“I’ve heard about your pool.” Yearning snuck into Beth’s voice.
Ah. A way into the heart of a fire witch. Moira tucked away that handy bit of information to use on a new day. Today had a different purpose, one that had grown full-bloomed in between talk of mulled wine and strings of light.
It was well and beyond time to show some respect for Beth’s roots. Moira leaned forward and touched Beth’s hand, glad when it was accepted this time. “I hope we’ll travel together soon, you and I.”
Beth looked up, eyes wary. “You want me to come visit your home?”
Aye, but that could wait. “No, my dear. I’m hoping that one day in the not-too-distant future, you’ll do me the great honor of allowing me to be a guest in yours.”
The silence lasted several sips of tea. Moira waited—she knew how to be patient when it really mattered. Beth found her spot watching the faeries again. “Why?”
“I’m an earth witch, my dear. A gardener. When I see a beautiful flower, I want to know something of the place where it grew.”
Her companion puzzled that one out. “It’s just a small apartment above a store.”
“I live in a tiny cottage myself,” said Moira briskly. “There’s nothing at all wrong with a small space. And I’ve a penchant for small bits of stone and crystal—might you have anything like that in your shop?”
“We do.” Beth smiled. “Or rather, Liri does. The books are mine. The little bits of things are all hers.”
Ah, and in true Irish fashion, now they were getting closer to the heart of things. “I’ve a love of books, too. Perhaps you’ll let me spend some time in your library. I’ll browse the pretty trinkets on my own.”
“I don’t really understand collecting, but some of them are quite beautiful.”
“You’ve a gorgeous wee dragon, as I recall.”
Beth reached hesitantly into her pocket and drew out the bit of shiny glass. “Yes, this one is mine. A small gift from Liri as I was coming here.”
It was exquisite, now that she could see it in full light. A gorgeous, infinitely detailed little creature with just a hint of turquoise in its poised wings. As a thing of art, it was lovely. As a message and a gift from one who had obviously studied the old arts, it was magnificent.
Dragons lived long, had one great love, and always returned home.
Moira leaned in and brushed a finger over a glass wing. “She’s exquisite, my dear. Your Liri must know you very well.”
“I think she would like you,” said Beth quietly.
Moira looked at the dragon again. “I already like her. She has fine taste in dragons and in those she chooses to love.”
Beth’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “Perhaps we could go visit in the morning. The shop is closed until noon, and it would be quieter then.” She studied her tea. “It would be nice to go home.”
“I would like that very much.” Moira got to her feet, delighted in their young fire witch. “I’ll let Aervyn know we’ll be wanting a ride.” And she’d beg a little time in Ginia’s garden to brew up a small gift or two.
Something that would honor the women she was about to visit.
Chapter 20
Beth stood in the middle of the shop, wishing she had something to do. Liri was bustling, shifting a book here, a crystal there. Merchandizing. Beth had been banned from that activity long ago, and the rest of the little details that got the shop ready to open had been taken care of hours ago. It had seemed like the thing to do when she’d beamed in at the crack of dawn.
They had a visitor coming.
Liri looked up from her arranging. “You can make the hot chocolate, if you like.”
That was a brave offer—Beth’s idea of the ratio of chocolate to sugar didn’t suit the palate of most of their customers. “You think we should do that this early?”
“No.” Light laughter shook her partner’s shoulders. “I forgot we’re not opening for hours yet.”
It was throwing their entire routine off kilter. “I’m sorry—maybe this wasn’t the best time to invite someone to visit.”
“Of course it is.” Liri frowned and moved a trio of pink crystals for the fourth time. “Our home is always open. You know that.”
She did—but this was the first time in eleven years that she’d been the one who invited a surprise guest. “I think you’ll like her.”
“I’m a sweet Irish grandmother—what’s not to like?”
They both swung around at the voice in their midst.
