The weight on his heart was a far more immediate concern. “How is she?”
“Tired. Shaky.” Her son let out a blustery sigh. “Lizard sent her home from the office about ten minutes after she arrived.”
“Good.” Lizard was one of Retha’s favorite people.
“I shouldn’t have let her go in.”
Ah, the tangled knots of marriage—the path of loving unconditionally wasn’t always a well-lit one. “I imagine you tried.”
Devin snorted. “Everything short of duct tape.”
Then he’d done exactly right. She slid an arm around his waist, guiding them both down the path to the gardens. And trusted her son’s excellent instincts. “How can I help?”
He stopped to pluck a dandelion growing in protected splendor down the side of the path. “See if she’ll talk to you.” When he looked up, his eyes were so very solemn. “We spent hours cuddling on the couch last night and I think she said about two words. Nat came by with breakfast and got about two more out of her.”
It was a lovely testament to a young marriage that not a whiff of self-doubt floated in Devin’s mind. He worried only about his wife. And something more angry than that. She opened a mind channel. Do you need cuddles before you’re going to talk to me?
His grin was lopsided, but real. “No. I’m okay.”
She only waited.
He blew out a breath and shrugged. “I’m not used to being the one on the
sidelines.”
That was a masterful understatement. “You’re discovering they’re not sidelines, my dear. Welcome to the land of those of us who love someone insanely brave.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “This is some kind of karmic payback, is it?”
Something like that. She smiled, still seeing the little boy with the ever-bright eyes and so adoring the man he’d become.
“I don’t know how to help her.” His forehead furrowed, angst arrived in a heartbeat. “I’m not like this after I do something crazy.”
Retha touched his face and wished a kiss and a Superman Band-Aid could make it all better. “When you were little, I would wait for you to crack afterwards, to get scared or to have a bad dream. You rarely did—you just moved on and found the next thing.”
“Lauren’s not like that.”
“No. She is brave differently than you.” She squeezed the arm under her hand. “It costs her more, I think. And she’ll need more time to work through the aftermath.”
His eyes held so much hurt. “Then why does she do it?”
He knew the answer. Gently, she held up a mirror so he could see it. “Because she embraces the responsibility that comes with her very unique talents, because she loves deeply, and because you, my son, are as contagious as all hell.”
He was with her until the last point. His eyes snapped up in surprise. “This is my fault?”
Close enough. “We shape those we love, and we share in who they become.”
Devin grumbled. “That’s not what all the self-help books say.”
Retha chuckled, delighted with the idea of her hurricane son reading one. “Clearly they’ve never loved a witch.”
Her son moved down the walkway, mind working now, adding dandelions to the small collection in his fist. She followed, content now to watch and listen.
When he hit the corner of the cottage and caught glimpse of the sea, he halted, breathing deeply of salt air and the watery magic that flowed in his veins. And when he turned back her direction, something in him had settled. “She saw something in Hannah’s visions. Something that’s hurting her.”
Precog had rendered Retha silent more than once—and it had never done so gently. “Yes. I imagine so.” She touched her son’s bundle of dandelions. He’d brought her exactly such a bouquet more than once. “Do you think it’s the baby she saw?”
“Some.” Devin’s eyes were hurting again too. “Apparently we Sullivans don’t wait until our kids are born to fall in love with them.”
Retha was well acquainted with that pain as well. She offered wordless love to her grown child.
“But she’d talk to me about that.” Dev shifted the dandelions to his other hand and wrapped his arm around his mother’s shoulders. “Maybe she’ll talk to you about the rest.”
Maybe. “It can be so very difficult to know things we aren’t really meant to know.”
“You believe that? That we aren’t meant to know the future?” He held her close, eyes gazing out at the water. “I know it helped you keep us out of trouble more than once.”
“And let me down several hundred other times.” Retha smiled, grateful it had. Many of the times that hadn’t gone as she expected were in her treasure chest of most precious memories.
“Well, for better or worse, Lauren knows something.”
“And she’ll be working out how to live with it.” Time to go find a witch. She reached out to touch his dandelions. “Keep being her rock. Words are never the things that matter most.”
-o0o-
She felt them before she heard them, the man who loved her and the woman who had easily, gracefully added so many to her family. Lauren shifted in her couch nest. If she stayed there much longer, she was going to meld with the pillows.
Retha walked through the sliding glass doors first, a smile on her face, dandelions in her hand, and amusement in her mind. Devin followed, his hands cupped around some kind of treasure. He looked up, distracted. “Do you know anything about this?”
Not likely—she hadn’t left the couch in hours. “What is it?”
He walked over to her side and held out his hands.
Lauren stared—and felt the earth rolling. Nausea, and swirling, tumbling fog. And then strong hands and her husband’s suddenly white face.
Dammit. It was a kitten, not a bomb. With the force of sheer will and whatever caffeine was left in her system, Lauren pulled herself together and held out her hands for the bundle of gray fur. It stretched out four tiny white feet during the transfer and then curled up and went back to warm, slothful sleep.
