“No, my dear.” Brown eyes drilled into hers. “You are a delightful, sane, strong, funny human being. The battle isn’t over, by any means—but you’re a seasoned warrior, Hannah Kendrick. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Not even those of us who think we’re trying to help you.”
Such bright, powerful words. Hannah wanted so very badly to believe them. “How can you know that?”
Retha smiled. “I saw one of your pillows.”
It sounded like a complete non sequitur. “I have a lot of them.”
“I thought you might.” Retha got up from her stool. “Someday, I’d very much like to see them.”
That wasn’t a problem, but Hannah was entirely mystified as to why.
A hand reached out briefly to touch her cheek. “To better understand the battles you’ve already won.”
-o0o-
Nell knew mutiny when she saw it. And judging from the faces of her three girls, it had just arrived. Lauren sat at the inn’s dining room table, eating Aaron’s strawberry shortcake and talking home renovations with Cassidy, but her mind had tuned in sharply too.
Uh, oh.
Mia took the lead. “We want to go home.”
That was a new one—all her kids loved the beaches, berries, and wild lawlessness of life on Moira’s turf. “Okay. Can you tell me why?”
“Everybody’s scared of Hannah,” said Ginia flatly. “We’re not. And without us around, she doesn’t get to have any fun.”
Nell raised an eyebrow and tiptoed into the muck. “I’m fun. And Uncle Jamie’s hilarious—you guys say so all the time.”
“He has a scratchy head and he’s grumpy cuz he misses Nat and Kenna.”
It was the first part that had them all concerned. “We don’t know a whole lot about Hannah’s magic yet. And we know that being around her bothers Uncle Jamie and Gramma, so we’re trying to be really careful.”
“Ginia’s been around her and her head doesn’t scratch.” Shay spoke up, quiet and dangerous. “And Uncle Jamie says his head only gets scratchy when he’s trying to monitor her or use that brain-clamp thing.”
Nell frowned and tried to follow ten-year-old data analysis. “You think it only bothers people with precog or mind magic?”
Shay shook her head. “They have to have both. And maybe they have to be using their mind magic—we’re not so sure about that one. Dad says we need a bigger sample size.”
Uh, oh.
You just got played. Lauren’s mental voice was highly amused.
Ya think? Nell ignored Lauren’s silent laughter and eyed her triplets. “Already ran this past him, did you?”
Three heads nodded vigorously. Mia spoke next, back on point. “Kevin says he didn’t see anything in the books that would cause problems for our hypothesis. So we have a plan.”
Of course they did. Nell sighed—after thirteen years, she was beginning to get the hang of this parent gig. Time to get all the cards on the table before she agreed to anything. “And what would that be, exactly?”
Ginia grinned. “We want to have a water fight.”
Aww, dang. No wonder Daniel had caved. Nell’s heart exploded with love for her imps, even as the logistics started ticking themselves off. The “why” was obvious—more than one person had been welcomed into the arms of Witch Central by just that brand of innocent summer fun.
The “how”—that was a lot more tricky.
“She lived in a yucky place for a really long time.” Shay again, with her reserved, implacable logic. “And if she has to go back, we want her to have the best memory ever.”
They hadn’t kept the kids out of it at all. Nell absorbed that fact as she took in the three faces who had gazed on the outcome everyone who touched Hannah feared most—and decided to respond with an act of outrageous fun.
She sent a tight mind message to their aunt, who had given up all pretense of looking at paint chips. Think we can figure out the logistics?
Yeah. Lauren’s mental voice was more than a little sniffly. We’ll come up with something. We always do.
Nell squeezed her three girls in tight. “Okay. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 17
It was time. A weaver who couldn’t control her warp and weft was no kind of weaver at all.
Hannah sat down at her kitchen table and waited for the three women who had become her informal teaching team to assemble. She had coffee sitting for Lauren, a nice spiced tea for Caro, and something called a refresco for Retha—the Costa Rican version of a mango smoothie on ice.
A minor act of hospitality that had taken all morning to create.
