So did witches who were different.
“You stepped in.” It wasn’t a question—Daniel knew his wife. And there’d been plenty of scuttlebutt flying all day.
“I did.” Clarity was flowing thick and fast now. “But it was like being in a fight with the wrong weapons. I made a lot of mistakes.” Because she hadn’t understood Beth—her strengths, or the things that might make her weak in strange places.
It had made Nell frantic and indecisive and combative in all the wrong places.
It had made her weak. And that was the fear eating at her soul.
Today the wrong steps hadn’t mattered, but tomorrow they might. They all had weaknesses—and the warrior fought best when she knew them all. Witch Central was her turf. The place she chose to fight to keep her son, and all those she loved, safe.
Beth wasn’t the enemy. Not understanding her was.
“I screwed up because I don’t know what it’s like to be her.” And that could be fixed. Without cringing at the contents of her own soul.
Nell sat a long time, letting the worst of the ugliness inside herself settle. She leaned into the chest of the man who loved all her darkest, weakest parts. “Thank you.”
He only smiled into her hair in reply.
The room was still dark—but the light inside her heart had been relit.
-o0o-
She’d always been drawn to the dark. Moira let herself out the back door quietly—no need to wake up wee Kenna with her nocturnal wanderings.
The old energies were stirring again as the veil thinned, awaiting the coming of the light. And they kept an old Irish witch awake.
She pulled her wool cloak tighter around her shoulders and looked up at the waxing moon that braved the night sky. It wasn’t truly dark here—no city ever was. But she could feel the blackness sitting over the city just as the wool covered her shoulders.
Protecting. She looked up again, smiling. Forever now, she would think of Evan, guardian of the night skies. And be grateful.
It soothed her, the remembering. They only needed be patient and wait. The darkest moments were those just before the world turned anew to welcome the light.
She breathed deeply of the night air, trying to let it cool her heart’s small aches. People she loved were hurting deeply. Struggling. Seeking the path that would carry them to the light.
Beth had perhaps found the beginnings of hers, hard words carrying with them the truths that mattered. The need for equality and the right to justice. They had wounded what was hers, and she’d finally been brave enough to say so.
Courage was a great help to the light.
A witch who had taken charge of her own journey, even if she was a little unsure of the destination just yet. And she’d done it holding the hand of a ten-year-old girl who had learned something about the power of her own voice this day.
A mighty reckoning—for so many hearts.
Some would be sleeping peacefully tonight, their hard work done. Some simply storing energy for tomorrow’s steps.
But it was the great mama lioness who was hurting the most. Nell carried her burden so lightly most days that you almost forgot it was there. Guardian and protector, center of the circle and its heart.
Moira sat down on a swing and held Nell softly in her thoughts. A blessing on you, daughter. May the light come to help you find your way.
She set the swing to moving gently, talking to the flowers at her feet. “It’s so much easier for those of us who are weak, my sweet rooted friends. We know what it is to not feel brave or strong.” When a warrior found cracks in her own heart, it was a fearsome thing.
And a necessary one, even if the warrior hadn’t looked clearly yet. It was guilt and blame that still coated Nell Walker’s soul—and they were hiding the truth.
Nell had been very quiet at dinner. Perhaps the light was coming.
Moira bent her head, acknowledging the dark. And trusted that the circle would begin anew, just as it always had.
Chapter 18
Lauren grinned and snuck a green block into the middle of Jacob’s intricate pattern. He giggled and pushed it back out.
Making airplane noises, she zoomed it around his head and dropped it back in the pattern. No giggle this time, just a quick shove out of the way.
Slowly, she picked it up again, watching for any signs that she’d leaned on his growing flexibility hard enough. He tracked her hand, but otherwise made no protest. Still moving slowly, she leaned over and tucked the block up his pant leg.
New game. And for Jacob, new was often still scary.
He looked down at the half-covered block for a while, thinking. Processing.
And then he picked up a red block and put it on her knee.
“You’re so silly.” She chuckled, making sure her face stayed in play mode. No need for Jacob to know her brain was trumpeting Ode to Joy.
Some of us can hear you singing all the way in the parking lot.
Lauren’s head shot up as Nell walked in the door of the Center. Hey. What are you doing here?
Nell picked her way slowly through the jumble of train tracks, pillows, and building blocks—therapy sessions with Jacob were never neat. It was time.
The morning suddenly felt like one of those that required another cup of coffee. Then again, she’d already had two. Jacob was a serious early bird. Lauren leaned over and kissed his head—victory was always a good place to stop. And he liked to play alone with the toys for a few minutes before he left.
“Something went right?” Nell propped her elbows on a small bookcase.
This didn’t feel like small talk. “Yes. He finds new things difficult, so one of the goals of his therapy is to work on that. Some of the fear comes from not knowing what to do, so we want to build memories where he’s successful when something new happens. Today I tossed in something different while we were playing—just a small variation in a game with his blocks. Three months ago he would have thrown a block at me.”
Nell grinned. “Sounds like Kenna.”
