A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5)

by Geary, Debora

  Chapter 8

  Jamie opened the door, wincing at the sound effects behind his back. So much for getting noisy kiddos out of the house before Beth arrived. Sullivans were apparently slow learners.

  He looked at his newest trainee, determined to make a better impression this time. They weren’t off to a rocking start. “Sorry—my daughter doesn’t want to put clothes on, and it’s a bit cold for a naked trip to the park.”

  Her smile was tentative, but there. “It’s much warmer than Chicago at this time of year.”

  He remembered. “I don’t know how anyone lives there.”

  The smile grew wider. “We find ways to keep warm.”

  He blinked—the grapevine had said jokes weren’t her strong suit. And then he felt the dismay leaking from her mind.

  “I’m sorry.” She was looking at some space over his shoulder. “That’s always how Liri answers when tourists come into our shop during the winter. I guess I don’t have her way with words.”

  Damn, damn, damn. And to hell with the grapevine. Jamie went with his instincts and touched her arm gently. “It’s not you, okay? I’m feeling like an idiot because I stumbled into your coven like an elephant in a china shop. I wasn’t expecting you to be nice to me this morning, and I dropped the ball.”

  Surprise hit her eyes.

  He opened the door wider, pressing his advantage. “Come on in. And tell me more about Liri—she seems like an interesting woman.”

  She took a tentative step into the house and then stopped, attention totally caught by the action coming down the hall.

  Jamie turned to look. Kenna toddled at her top speed—which, fortunately, wasn’t very fast yet—stark naked except for a purple tutu. Aervyn was hot on her heels, holding out his red superhero cape in some ill-fated attempt to cover her up. And Nat was right behind the two of them, trying very hard not to laugh.

  He groaned—a nice, quiet get-to-know-you training session had obviously been way too much to hope for.

  Nat met his eyes in mute apology and reached down for their escapee daughter. She stopped in mid-stretch, shooting an intrigued look at Beth.

  Jamie couldn’t see their visitor’s face, but he could see his daughter’s. Kenna had paused a couple of feet from Beth and was looking up, enchanted.

  Slowly, Beth squatted down to Kenna’s level. “Hi, sweetheart. I hear you don’t want to put your clothes on.”

  The black scowl was plenty of answer.

  “I didn’t like to wear pants when I was a little girl. Or shoes. Do you like shoes?”

  Kenna shook her head solemnly, scowl transforming into baby fascination.

  Beth looked up and smiled. “She doesn’t need to go on my account. I enjoy children.”

  Wow. The grapevine had been way off-kilter this time. Jamie shrugged at Nat and watched, bemused, as his daughter took their new arrival’s hand. “Pway!”

  Aervyn helpfully took Beth’s other hand. “She doesn’t know how to play like a big kid yet, so sometimes we have to show her. And be really patient, because she’s little.”

  “It sounds like she has a lot of fun with you. Are you going to play with us too?”

  Aervyn’s eyes lit up. “Uh, huh. It’s okay, right, Uncle Jamie?” He grinned up at Beth, not waiting for an answer. “I’m gonna wear my superhero cape—I have an extra one if you want to be a superhero witch too.”

  Jamie didn’t hear the reply, but whatever it was amused his nephew greatly. The odd threesome waddled down the hallway at Kenna speed and then took a sharp left turn into the playroom, full of pillows, fire trucks, and enough fireproofing spells to protect half of California.

  Beth froze. “This room is full of magic.”

  “Yup.” Aervyn strode in, unconcerned. “That’s cuz Kenna still sparks sometimes on accident. On purpose sometimes too.” His sigh was long enough to make Moira proud. “But she’s little, so we just hafta put up wards and stuff to keep her safe until she learns better manners.”

  Jamie let the words float over his head—it was Beth’s face he was watching now. And her magic. That she’d sensed the wards in the room was interesting. Nell had set most of them and they were subtle, the work of a very talented spellcaster. Most witches would have overlooked them.

  But more importantly, whatever might be making Beth uncomfortable at Witch Central, the magic clearly called to her. She was fascinated—and her channels practically glowed in response. He smiled. She was no Kenna, but she had very decent access to power.