“Whoops!” Moira smiled brightly at each of them in turn. “Aervyn forgot to let you know he was sending me, didn’t he now?” Then she held out a hand and beamed at Liri. “You must be the wonderful woman smart enough to love Beth.”
Liri tilted her head to the side for a moment, and then smiled in return. “One of them. Welcome to Witchery, and blessed be.”
Moira turned all the way around slowly. “It’s just marvelous. Warm and cozy and full of books and wee surprises peeking out of everywhere.” She paused, taking in the strings of lights overhead. “What a joy it must be to spend your days here.”
Beth felt a lump hit her throat. “Liri puts out all the things. If it were me, everything would be in nice, orderly rows.” And far less joyous.
“Not all of us are blessed with the skill of making a place homey.” Moira began to move now, her fingers reaching out to touch here and there. “I’ve always known where to put the plants and the flowers in my garden, but it’s Sophie who comes over to tell me where to put a new trinket or a lovely painting.”
Liri’s hand slid into Beth’s. “Would you like some tea?”
“That would be delightful. I hear you have some special—”
A thunk sounded from over by the stairs.
“Ah, and that would be my things.” Moira headed in the direction of the thunk, neatly skirting store displays as she went. “I’ve brought you a gift or two, if you’ll humor an old lady.”
Liri giggled, already enchanted. “Does anybody not humor you?”
“Occasionally.” Twinkling Irish eyes peeked over a shelf. “But I’ve a bit of a stubborn streak.”
Small talk usually made Beth crazy. This morning, it was making warm, fuzzy things multiply in her heart. Moira was precisely the kind of person Liri liked best—opinionated and fascinating.
“First, something for your circle.” Their guest emerged from behind the shelf, a large potted plant in her hands.
The yellow flowers that had tumbled down Ginia’s braid cascaded over the side, mixing with something that looked like bluebells. An orange flower that matched the one Beth had carefully tucked in a book after the Berkeley circle stood tall in the center, ringed by something very purple.
Beth knew not a single flower by name—but she knew their purpose. “For our hair.”
Moira smiled. “Yes. I’m a fanciful old lady, and I rather liked the way everyone looked all decorated for our circle the other day. And I know how lovely flowers can be in winter.” She set the pot down in front of Liri. “Ginia and I spelled it so it will always be blooming, and potted it in good, sensible soil. It should do well with the care of an able gardener.”
Liri’s fingers reached for a bright pink flower.
“That one’s got a lovely smell.” Moira leaned down to give it a sniff. “I was thinking it might suit you.”
It matched Liri’s bright heart. Beth smiled at the thoughtful old woman who had somehow become a friend. “I promise not to touch it.”
“I’ve a second gift.” Moira disappeared back behind her shelf. “This is just for the two of you.”
It was Liri who spotted the second pot first. But it was Beth who cried.
Two single stems, wound together, blooms facing each other.
One orange, one bright pink.
-o0o-
What a delightful morning it had been so far—and it appeared the fun was just beginning. Moira looked around at the impromptu circle that was beginning to form and sm
iled. An old Irish witch knew meddling when she saw it.
First, Mellie had shown up with cookies fresh out of the oven. She’d barely laid them down when Margaret had come looking for her lost hat. And neither of them had been the least bit surprised to find a strange witch in their midst.
Apparently the witch gossip chain was alive and well in Chicago.
And then Mellie, an odd twinkle in her eye, had suggested a circle. To welcome the visitor.
A cookie would have been welcome aplenty—but one look at Liri’s eyes and Moira had kept quiet. So Liri was assembling candles and herbs, Margaret had found hairpins somewhere and was chasing Mellie around with a lovely stem of yellow flowers, and a befuddled Beth was standing in the middle of the room trying to catch up with her coven.
Liri caught Moira’s eye. “You’ll be joining us, won’t you? Is earth magic your strongest?”
“Strong” had never been a word applied to Moira Doonan’s magic. “Well, I’ve earth and water power both, but not a large helping of either.”