Hannah smiled. It had been worth it—and her giggly girl helpers would hopefully be very pleased with the trio of little bags that would go on her lap loom just as soon as this morning was finished. One pink, one purple, one red. With beads. And maybe spangles.
The girls had arrived the night before, introduced themselves, and poured sunshine six feet deep. Hannah had no idea why Witch Central was suddenly teeming with life, but it was wonderful.
Retha sat down at the table first. “Oh, my. Where did you find mango?”
Ginia hadn’t been forthcoming on her sources.
Caro eyed the glass of orange and then her own tea. “And this looks like one of Moira’s special blends.”
That much, Hannah did know. The kindly Irish grandmother had been more than happy to send some of her tea through the Internet delivery service. And had offered some wise words of advice along with the spicy leaves.
Words that Hannah was doing her best to follow.
Lauren sniffed and grinned. “Did you raid my coffee stash or Jamie’s?”
“Sorry.” It suddenly seemed like a less-worthy offering than the others. “I have more of the mango smoothie if you’d like it instead.”
“Not a chance.” The coffee mug got snagged in very appreciative fashion. Lauren eyed the other drinks on the table. “What are you drinking?”
Oh, good grief. Hannah rolled her eyes and got up from the table. She didn’t drink orange stuff. “Water. With ice.”
It pleased her greatly when all three women grinned at her wry delivery. And mostly assuaged the embarrassment of managing to forget to take care of her own basic needs.
Retha smiled. “When Nell was a baby, I left the house for a walk one day. She was all bundled up in layers and a hand-knit sweater, and I had enough supplies to deal with a hundred diaper explosions. I made it halfway down the block before a neighbor kindly inquired if I’d forgotten anything.”
Stories. Witches told so many stories. Hannah sat down with an empty glass, curiosity piqued. “What didn’t you have?”
“Pants.”
It took a moment for the dry humor to land. And when it did, Hannah nearly fell off her chair giggling. Pants.
The mother of seven chuckled and took a swig of her refresco.
Hannah tried to pull herself back together. Maybe giggles were contagious—she sounded just like a ten-year-old girl.
“Nothing wrong with being a girl every now and then.” Caro smiled and pulled the ever-present knitting out of her bag. “And sometimes laughter makes the hard things easier.” Her mindsend was more pithy. You have something to tell us, girl. Go on—out with it.
She did. More than one. First, the easy part. She looked over at the Sullivan clan matriarch. “I know there’s a wedding coming up.”
“Yes.” Retha sipped her smoothie, face entirely neutral. “In two days.”
So she’d heard. The girls had been full of stories. “And who drew the short straw of babysitting the new witch?”
Ire hit the older woman’s face. “You’re not a short straw. Every single person capable of the job has volunteered.”
“Hmmph.” Caro glared over her knitting. “And some of you are being darn pigheaded about it.”
In the enclosed, regimented world of a mental institution, there were few skills better developed than sheer stubbornness. Hannah leaned hard on hers and trusted that the mi
nds in the room would read her seriousness. “I’ll stay alone. Right here. I’ll be just fine.”
Respect flared in Lauren’s eyes—and the realtor smiled a little and said nothing.
One down, two to go. Hannah looked at Caro next. “I’ll raid your store and hang out with my looms. Start on some of those pillows you wanted.”
A pair of stern eyebrows rose over dark-brown lasers. “You think I can be bribed?”
“No.” Hannah smiled and tried very hard to keep her thoughts simple. “I think you know the joys of a day alone with yarn and lots of time.”
Caro returned her gaze for a long moment. “I suspect you’d know all about that.”
Damn. So much for keeping the memories of lonely days at Chrysalis House to herself.
Retha’s mental touch was gentle. Never try to fool a mind witch, sweetheart.
Hannah abandoned her careful arguments and simply closed her eyes and asked them to look. She needed to be able to give them this. To be able to choose, even for just a few hours, not to be a burden and a drain. She wasn’t capable of attending a wedding—but she could darn well make it so they all could.