  Right now, however, she seemed even more interested in his girlchild and her sidekick. Beth sat down on the floor beside Kenna, still looking at Aervyn in her odd, indirect way. “Kenna is a fire witch?”

  Aervyn grinned. “Uh, huh.” He turned to his youngest cousin. “Kenna, make a magic ball.”

  Kenna set down her fire truck carefully—Jamie gave her points for remembering to let go of the toys first—and waved two chubby hands in the air. A ball the size of her head floated gently in the air, full of tiny dancing lights.

  Beth’s eyes were huge, but her mind was more awed than afraid. Jamie went with his gut and sat perfectly still. Sometimes training was entirely about getting out of the way.

  “Yay!” Aervyn clapped with the easy joy of a teacher whose star pupil had just performed a new trick. He’d been trying to get Kenna to make the ball’s interior lights dance for over a week. “Look, she did it!”

  Jamie didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d been doing it for days now—every afternoon, right after he left. His baby girl did things on her own time.

  His eyes still on Kenna, Aervyn reached out one hand, a much smaller magic ball sitting on his palm. “Look, Kenna—can you make the lights like this? All different colors like a rainbow?”

  Kenna’s ball vanished as she beelined for the much prettier one twinkling two feet away.

  Aervyn giggled and floated it up over her head, just out of reach of grasping fingers. Then he turned off the ball and looked at Kenna hopefully. “Now you try.”

  She glared at him and marched back to her fire truck, plunking down in a sulk that would have done a teenager proud.

  Aervyn just rolled his eyes, an old hat at dealing with his baby cousin’s temperamental nature. He looked up at Jamie. “Maybe she’ll try it tomorrow.”

  Probably—his munchkin couldn’t resist pretty lights. Heck, with his luck, they’d be up half the night watching rainbows dancing in the dark. Kenna had a deep fondness for figuring out new magic tricks in the dark of night.

  “Oooh.” Aervyn’s eyes got big.

  Jamie followed his gaze, suddenly remembering they had a guest. Beth sat frozen in place on the floor, one hand held in front of her chest, palm up—and every fiber of her being concentrating on that hand.

  “She’s trying to make a magic ball,” said Aervyn softly.

  Jamie switched to watching her power flows. Sure enough. She’d seen just a little of what Aervyn had done and was trying to replicate it. It was like trying to copy Picasso with a broken crayon—but she was trying.

  And damned if he was walking in and trampling all over her magic a second time. If he had to be an idiot, he at least wanted to be one who learned from his mistakes. Leaning over, he ruffled his nephew’s hair. Why don’t you give her a little help, superboy? Really carefully—she’s just a baby witch.

  She has a little bit of it right, sent Aervyn thoughtfully. He walked over and sat in front of Beth. “Can I speak to your mind? I can show you something that will help.”

  Her nod was barely perceptible, her focus on her palm still absolute. Nice discipline, even if she had no idea what to do with it. Jamie threw up a training circle. Quietly. There was more than one kind of magic happening in the room, and he didn’t want to disturb any of them.

  With the same infinite patience he showed with Kenna, Aervyn started tracing lines and power flows. An innovative kind of magical connect-the-dots that nobody else could do nearly as well.

  Unlike Kenna,
Beth paid consummate attention. Slowly, carefully, with her pint-sized teacher augmenting her wavering skills, she traced each line behind him.

  Jamie stared at the slow parade for a while, and blinked when all the lights went out. What happened, short stuff? The lesson had been going well.

  She’s really tired. Aervyn smiled up at Beth, who was white with fatigue—but distinctly proud. “She’s not ready yet. But she will be.”

  Dammit, he shouldn’t have missed her exhaustion. Trainer fail. Jamie kept his mouth shut, however. His stand-in hadn’t failed, and today, they’d take victory where they could find it. “Okay. Lesson one over, then.”

  Beth smiled, tired, but distinctly amused. “Not quite.”

  Kenna sat in the corner, fire truck in her lap—and a dancing multicolored magical ball floating in front of her face. “Ba’!”

  Ball, indeed. Punk baby.

