A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7)

by Geary, Debora

  Witches never stopped eating. Hannah wished inanely for some kind of culinary skill to offer up. Twelve years having your meals prepared for you was piss-poor preparation for the real world. She sniffed as the basket got closer. “Those smell amazing.” An hour ago, she’d have sworn she didn’t need to eat again for a week.

  “Sourdough rolls—it’s a simple recipe.” Her guardian busied herself with knives, a sunny yellow pat of butter, and bright green jelly. “I’d be happy to show you how to make them. My grandmother always had a batch slow rising overnight. Almost a hundred years now that our family’s been making sourdough from that same starter.”

  Hannah touched the loom. “The same grandmother?”

  “Only knew one.” Caro handed over a buttered-and-jellied roll. “She was a fixture of New Mexico for ninety-three years, and I miss her every day.”

  The roll was heaven—and the sense of history that came with it even more awesome. Roots in the past. Hannah sat, fingers on the loom, butter and something slightly spicy mingling in her mouth, and let herself simply enjoy.

  Caro sipped her coffee in companionable silence and then reached into a bag. “Hold that nice, steady feeling. Got some pictures for you.”

  Hannah took another butter-drenched roll. For fortitude.

  “That’s the spirit.” Caro chuckled and held out the first photograph. “This is Helga. She’s a troublemaker.”

  The tiny, bird-like granny looked like anything but—until you saw her eyes.

  “Elsie’s the newest member of our group, but she’s making up for lost time. Knit herself practically halfway to China already. She and Helga are fast friends.”

  The young woman in stylish jeans and a retro blouse that Hannah instantly coveted wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “How did they meet?”

  Caro grinned. “That’s a story well worth hearing. I’ll let them tell it—you’ll have a lot more fun that way. Elsie’s out of town right now, but she’ll be back next week.”

  It was a strange sensation to be curious, but she was. Drugged by buttery sourdough and friendly faces.

  “And this is Jodi.” A mom with bright eyes, an easygoing smile, and a toddler hanging half upside down off her lap looked out of the photo. “And her munchkin Sam, who keeps us very busy when he comes to visit these days.”

  Hannah could only imagine the chaos a mobile baby would cause in a yarn shop. Caro’s voice held nothing but warm affection, though. “He’s adorable.”

  “A total imp. Marion’s threatening to knit him a playpen.”

  The photo of the woman who must be Marion was serious—almost dour. Until you saw the day-glow-pink knitting in her lap.

  Hannah smiled at the pink. “She looks interesting.”

  “You see well.” Caro shuffled up the snapshots. “Marion’s good British stock, and she’s had a life that has kept her serious.”

  “Who’s the pink for, then?” Hannah imagined a spritely granddaughter or child who lived next door.

  “It’s her spring scarf. She’s got a whole collection of them. Hats and mittens too, and she wears them from Labor Day to Memorial Day.”

  In California, that would qualify as fairly quirky. Hannah sensed a kindred spirit. “I have some lime-green silk I dyed—maybe she’d like it.”

  Caro snorted. “For that, she’d probably adopt you and feed you three times a day. Not that I’d recommend it—her cooking takes after her stockings, not her scarves.”

  Hannah had missed the stockings. She stared at the stacked photographs, trying to remember.

  “Serviceable, bland, and entirely lacking in imagination.” Caro dropped several skeins of blue yarn in Hannah’s hands. “Here, you can help me get out some of the new inventory before they arrive. Helga will snoop otherwise.”

  Caro was a quiet, steady tornado. Hannah stood up, bemused. “Where do they go?”

  “Up to you. Find some place they look nice.”

  It seemed like an odd system for inventory, but the shop was warm and inviting, so something was clearly working. Hannah wandered the shelves and displays, looking. Not with the blues—too dark. And not by the rainbow brights, either. The blue was very pretty, and it would get overshadowed.

  Hannah smiled when she spied the little copper plant stand with the climbing vines. Carefully she tucked the pretty blues in with the soft greens and shiny metal.

  “You think like a weaver.” Caro nodded over her shoulder in approval. “Helga and Marion are just down the block, if you want to go sit at your loom.”