She grinned her husband’s direction, suddenly grounded back on planet Earth. “That’s exactly what you do on Saturday mornings.” Minus the claws. “Where did you find her?”
Her husband snorted, his finger sneaking out to stroke. Happy rumbles rose up under his touch. “Sleeping in my dandelions.”
“She’s no bigger than a sneeze,” said Retha, leaning in for a look. “I’m not sure Dev ever brought home one quite this tiny before.”
Ah, yes. Her husband, magnet for orphans and strays. Lauren ignored the still-queasy feel of her stomach and focused on the purring in her hands. “What do we feed her?”
“Milk from a dropper.” Dev flopped down beside her on the couch, phone in his hand. “Ginia’s probably got one for her potions.”
“It will be delivered by at least four children,” said Retha wryly. “‘Kitten’ isn’t a word you can undo.”
“Ah.” Blue eyes looked up, suddenly concerned. “You up for that?”
Lauren’s ribs squeezed. No—but not for the reasons he thought.
Retha reached out, her hand cool on Lauren’s arm. “Moira will have one. And she’ll ask a lot fewer questions.” She waited until her son started texting again, and then stroked the gray ball of fluff. “I assume you’ve seen this adorable creature before.”
The tears hit almost instantly—but this time, there was no fog. Just a morass of confusion and guilt and ache that had finally found a door.
Retha gathered her close, pillows, kittens, and all. And waited, her mind entirely patient, for the storm to pass.
To Lauren’s eternal astonishment, it did. The tears slowly ebbed, and along with them, the knot that had silenced her words. She looked at Dev. “I’m so sorry.” For all the words she hadn’t been able to find.
“Don’t be.” He pulled her feet into his lap and winked. “I’m dry. Fuzzball there might be less happy with you, though.”
Lauren looked down at the damp kitten and felt her giggles spurting. “Oh, no. Poor little fidget.” And still curled up happily, even after the deluge. Time to take some lessons from a bundle of fluff. “If Hannah’s visions are true, one day we will sit by a fire with a much bigger version of Fuzzball here in your lap.”
“Huh.” Dev leaned over the kitten again. “Keeping you, are we?”
Just one of the many tangles that had wrapped themselves around Lauren’s heart. “Are we?”
“Sure.” He looked perplexed now. Seeking. “She’s little and she needs a home. Why not?”
“No, I mean—” Lauren ground to a halt, beyond frustrated by the ethical quicksand under her feet, and feeling like a temperamental toddler. “I don’t want my world pre-determined by some vision.”
Her husband watched her for a while. “Jamie used to go kick a tree when he felt that way. Nearly broke his toe once.”
Lauren stared. And then felt her laughter sneaking out again. So much for her existential crisis.
His fingers had found her feet, starting to work the same magic as they had on the kitten. “Nothing needs to change just because some stupid vision decided to take a trip through your head.”
She wished with all her heart that was true. “It changed me.” And somehow, that changed everything.
He said nothing. Only listened.
And finally, surrounded by the man who loved her most and the woman who understood best, Lauren found her voice. “It
wasn’t earth-shattering. Nothing I saw was all that surprising.” Even one gray fluffball of a kitten.
Retha’s mind ached with sympathy. “But you lived it. In those moments, it was entirely real.”
It still felt real. She was grieving—deeply—for things barely glimpsed and sorrows not yet arrived. And here, with those who loved her very best, she could name what lay deepest under her grief. “I’m so scared to go back.”
You don’t need to go.
She heard Devin’s instant mental response—and loved him all the more for not saying it. Her eyes met his. And wished, deeply, for some of the bravery of the family she’d married into.
It wasn’t until his mother’s eyes darkened that she knew she’d thought too loudly.
Retha grabbed Lauren’s shoulders, one suddenly furious clan matriarch. “You think we don’t shake in the dead of night?” She tossed her head at Devin. “This one, maybe not so much—but the rest of us? You ask Daniel sometime how often he has picked Nell up from the floor weeping. Or how often I find my husband standing in his garden, knuckles white on his hoe.”
Her breath came to a shuddering halt, and then her arms wrapped around Lauren, tight and fierce and proud. I’m sorry, my dear—it’s not my temper you need. Just know this, always and forever. It’s okay to be scared.
Lauren held on tight.
Conviction shone from Retha’s mind. And you and Nat and Téo and Daniel might not have been born Sullivans, but you are the very best part of us.
Chapter 8
Hannah stepped into the gardens at Chrysalis House, feeling entirely unsettled.
Dr. Max had said this was her choice.
He could afford to think that way—when the day ended, he got to walk out the gates and leave. For twelve years, that simple freedom hadn’t been hers. If Lauren and Tabitha held the keys, she would try what they asked for as long as it took.
Even if the first battle was simply trying to stay in the same room.
Or in this case, on the same bench.
A simple idea, and a test. She would sit, and the two women would join her. Dr. Max said she wasn’t to look at them. Just listen. It sounded like some kind of weird spy encounter.
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