  Jamie squeezed Aervyn’s shoulders. Nice going, superdude. Two prickly witches trained in one easy lesson.

  Nat walked back into the room, grinning fondly at her daughter. “That’s pretty, Kenna. Want a cookie?”

  Magical balls exploded into nothing as every witch under six dove for the snickerdoodles. Jamie snagged one at a slightly more mature speed. His wife held a bowl out to Beth. “I have some of my homemade granola, if you’d rather. Lots of nuts and seeds. It goes totally unappreciated around here.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  Beth’s simple, heartfelt gratitude told Jamie two things. One, he now knew two adults who actually liked seeds. And two—they’d finally extended a decent Witch Central welcome.

  Not that he’d had much to do with it.

  Small children and wise wives to the rescue.

  -o0o-

  Nell sat down with a mug of hot chocolate, grateful for the first moment of silence all day long.

  The morning had started with Daniel’s Saturday pancake breakfast, which always seemed to attract strays and leave behind kitchen Armageddon.

  Then the itty-bitty decorating committee had taken over, co-opting all the pancake strays for their army of party-planning minions. Fortunately, given a choice between glitter glue and a spatula, Lizard had opted to feed the army lunch, with Sierra and Nathan as her erstwhile assistants.

  None of which had rendered the kitchen any cleaner.

  And then Aervyn had arrived back from Jamie’s house full of stories about the new witch. The one who had apparently rolled just fine with a streaking baby, a totally unplanned magic lesson, and even a snickerdoodle nibble or two.

  Which hadn’t helped Nell feel a whole lot better about Beth’s first disaster of a training session.

  She was in one of those infrequent moments where she needed a soft place to land. Daniel was providing umpire duties for Nathan’s pick-up baseball game and Jamie had shown up, taken one look at the kitchen, downloaded a quick update, and fled. So Nell had called in the big leagues.

  A knock on the back door said they’d arrived.

  Nat walked in, Kenna perched on her hip. Nell reached for a cookie from the tin on the counter and kissed her niece on the cheek. “Hi, kiddo. I hear you do really good work.”

  Kenna grinned and reached for the cookie. “’Ook!”

  Her mama laughed and put her down on the ground. “I bet your cousins are upstairs causing trouble, cookie monster. Why don’t you go find them?”

  Toddler legs motored for the hallway, their owner babbling a stream of nonsense in between bites of cookie.

  “She’s walking really well now.” Nell sat back down and smiled at her guest.

  Nat groaned. “Don’t remind me. We walked by the track team practicing on our way over, and she was far too fascinated by the sprinters.”

  “Yup. There’s a terrifying two years or so where they’re faster than you are, and the word ‘stop’ still has flexible meaning.” Nell was deeply glad those years were mostly over—Aervyn had been a terror on two legs.

  Nat’s eyes danced over her mug. “Talking with you is always so comforting.”

  It was about to get less so. Nell breathed in the aroma of her hot chocolate—when babies were in the house, it didn’t pay to beat around the bush for too long. “I hear Beth dropped by your house this morning.”

  “She did. I thought Jamie came over to fill you in.”

  “He did.” Nell glanced around her kitchen. “I think the mess scared him off.”

  “Mmm.” His wife looked skeptical. “Sullivans live for messes.”

  They certainly knew how to make enough of them. Nell took a swig of hot chocolate. “Well, Beth’s mine. I was hoping you might help me think about ways to clean it up.”

  Nat nodded slowly, obviously well-informed by the usual channels. “This morning went a lot better. She really warmed to Kenna.”

  It was hard to imagine anyone not warming to that irresistible ball of cuteness. “I’m glad.”

  “She wouldn’t make sense to you,” said Nat gently.

  “But she does to you.” Nell squinted into the mirror that had been making her uncomfortable all morning. “And to Lauren, and even to that cape-wearing son of mine.”

  “Aervyn knows better than anyone what it is to be different.” Nat reached for Nell’s hand, one mama to another. “But he also knows what it is to have his differences embraced.”