  Blue yarn forgotten, Hannah bolted for the back corner.

  “No need to fret.” Caro kept tucking balls into a cubby. “I told them you’ll need some time to warm up to us. They expect you to be tucked away, working on your weaving.”

  Hannah tried to push back the terror. “Can you hold the clamp around that many people?”

  “Yes.” More steadiness. “Today, take a few steps out into the world. Let us worry about your magic for now. You just have a little fun.”

  Fun was so far away from anything she could imagine. Hannah sat on a stool, very grateful the loom was huge.

  It shamed her that hiding was her overwhelming need.

  “Opened this shop nigh on twenty-five years ago now.” Caro had started fiddling with a basket full of shiny silk. “I think I spent the first six months shaking every time a customer walked in the door.”

  Everyone was so damned understanding, and it made Hannah want to scream. “It’s okay to tell me I’m being a wimp.”

  “Of course it is.” Dark eyes looked up and drilled into hers. “And when the day comes that you’re being one, you can be sure I’ll tell you.”

  The tone was almost scolding—and it settled Hannah’s nerves faster than hours of kindness would have. “Thank you.”

  “Heh.” Caro turned for the door. “My grandmother would have liked you.”

  The compliment settled around Hannah’s shoulders like a warm woolen cape.

  She could do this.

  -o0o-

  It wasn’t every morning you woke up with a ton of bricks landing on your belly.

  Jamie squeezed one eye open and squinted at the bright light. What the heck time was it?

  The ton of bricks on his belly giggled. “Way past time for you to be in bed, silly. I had waffles for lunch and everything already.”

  Lunch? Jamie tried to jolt his entirely groggy brain into action. He’d gotten up at the crack of dawn after an abysmal night’s sleep, ported witches around, and eaten four kick-ass sourdough rolls. And then apparently toppled back into bed and slept like a rock.

  He needed to bribe Caro for more of her rolls.

  Aervyn slid off his belly and lay down on the next-door pillow. “So living all by yourself is kinda boring, huh?”

  There was nothing remotely boring about napping until 10:23 a.m. “Yup. I snore and eat and then snore some more.” Jamie trapped his nephew in an elbow lock. “You better be careful—I’m really stinky.”

  Aervyn sniffed, giggling. “You are not. Morgan’s feet are stinky, though. I think she let the kitty lick them.”

  Gross. That was a new one—maybe because they didn’t have a cat. Yet. Nat had cast fond looks at the cute gray fluffball Devin had dragged home.

  Damn, he missed his family.

  “How come you hafta stay here?” Aervyn set his chin on Jamie’s chest, curious and a little sad. “We’re having lots of fun and stuff. You should come. Aaron’s making lobster stew for dinner.”

  That was complicated—and his brain wasn’t well caffeinated yet. “We have a witch to help, and some of us need to spend time here to do that.” He ruffled his nephew’s curls. “How about I come visit for dinner, huh?” Lobster stew and a good dose of immaturity sounded like the perfect antidote to crappy sleep.

  “Okay, deal.” Aervyn sat up in the bed, his pensive mood gone. “Want me to port you one of Aaron’s waffles? They’re really yummy, and he made enough to feed a giant, invading arm
y.”

  Jamie tried not to laugh. Witch Central was a giant, invading army. “I think I’ll live. Caro let me steal some rolls this morning.”

  Aervyn’s mind practically drooled.

  “There are two left in the kitchen.” Maybe. He was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten them all. Jamie dumped his nephew off the bed. “Go see if you can find them.”

  He stood up just in time. Nell landed in the middle of the bed her son had just vacated, scowling.

  Uh, oh. Kid gone AWOL. Jamie nodded in the direction of the running feet. “He’s here.”

  “Figured.” She got down off his rumpled bed. “He forgot the little part about letting me know he was leaving.” She reached into her back pocket for her phone. “I’ll let Marcus know he can call off the ocean search party.”

  Oops.

  His sister looked up, eyes a little too casual. “How are you doing?”

  There wasn’t much point in lying. “Surviving. I’d way rather be in Nova Scotia.”

  “Yeah.” Pithy sister empathy. “Mom said it was pretty intense.”