“Would you like to join Margaret, then?” Beth shrugged, apologetic. “Our circle is a bit oddly shaped, but we’d love to have you.”
Witches began assembling in the background, no herding required. Definitely something afoot—and she certainly wasn’t going to stop it. “Haven’t I done plenty of strange circles in my day?” Moira spoke briskly, glad to be a part of whatever was brewing. She walked slowly around the circle and offered a smile to the solid woman standing in the west. “My powers wane now, so I’ll be appreciating the support.”
“Hmmph.” Margaret snorted, amused. “I’ve never had more than a whiff myself. Maybe between us, we’ll make one decent witch.”
Moira had spent most of her life the weakest witch in her circle. She reached for Margaret’s hand. “I think we shall.”
She looked across the circle, feeling the emptiness. And then saw Mellie’s face crease in a beautiful smile. Their earth witch stepped over to the curtain and looked at Beth. “We have a surprise for you.”
Beth frowned, and then smiled, still perplexed, as a young girl walked in. “Hi, Rhianna.”
Margaret leaned over and spoke in a stage whisper. “That’s Mellie’s grand-daughter.”
Of course she was. Two peas from a pod, they were.
Rhianna took a deep breath and held out her hands, fingers moving slightly.
The ability to see the flows had long since gone from Moira’s sight. But she knew a spell underway when she saw one. And if the light purple glow over the child’s hands was any indication, Beth’s circle had just found their air witch.
Margaret sniffled quietly at Moira’s side.
“She’s been practicing hard,” said Mellie, turning to her coven leader. “And we worked on joins while you were gone.”
The question hung in the air unasked.
Beth stepped forward, shrouded in the authority of a witch in charge, and took Rhianna’s hands in hers. “You know the words we live by.”
“Yes.” The young voice filled the room with sunlight. “To respect the craft and work hard. To do good wherever we can. To harm none, no matter what.”
Words that had been said for centuries, by new witches young and old—a fabric, linking them through time. Moira felt the quiet joy in the room and happily added her own. A young girl, just coming into her power, joining those who had touched magic for a lifetime.
It was good to remember the cycle. Her energies were on the wane, but what she lost would grow new roots, nurturing young witches and those who loved them.
Humor touched her mind and Moira looked around, seeking the source. Liri sat in a corner, her thoughts plain as day on her face.
Nobody was witch fertilizer just yet.
Moira chuckled at her own silliness. Solstice brought out the melancholy and the morbid—and laughter was always the best way to greet them.
Beth led Rhianna over to her place in the east, the rightness in the circle increasing with every step. Moira looked around the warm, dark room and felt words rising in her heart. As elder witch, it would always be her right to say them—and today it was a great privilege. “So many have practiced just as you do here. In small numbers, with small powers, right down through the history of time. You honor tradition.” She felt the truth of it shining in the dark. “Those who came before you would be proud.”
Five faces smiled, including her in their numbers.
She turned to their leader, as was only proper. And waited.
Beth looked at each of them in turn, and then nodded to Mellie. “Let the circle begin.”
Moira listened as the staid and solid Mellie called to earth, anchoring the circle in the slowest of the ancient energies. And then she watched, a lump in her throat, as tears rolled down a grandmother’s face—and Mellie extended a line of power to the child beside her.
Rhianna caught the link competently and began her lilting call to air, a breeze touching the circle as she finished. Eyes opened in wonder. Beth’s flashed with excitement, even as she collected the connection from their newest witch.
Fire linked in quickly, and then Margaret squeezed her hand. Time to close the circle. Moira called a light flow—no need to tire out herself or anyone else. Margaret’s tiny trickle joined with hers, two rivulets flowing into the greater whole.
The quiet jolt of the last connection made, and then magic flowed around the circle. United. Uninterrupted.
It was the barest of shimmers, hardly more than a faery’s wing. But it flowed. From hands and hearts and love for craft and each other.
Aye. There was magic here. Soft and quiet magic—the kind just right for baby shoots sticking up their first leaves.