Pretty much everyone at Witch Central had been ducking ever since a certain silly uncle had taught his youngest niece how to throw. Daniel was still unreasonably proud of her aim. “Fortunately, Jacob’s a little less temperamental.”
“He didn’t throw stuff this time, huh? You seemed awfully happy.”
She’d learned to take victory in small steps, but today’s had been pretty major. Lauren told Nell the story of the blocks. “The goal right now is to have him tolerate change. It’s a pretty big deal when he actively wants to play the new game.”
“It’s like when my kids were little.” Nell watched the small blond boy intently now. “I used to sing to them all day long. And then Daniel would walk in and make up a silly new verse to the song, and he’d get all the giggles.”
Lauren was pretty sure she’d never heard Nell’s husband sing. “Most kids are wired to seek out novelty—it’s how they learn.”
They watched as Jacob pulled over another bin of blocks. More fodder for his patterns. Nell’s mind shrouded in sadness. “But not him.”
“Not always. He has a lot of challenges that make it hard to embrace something new.” And they weren’t only talking about Jacob anymore.
“Tell me about that.” Nell’s voice trailed off for a moment. “I think it’s part of what I came here to learn.”
Lauren tried to figure out how to explain sensory overload to someone who lived in the Walker household. “You know how it feels the morning after you’ve been on Kenna duty? The world seems to be moving weirdly fast and coffee doesn’t fix it?”
Nell smiled. “You think I have days that don’t feel like that?”
Point taken. Lauren dug for a better example.
“I remember the first weeks after Nathan was born.” Memories hazed Nell’s brain. “No sleep, and when we did manage to sleep, I’d wake up in a panic in case he’d stopped breathing or something.”
If they had a child, Devin was going to be on ar
e-they-breathing duty.
“We were working on an update to the video version of Realm.” Nell chuckled quietly. “It’s a good thing I had two parents and three little brothers checking every line of code I wrote. I was more tired after Aervyn was born, but in many ways, Nathan was the hardest.”
Maybe Devin needed to take a little walk down memory lane with his sister—he was finding little babies on every street corner lately. Lauren focused back on her current conversation and made an educated guess. “Did anything change about how you handled emotions or sounds or light? Anything like that?”
“Yeah.” Nell fondled a bumpy ball pensively. “I burst into tears at random intervals, the lights had to be on bright, and I couldn’t stand the sound of Jamie crunching potato chips.” She bounced the ball quietly on the floor. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Sleep deprivation makes most of us more sensitive to sensory input.”
Nell looked at Jacob, who was still intent on his blocks. “And so does autism.”
“Sometimes. People with autism aren’t any more similar to each other than people with magic.” Lauren grinned as Jacob stuck a green block in the middle of his pattern. Totally out of place—and exactly where she’d tried to put it. “But I think it’s one way that Jacob and Beth are similar. She’s just got a lot more coping skills than he has right now.”
Nell nodded. “Not fragile.”
“No.” Shay’s words still reverberated in both their heads. “I think she has one of the strongest wills of anyone I know. She’s just busy using most of it to cope with everyday life.”
“That must be very difficult.”
They were the right words—but Nell Walker, woman who had been born able to do sixteen things at once and do them easily, still didn’t understand in the place deep in her gut that guided who she was. Lauren ached to help.
“He makes wonderful patterns. Really complicated ones.” Nell was back to watching Jacob’s solitary play. “In another life, he’d be a great spellcaster.”
Lauren had a quiet debate with herself and decided Tabitha would approve. “Would you like to see?”
“See what?”
“We have permission to use nontraditional therapies here. Jacob’s parents know we pick up information from his mind. We don’t push too far unless safety is at stake, but I can give you a taste of what it feels like to live inside his head.”
Nell watched the small boy and his beautiful, intricate patterns for a while longer. And finally nodded.
Gently, Lauren formed the three-way link that would let Nell feel the reality of Jacob’s head. The noise. The clutter. The dimensional patterns that would keep a mathematician busy for a week.
And the steady determination to live anyhow.
-o0o-
Jamie shuffled down the street, hands in his pockets. Damn cold morning, at least by Berkeley standards. And he hadn’t dressed for a stroll, only for the one-block dash to Nell’s house.
Which would have worked out just fine, except she wasn’t home. And she hadn’t returned during the entire time it had taken him to consume three plates of Daniel’s hazelnut pancakes.
So now he wandered the streets alone, unable to tackle the problem Nat had sent him out the door to fix.
He snorted—that was a walloping dose of pathetic from a guy with an amazing wife and a belly full of the world’s best pancakes. Nell was hurting, stuck in the echo chamber of two people who had tried hard—and simply failed to comprehend each other. But his sister wasn’t the only way to solve this particular problem. Just the easier one. Maybe.
He turned the last corner on the route to Caro’s townhouse, thinking of Nat’s wise words of the morning. Witch Central didn’t only love—it understood. Saw people clearly and embraced them for who they were.
And in the implacable opinion of his wife, they still weren’t seeing Beth clearly.
He was well aware that he was only a small cog in the army Nat had mobilized. Shay had captain status, and he was deeply afraid that he was outranked by his own daughter and a boy last seen wearing a red cape while eating pancakes.