Three minds studied. Listened. And eventually, three heads nodded in assent.
“Thank you. I’ll take every precaution.” Hannah looked at the no-nonsense woman with the heart of fluffy gold. “I’m really sorry about what happened in your shop.”
Caro snorted. “What, you think you’re the first baby witch to test her limits?”
Maybe not, but most probably didn’t fail quite so spectacularly. “I wanted to help Marion, but I didn’t think. You paid for that—you all did—and I’m sorry.”
“Your heart’s in the right place. And we’ve all had a headache or two before.”
Retha set down her glass, every drop of mango smoothie gone, and eyed Hannah, eyes sharp. “You learned something about your magic when you did that. Mistakes and failure are two very different things.”
Thoughts like that had kept her awake deep into the night. “I wasn’t able to control what I called.”
“No.” Lauren cupped her mug, thoughtful. “But you were able to call it, even with Caro’s block in place.”
“Yup.” Knitting needles clacked contentedly. “I’m not all that easy to push around. The girl’s stronger than she looks.”
It hadn’t felt that way inside Hannah’s head, but she was darn well going to believe it. Because what could go one direction… “If I can pull it to me, I should be able to push it away.”
She held up a hand as Retha leaned forward in protest. “I know, I’ve been trying that for years. I can’t do it on my own, and I know that, too. I’d be back in Chrysalis House if it weren’t for all of you being my babysitters.”
Caro raised an eyebrow. “I’d be sitting in my shop anyhow. If you’re feeling overly guilty, you can always bring more rolls. Or a few more pillows.”
Eventually the shop would be full of pillows—and the need would still remain. “Maybe I can’t hold off the magic on my own, but I could help.”
“It’s an interesting idea. And one we’ve been kicking around a little.” Lauren spoke carefully. “Do you have some thoughts on how to do that?”
Not yet. But they weren’t going to trip across the answer sitting at the table drinking orange stuff. Hannah looked over at Retha. “I’m going to try what you suggested. I want to try to weave it.”
-o0o-
Try it damn carefully.
Lauren winced as Retha’s mindvoice echoed exactly what she was thinking. It’s good that she wants to flex her muscles.
Of course it is. But flies who stand in the way of freight trains still get squished. Even brave ones.
That was a cheery thought. Even if she takes a little of the load off, it will make life easier. They were blasting through the cookie stashes of Witch Central at a mind-boggling rate. And maybe her muscles will get stronger.
Retha said nothing, but Lauren could hear the silent concern.
They were four strong, they were ready, and Hannah had something new shining in her eyes. They were damn well going to give this a try. Lauren stood up from the table. Time to empower a witch. “Let’s sit on the floor and grab some pillows.” No point banging their heads up any more than necessary.
Caro smiled. “I brought the one Hannah just finished. Left it by the front door. Don’t mess it up too much—Helga wants it for her couch when we’re done with it.”
Lauren went to fetch the pillow, a curious Retha trailing behind. And gaped at the glorious, wild colors of the work of art sitting casually by the front door.
“Holy hell,” Retha breathed. “Think I can beat Helga in an arm wrestle?”
It looked like molten water. Lauren picked up the pillow and tried not to drool. “I don’t think it’s Helga you have to worry about.” Devin would meld with the flowing tapestry if he ever laid eyes on it.
Retha reached out to touch, almost reverent. And then marched into the living room where Hannah sat on the floor, waiting. “How much will you charge me to make two nice big pillows? In greens and golds, if you can manage it. Téo’s birthday is next month.”
Lauren tried not to envy the funny, generous Costa Rican doctor who was Matt Sullivan’s partner.
Her mother-in-law grinned. Don’t worry, I know when your birthday is too, dear.
Hannah looked back and forth between them, eyes wide. “I’d be happy to make you pillows. You don’t need to pay for them.”
Caro snorted from her spot on the couch. “Good thing you don’t own the shop. Helga offered me two hundred dollars for that pillow.”
Retha’s mind flashed amusement. “That seems more than fair.”
“For a pillow?” Hannah’s eyes were nearly falling out of her head.