  That was a weak word for having your intestines hooked and pulled out through your belly button. “Hannah saw Kenna. In trouble.”

  “I heard.” Nell grinned. “Must be genetic.”

  There was no one better for beating back fear. “Yeah.”

  “I don’t like that you saw it.” Her voice was low and firm and laced with menace. “But know this. If your girlchild ever truly screams in terror, half of witchdom will trample each other coming to her rescue.”

  With a whole lot of Sullivans leading the charge. Jamie let that soak deep into his bones. He wasn’t some poor witch who’d spent the last decade in a house for crazy people. “Yeah.” This time, he believed it.

  “Still sucks, though.” Nell walked to the door, listening for her errant witchling. “You gonna do it again?”

  That had been the topic of a long mother-son conversation. “We have to. She’s a long way from being able to control things on her own.”

  Magic required practice—it was a truth they both lived and breathed every day.

  “Call if you need help,” said Nell quietly. “We’ll send reinforcements.”

  That much he knew. But reminders were always good, and preferably, the long, rowdy kind. “I’m coming for dinner.”

  She grinned. “Smelled the lobster, did you?”

  More or less. “It can’t be all magic all the time. Hannah needs to hang out with the regular kind of crazy people for a while, and I have to go torture a man in his last days of glorious bachelorhood.” They could sit around unshowered and belch together, or something.

  “’Kay.” Nell disappeared down the hall, and then stuck her head back through the door. “Let me go scowl at my kiddo for a minute, and then we can all leave together.”

  That sounded amazingly good. Time to go hug his girl.

  Precog could damn well wait.

  -o0o-

  She’d hit a straightforward stretch of weaving, one where the color went back and forth in easy, simple lines. This loom would do tricks that her lap loom could only dream of, but for today, she just wanted big expanses of color. A bird, testing its wings.

  And it was giving her the added, fascinating experience of eavesdropping. On real, living, breathing conversations.

  At Chrysalis House, eavesdropping had been fraught with sadness. Families trying to talk to a mind that was living somewhere else. Patients occupied with the host of characters, real and imagined, who inhabited their heads. Staff murmuring about Things of Concern.

  The easy chatter in Knit A Spell was another kind of world entirely.

  You’re used to living inside your head, girl. The mindvoice was gruff—and kind. Nobody here bites. You might let Hannah come out to play.

  It was still hard to believe that voices in her head were a good thing. That will make your job a lot more difficult. Caro’s brain clamp was tighter than anyone but Lauren’s, but the idea of pushing on it still made Hannah want to vomit.

  Caro snorted. It’ll be a fair shade easier than keeping the lot of them from coming to look over your shoulder.

  Hannah blinked. So far, they’d sent a few cheery hellos her direction and then let her be.

  I’ve magic enough. Said in mind tones that brooked no argument. And if Helga has to sit still and ignore you for much longer, she’s probably going to burst a blood vessel.

  Hannah peered around the edge of the loom, looking for the small, bird-like woman. And nearly got steamrolled by her arrival.

  Helga grinned, a friendly hand on Hannah’s shoulder and eyes carefully on the weaving. “So, you’re Caro’s new resident artist, are you?”

  That sounded like an awfully fancy title for someone cowering in a corner. “I just like something to keep my hands busy.”

  “Don’t we all, my dear.” A small being reached up for the edge of the loom and Helga swooped, kissing a round baby cheek. “Oh, no you don’t, monkeypants.” She looked over in companionable amusement. “Watch out for this one—he’s a wrecking ball with a cute face.”

  Hannah shuddered at the eye contact, but nothing shimmered.

  “He’s not the only one who’s trouble,” said a new voice wryly. The woman who came up on Helga’s left sounded dour, but she squeezed Sam’s toes as she spoke. “I suppose someone should come over here and supervise the two of you.”

  “Right. Says the woman who accidentally fed him some of her bologna sandwich yesterday.” A third head popped around the other side of the loom. “Hi, I’m Jodi, Sam’s mom. The other two delinquents over there are not my fault.”

  Hannah hid a giggle. It was like the Three Stooges. With knitting needles and a really cute baby. And Caro’s brain clamp was holding like iron.