Even Lizard had been spotted in the vicinity.
It was a weird day in Witch Central when the non-witches, kiddos, and former delinquents were in charge and the rest of them could barely manage to tie their shoes.
He kind of liked it.
Or he’d like it just as soon as he managed to graduate to non-idiot foot-soldier status.
The first thing he noticed when he entered Caro’s yard were the flowers. Big purple ones—the kind that had no business growing in December. The next thing he noticed were the two witches crouched down behind them.
Damn. Nat’s army was fast.
Ginia stood up and waved. “Hi, Uncle Jamie. Did you leave any pancakes for me?”
Apparently the better army recruits put duty before food. This whole foot-soldier thing was more work than it looked. “Has your dad ever run out before?”
His niece giggled and collected her backpack. “Nope.” She grinned at Beth. “Don’t let Uncle Jamie touch your flowers. Gramma Retha says all the Sullivan kids were born with black thumbs.”
His father would agree—his children had tormented his gardens pretty much from the moment they were born. Devin had mastered rolling over for the express purpose of eating some yellow petunias, and it had gone downhill from there.
“I’ll take good care of them.” Beth touched the petals lightly. “Thank you—they’re Liri’s favorite color.”
That sounded ominous. “You headed home again?” Jamie was pretty sure his attempt at casual had totally failed, especially when his departing niece graced him with her best preteen eye roll.
“At some point.” Beth looked up, eyes welcoming and strangely peaceful. “I miss her.”
Choices. “I was away from home once.” The simple words caught in his chest. “Whenever you need a transport spell, just let me know.”
“Thank you.” She picked up a watering can and sprinkled the flowers. “I’ve never been very good with growing things, but there are wonderful gardens here, and Ginia says these should grow in Chicago, even in winter, if we give them a little extra light. Liri will love them, and so will Mellie—she’s our earth witch.”
She was talking. And she was collecting things—small treasures for the people she loved. He had a wife who did that.
Maybe he could offer something for her stash. “If you want, ask Aervyn to show you how to heat a fire globe a little. That would help things grow nicely.”
Her eyes widened. “That works?”
“Yup.” Their father had often snagged him or Nell to help baby his tomato starts in the early spring. He grinned. “Just don’t touch the flowers with magic still in your fingers.” It had taken a lot of crispy tomato plants before he’d remembered that lesson.
His dad had the patience of a choir full of saints and angels.
“Yeah.” Beth winced, eyeing the purple flowers nervously. “I wilted Liri’s orchids once.”
That kind of stuff could be very hard on relationships. And maybe he could offer up another small gift for Beth to tuck in her treasure chest. “If you want a visitor someday, Ginia loves to travel. I bet she’d be happy to help with the orchids.”
“Oh!”
He could practically see the sunrise dawning in her mind. And was totally clueless as to why. “If we can get you here, we can get people to Chicago. No problem.”
She cuddled her arms to her chest and simply glowed.
He’d somehow given her something huge—that much was obvious. And even if he had no idea what it was, accidental joy was still a gorgeous thing. He grinned back at the entirely happy witch in front of him. And did what foot soldiers do. “Want to come have some breakfast?”
Bringing joy home would make the major general very happy. And he was always up for more breakfast.
-o0o-
Nell snuck out the back door, bagel in one hand, strawberry smoothie in the other. T
ime for a morning snack and some noodling in her hammock hideaway.
Distracted by the gears cranking in her own head, she didn’t notice the hammock’s existing occupant until she nearly sat on him.
“There’s room for two.” Daniel caught her neatly and shifted, managing to deposit them both more or less safely within the canvas confines.
Nell handed him her smoothie and wiggled until her perch felt a little less precarious. “Hiding, are you?”
“No.” A smile crinkled his face in the patterns she loved. “Waiting for you.”
“What are you, psychic?” She took back the smoothie, wondering what the tell had been. It never took much.
“You come here to think.” He slid her fingers into his, swiping half her bagel in the process. “And ever since you got back from hanging out with Lauren this morning, you’ve been one big ball of think needing to happen.”
For Daniel, everything in life made more sense in ball form. “I went to visit Jacob, the autistic boy she’s been working with.”
“Ah.”
Her husband had thus far been very silent on the subject of one Beth Landler. “I haven’t done very well with Beth so far. I was hoping that learning a bit more about what it’s like to live with an autistic brain might help.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Daniel munched on her bagel for a minute. “Did it?”
“Yeah.” And it was still rocking her mama heart. “Lauren piped me into Jacob’s head for a bit.”
Sympathy spiked in her husband’s eyes. “What was that like?”
She took a deep breath. The whirling, chaotic jungle of the small boy’s brain would haunt her for a very long time. “It’s kind of like trying to code while watching gaming live on five different screens.”
“We do that all the time.”
“Not when it really matters.” She’d get her pants beat trying to seriously game that way. “His mom walked in while he was playing with his blocks. And there was all this stuff flying in his head—colors, sounds I couldn’t even hear, gravity tugging on each of his fingers, the seams in his socks. I don’t know how he even noticed her.”
A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) Page 19