Lauren stroked the textures under her fingers and contemplated pillow kidnapping. “Do you have more stashed away somewhere?”
A diffident Hannah shrugged. “I brought a box of things from Chrysalis House. They were just made on my lap loom, though. That’s a lot smaller than the one in the shop.”
“Excellent.” Retha sat down gracefully on the floor. “I call dibs on anything green. Or red.”
“Not so fast,” said Caro, still knitting. “I have pointy needles and I know how to use them. Hands off the red.”
“I’ll go get my box.” A stray giggle escaped as Hannah fled up the stairs.
Lauren grinned. “You guys are incorrigible.”
“Right.” Her mother-in-law had very expressive eyebrows. “Says the woman who hasn’t put that darn pillow down for a second.”
She wasn’t Berkeley’s best realtor for her pretty face. “I know where my husband got his sneaky genes.”
This time Retha laughed out loud. “That is entirely their father’s fault.”
Possibly. But with a work of art as stunning as the one in her arms, Lauren wasn’t taking any chances. “If I face-plant during the magic lesson, it will protect me.”
Any smart retort got cut off by Hannah’s footsteps on the stairs. Three eager women eyed the cardboard box in her arms.
“Come sit here by me.” Caro patted the couch. “Show us your treasures.”
Pillow under her chin, Lauren watched their new witch make her careful way across the room. And contemplated. There was more than magic on the agenda today.
And more than one way to empower a witch.
-o0o-
It felt ridiculously good.
For twelve years, the few faces in her small world had looked at Hannah Kendrick mostly with pity. Not with the anticipatory, curious, almost-avarice that awaited her in the cozy living room of Caro’s townhouse.
And something inside her soul was reveling in it.
She set down the box and straightened her shoulders. Her weaving had always made her happy. Today, she was going to let it make her proud. “These are mostly some wall hangings. And a few bags.” Small looms made small items, especially when the weaver wasn’t all that fond of sewing
.
She reached for the folded square on the top of the box. “This is one I finished last Christmas.” If you squinted just right, the shimmering pattern looked like the lights on Chrysalis House’s huge tree.
Caro reached out a hand, her fingers touching the glinting threads. “You know rebirth. And joy.”
Hannah breathed in. Even Dr. Max didn’t understand her weavings that well.
“Takes an artist to know one,” said Retha quietly.
The walls were full of the stolid Caro’s work. Canvases full of light and energy and fire—so seemingly different from the woman who made them. Hannah smiled. “I bet you surprise a lot of people.”
“Hmmmph.” The sound was noncommittal, but the witch making it looked very pleased. “All kinds of people tromping around this town look like artists. Art’s something in your heart, not a pair of scruffy black boots.”
Hannah grinned and looked down at her footwear. She liked her scruffy black boots. A thrift-store present from Helga, resident Knit A Spell fashionista.
This time, the sound from the woman on the couch came awfully close to laughter. “Getting an attitude already, are you? Go on. Show us what else you have tucked away in there.”
The second piece that came out was one of her oldest. A patchwork bag made from some of her earliest weaving attempts and covered in earnest, slightly lopsided silk embroidery. Not one of her most skilled creations by a long shot—but she loved it dearly.
It was Lauren who leaned forward this time, eyes shining. “Please tell me you have five of these stashed in there.” She looked up and made eye contact for a moment. “Not this one—it’s clearly yours. But you have more?”
One more. Hannah dug in the box, looking for the last thing she’d made at Chrysalis House. “It’s not quite done yet—I have some of the embroidery still to finish.”
Lauren’s fingers traced the copper silk that stitched together crazed squares of rich, earthy wovens. Reds and golds—memories of a planet flamboyant. “I used to live in Chicago. This is like the shores of Lake Michigan in the fall, before the gray comes. I’ll offer you my firstborn—or I can probably steal Jamie’s, if you want her.”
“I’ll finish it by the weekend.” Hannah felt her cheeks glowing. “I have some bright red silk to add a little whimsy.”
A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) Page 17