  “A weaver, huh?” Helga had pulled over a stool and passed little Sam off to Marion. “Is that hard, or could someone old and dull manage to learn it?”

  Hannah grinned at the irrepressible energy bouncing on the stool beside her. “You don’t seem dull.” Or old, really.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean me.” Helga winked. “I thought Marion might like to learn.”

  This time, the giggle escaped. Hannah looked up and saw Caro watching from a few feet away. “Are they always like this?”

  “Nope.” Jodi pulled up a stool beside Helga. “We’re totally on our good behavior right now. Don’t worry, it doesn’t last very long.”

  “Truth.” Helga eyed Hannah narrowly. “Don’t suppose you have a criminal record, do you?”

  Every other kind. “I don’t think so.”

  “Drat. Consorting with a criminal is one of the few things left on my bucket list. I’ll just have to corrupt Sammy here instead.”

  “Don’t you dare,” said Jodi, laughing.

  “Just a teeny little crime? Loitering? Vagrancy?” Helga’s puppy-dog eyes were back on Hannah. “Anything to make you not entirely boring?”

  They were entirely adorable. Something in Hannah deeply yearned to join the fun. “How about a decade in the nuthouse?”

  “Ooooh.” Helga’s eyes gleamed. “That one’s not even on my list.”

  “You’ll fit right in around here then,” said Marion, twinkling eyes belying the tone.

  Helga leaned over and kissed Sammy’s nose. “I’ll be right back, troublesome boy. I think it’s my turn to sacrifice my knitting.” She grinned over at Hannah. “He likes to pull needles out of socks. One of us always has a project on the go for him to tangle.”

  They’d made room for a recently crazy witch just as easily as they did for a small boy.

  Hannah wrapped her arms around her ribs, surprised to find them still in their regular place. It was very clear. In about ten minutes, she was going to have more friends than she’d had in ten years.

  The snort in her head felt almost comfortable. If you think it’s going to take ten minutes, you’re not nearly as smart as I think.

  Hannah grinned. And leaned into the melee, heart in total, hap
py overload.

  Chapter 13

  Lauren felt the last fog of sleep fading, chased by the wafting scent of coffee mingling with the much closer scent of salty brine.

  She peeled one eye open. Devin stood at the side of the bed, dripping wet, a piece of seaweed hanging over his left ear. She raised an eyebrow. “You went swimming?” Nova Scotia had excellent lobster stew, but the water here was freaking cold.

  “Yeah.” He sat down on the bed, totally unconcerned about the water. “Had some steam to burn off.”

  Both eyes were open now. There was more than one way to enjoy her husband’s never-ending energy.

  He laughed, swooping in for a kiss. “That wasn’t in Moira’s instructions. I’m supposed to feed you a sturdy breakfast and get you out in the sun for a while.”

  That sounded suspiciously like caretaking. “I’m feeling really good.” Dinner and a rowdy night of witches and music and dancing under the stars had made for a very effective sleep potion.

  “I can tell.” He lay down beside her this time, settling her head on his warm, salty shoulder. “We’re just trying to keep you that way.”

  They’d seen the schedule. One lesson with Hannah, 3 p.m.

  Lauren wound herself around her husband’s still-damp frame. It wasn’t nearly 3 p.m. Yet. “I can go ask Moira for some updated instructions.” There was more than one way to make a load feel lighter—and the spritely matriarch of Fisher’s Cove was likely to vote in favor of all of them.

  Devin snorted and rolled them over on the bed.

  Lauren grinned, even as salt water dripped off his curls.

  Coffee was just going to have to wait.

  -o0o-

  Day two of feeling like the most ordinary person in the room. Hannah loaded her shuttle with a new color and grinned. So far this morning, Helga had told trapeze-flying stories, some of them possibly true, Marion had spluttered indignantly at Jodi’s new, slightly lewd, and very funny knock-knock jokes, and Sammy had attempted to stick his head through the loom warp and nearly succeeded.

  “That’s pretty.” Helga touched the raspberry yarn winding onto the shuttle. “Don’t mind our monkey—he’s just interested in your new toy.”