And perhaps for those clinging to their last leaves, too.
Moira bowed her head and let the faery’s wing dust her heart. It was time to let her own solstice reckoning land. She would not be doing a full circle again—she’d felt her magic waver. And felt Devin, young and brave, try to hide it away.
You couldn’t fool an old witch, especially when the waver came from her own hands.
But a small circle was still within her grasp. A shimmer and a place to stand as a witch, strong and true.
A gleaming of the light, insisting this was not yet her final dark.
She looked at the young girl on the other side of the circle, face glowing in awed belonging. And felt peace.
-o0o-
They were whole.
Beth held the energies of her circle steady and rejoiced. An air witch, and one of their own, come into power. Rhianna had sat at Mellie’s feet for as long as anyone could remember, asking for stories of craft and lore.
And now she stood among them, magic flowing from her hands.
Carefully, Beth checked in with each element. Mellie’s power was strong and true. Margaret was a steady trickle, buoyed by Moira’s solid presence. Rhianna simply danced.
Impatient longing tugged at Beth’s heart. There was real power here.
And a brand-new witch. With the discipline of years of practice, she pushed the impatience away. Spells could wait.
Gently she began the steps that would draw the circle to an end—and felt Liri’s exasperated thunk on her head. Beth’s eyes shot open, looking for whatever had caused that kind of magical outburst.
Her partner shrugged. Raised an eyebrow. Dared.
Beth glared. It wasn’t the responsible thing to do.
Liri only grinned.
Sighing, Beth closed her eyes—and let speed win. Her hands shaped the spell they’d worked on for almost twenty months. Lithe power danced under her fingers, so much more than she’d ever had.
Quickly she shaped one bubble. Two. And still the magic danced.
Demanded.
It was snickerdoodle season. Beth tossed off restraint and shaped more bubbles than she could count.
And when she released them, her small but mighty circle exploded in joy.
In Chicago, the light had come two days early.
-o0o-
Moira picked up her cup of tea and walked over to the table where Beth sat fingering a beautiful old Celtic knot. “That’s a lovely bit of carving.”
“Liri brought it back from a trip to Ireland when she was a child. I’ve always loved how it feels. Like many hands have sat and done this over the centuries.”
Tradition and roots. “My great-gran used to say that the knots represent a journey. And that a traveler should remember that what feels bumpy and twisty-turny makes for a work of art in the end.”
Gran had never been one to be bothered by a few bumps in the road. Or the slight altering of a story for higher purpose.
“I never go on a journey without a map.” Beth sighed. “Until now, at least. I don’t know how to fit California into my life. I feel like I’m traveling on two separate continents.”
Something a witch with Ireland in her soul could well understand. Moira started with the answer least likely. “You could be part of what’s in Witch Central. They’ve always room for one more.” Or two or five.
“No.” Beth’s answer was fast and definite. “What’s there is too much for me. Too many people, too many connections. Too much magic.”
Honest—and a little wretched. Poor sweet girl. Coming down from victory was always hard. “Well, not all of us choose to live in a place as big and bustling as Berkeley.”
Beth’s fingers played with the small packets of tea Moira had left lying on the table. The smell of verbena floated up, pungent and homey. “Our circle here is small. We don’t have much magic—I know that now.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “But they’re mine. And they love me. And we did real magic today.”
“You did.” Moira understood better than Beth would ever know. “You have an important few.”
Beth nodded slowly, hair dancing in the quiet light. “Whatever I might need as a witch, this is what I need as a woman.”
Some of the answers were working themselves out, then. “You can’t separate a flower from its roots, my dear. Whatever one needs, the other does as well.”
“I know.” Beth sighed. “But I kill plants.”
Ah, such a lovely heart. Moira reached for the Celtic knot again. “When I visited my gran’s village a few years back, I saw so many of these. On doorways and benches, pub tables and t-shirts. You wouldn’t think a wee knot could take so many shapes.”
A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) Page 21