  “I don’t want her to feel unwelcome.” Nell looked at their joined hands and wondered how her sister-in-law handed out love and tender chiding in the same sentence. “But I’ve managed to accomplish it anyhow, and I want to make it right. Help me. You met her, and you’re the damn wisest person I know.”

  The corners of Nat’s eyes crinkled. “There’s a lot of competition for that job around here.”

  “You need your own space and time, just like Beth seems to.” Nell wasn’t letting this one go—their Chicago witch’s mind had been far too frustrated and sad. And she hated to lose. “You know what it’s like to land in the middle of Witch Central.”

  “Yes.” That word hung in the air for a long moment. “But I was ready for what you are here—hungry for it. Love and family and sisterhood were lifeblood for me.”

  Nell knew that. They’d been awesome for Nat.

  She wanted them to be awesome for everyone.

  In programming, if one angle didn’t work, you tried another. “So how do we help Beth be ready for what we are?”

  “Maybe we don’t.” Nat’s fingers stroked her mug meditatively. “From what Lauren tells me, for Beth, love and sisterhood live in Chicago. She’s here for something else.”

  Training. But life didn’t work like that, even for witches. Maybe especially for witches. “Magic doesn’t come in its own little separate box. It grows out of the connections between us.”

  “I know.”

  Nell watched as Nat’s mind dug for an answer. Patience didn’t come naturally to fire witches, but she’d learned that her sister-in-law’s wisdom was worth the wait.

  “Some people come to my yoga classes ready to immerse themselves in the experience. They come early, sit in the middle of the room, sink into the music and meditation their very first class.”

  Nell’s lips quirked—most witches she knew didn’t fall into that category. “Jamie was one of those, huh?”

  Nat’s laugh was like dancing summer rain. “No, he hung out in the back row and squirmed during meditation for almost a year.” She sobered, love shining in her eyes. “But he knows how to be in his body, so for him, the flow and movement were his key into the rest. For some, it’s the music, or the same familiar spot in the room, or focusing only on one simple asana. Small pieces of the whole that eventually let them join more completely.”

  And there was the nugget she’d been waiting for. “You’re saying that we need to give Beth small pieces of what we are.” A bowl of nuts. One adorable toddler holding a pretty ball of fire. Things that would eventually lead to the rest.

  “Something like that.” Nat set her mug back down on the table.
“I also know that for some students, I struggle mightily to find the parts that will matter for them.”

  Nell thought she knew where this one was going. “And those are the ones who make you feel the best when you figure it out?”

  “Yes. Sometimes.” Nat smiled a little sadly. “And sometimes, those are the ones where I fail.”

  Nell took a deep breath and blew it out. Her gut said those were the words she’d really been waiting to hear. The name to the shadow haunting her day. The possibility they might fail.

  That she might fail.

  It wasn’t Nat’s wisdom she’d been seeking after all. It was her courage.

  Chapter 9

  Lauren waved good-bye to Jacob and his father and closed the door to the Center. It had been a good session, full of laughter, two new words, and a very lopsided pillow fight.

  And it had added fuel to the litany of questions circling in her head.

  Tabitha stepped up to her shoulder, two cups of coffee in her hands. “That was a good day. Come sit and tell me what’s got you so distracted.”

  Lauren followed her over to a squishy couch that did double duty as the pillow fight headquarters. “We have a new witch who’s come to Berkeley looking for some training.”

  “Mmm.” Tab raised a curious eyebrow. “Mind witch?”

  “No.” The couch felt heavenly—it had been a very long day. “Fire witch. With Asperger’s.”

  “Aaahh.” They sipped together quietly for a moment.

  “We didn’t get off to a good start.” Lauren watched shadows flirt in her coffee cup and gave Tabitha the short version of Beth’s fetching. “She had a rough arrival, and then we managed to compound the mess in her first training session with Nell.”

  Tab’s mind winced.

  Lauren stopped, train of thought broken. “You think that was a bad choice? Nell’s one of our best fire witches.”

  “Nell’s wonderful. But she’s kind of the opposite of autistic.”

  People with autism were as varied and diverse as people with brown hair, magic, or shiny red shoes. Even very part-time work in the Center had taught her that. Lauren frowned. “What do you mean?”