.5 To Have and To Code

by Debora Geary

  Nell looked up, shocked. “You think I’m a sore loser? Or a bully?”

  “Hardly. You’re making cookies for puppy dogs.” Her best friend squinted at a face made out of chocolate chips and adjusted an eye. “And I whip your butt at Monopoly all the time.”

  It was true. The Sullivan family quaked in terror when Sammy bought Boardwalk—the woman was ruthless. Laughed in the face of homeless, bankrupt witches.

  It wasn’t the lack of victory that was tormenting Nell. It was why. “It was like he could read my mind.” She frowned, tugging on the end of the string attached to what was really driving her nuts. “He knew how to get me to move, to commit. Sucked me in to a couple of traps.” Had basically made her dance to his tune. “I had better weapons, more power, way more game points.”

  “He’s smart.” Chocolate chips rained down into the cauldron.

  “Sneaky.” Nell kept stirring, watching the chocolate getting sucked into her river of dough. “Manipulative. And he left before I had a chance to smear Realm with his blood.”

  “Mmmm.”

  That meant the duchess of cookie dough was thinking. Nell didn’t interrupt.

  “So.” Sammy looked up, eyes a mix of twinkle laid over serious. “You have a tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious witch who understands you well enough to make you feel really uncomfortable. Have I got it so far?”

  Nell scowled. And wondered how the hell she was going to live with Sammy halfway across the country. “That’s not it at all. And you totally made up the tall, dark, and handsome part.”

  Chuckles rippled on waves of flour dust. “Who else would disguise themselves as a geeky old librarian?”

  That made a scary kind of sense. “He’s probably twelve.”

  The twinkle in Sammy’s eye was wicked now. “I surely hope not.”

  Nell had no idea how the conversation had taken such a weird turn. “He’s a scumbag thief who runs as soon as someone his own size shows up.” She stabbed a renegade egg yolk with her spoon. “And next time, I’m taking him down.”

  “Piece of advice?”

  Nell blinked. Sammy didn’t give gaming advice. Ever. “What?”

  “Take a good look at him first. Maybe there’s more to him than you're willing to admit.”

  That made no sense at all. “That’s impossible.”

  “In your world, maybe.” Sammy’s voice was gentle now. “You see everything in such black and white.”

  It was hard to duck the gentleness—and even harder to ignore the love pushing behind it. “You think that’s bad.”

  “No.” Sammy leaned in and kissed Nell’s cheek fiercely. “You’re a force for good, and you should never change that. But give him a chance. See if maybe he walks out of the dark into the light.”

  “You’re such a freaking romantic.” Nell scowled, scooped a fingerful of cookie dough, and tried to ignore the amusement flowing from her best friend’s mind. And the tinges of other things that made her even more uncomfortable. Curiosity. An amused dare. And the kind of rosy fantasizing that had landed her best friend in a Texas cowboy’s lap in the first place. “He’s no Shane. That kind of lightning doesn’t strike twice in one year.”

  The edges of Sammy’s mouth curled up. “Says the woman who makes lightning on a regular basis.”

  One day she would learn not to tangle with the mind that would have made a butt-kicking lawyer. Nell taste-tested the dough on her finger. “Not that kind of lightning. And I think the cookies are ready." Five years of practice and she was beginning to be able to tell good cookies from great ones. These were going to be pretty stellar.

  The true expert eyed the dough. "Needs more chocolate chips. And maybe a touch more vanilla."

  More chocolate chips wasn't something to argue with, and Nell threw in another bowlful. But vanilla was one of the invisible, hocus-pocus ingredients of good cookies. "How do you know these things?"

  "You have your magics. I have mine." Sammy upended half a bottle of vanilla into the cookie vat and grinned. "And maybe you've finally found a guy who can dance with that lightning of yours."

  Nell snickered. Maybe if she had cookie magic, guys would find her easier to dance with. And it wasn't thoughts of "dancing" that had suddenly bloomed in her best friend's head. "Not all of us have our brains melt just because a hot guy waltzes into our lives." Not that Shane could waltz. Even a little. Sammy had vetoed formal dancing at the reception on his behalf.

  Sammy just stirred. And hummed. And gave off disturbingly self-satisfied vibes.

  Nell backtracked mentally, looking for the source of Sammy's pleasure. And cursed. "Wait. Since when did the scumbag thief who ran away with his tail between his legs enter the realm of potentially hot? Even hypothetically?"

  Her best friend only hummed louder.

  Dammit. Nell assembled facts, occasionally useful in the face of Sammy's mental leaps. "He's a witch. With several kinds of power and scary-good coding skills. No way he's my age and hot." If he were, the witching community would have tried their bumbling matchmaking long ago. "He's probably an eleven-year-old geek who needs better supervision."

  Sammy's chuckles were audible this time. "Really? That's the story you're going with? You got your butt kicked in your own game by a kid?"

  Shit. "Fine. Maybe he's sixty-three and grumpy and locks virgins in his basement."

  Chuckles morphed into full-blown giggles. "Yeah. That's so much better than tall, dark, and handsome."

  Temper warred with amusement—and the latter won. Where Sammy was involved, it usually did. "Fine. But when I end up on the run after blasting my way into several bank vaults with the thief I love, I'm using my one phone call to page you back from your honeymoon."

  "You better." The easy affection of friendship shone in Sammy's eyes. "I'll bust you out with my herd of special-forces cows."

  Nell snorted. And tried not to laugh. And realized that somewhere in the middle of cookie dough and wild hypotheses, her world had righted again. Whoever The Hacker was, she'd roll with it, at least until she had a chance to pin his scalp to the nearest wall.

  It was Sammy who taste-tested the dough this time.

  She tossed in a super-sized pinch of salt and nodded decisively. "Stir that in, and then we can start plopping."

  "Plopping" was the highly technical term for scooping a gazillion blobs of cookie dough onto monster baking sheets. And Nell would forever associate it with hot-pink aprons and easy sisterhood. She gave the dough one last, vicious stir.

  Easy sisterhood was about to come to an end.

  "Change isn't always bad," said Sammy quietly.

  If you were the gorgeous whirlwind who had swept a sexy rancher off his feet, maybe not. Nell hurled the first blob of dough at a cookie sheet. If you were anyone else, change should be met armed with lightning bolts. Big ones.

  -o0o-

  “Dude, you are seriously distracted.” Pedro watched Daniel’s bank shot miss—badly. “What’s up?”

  Daniel cursed under his breath. Pool had always been his buddy’s favorite venue to launch a sneak psychology attack, but Jesse was supposed to be the target of tonight’s game. Which might get easier if Jesse ever showed up. “Not enough sleep. That’s all.”

  Pedro looked skeptical—for good reason. They’d been partners for some serious pool marathons in college. His game was normally immune to abuses of sleep, alcohol, and pitching elbows.

  “You still playing those computer games?” Truck raised an eyebrow over the top of his pool cue. “When you going to grow up and get a real job?”

  Daniel rolled his eyes and mentally lined up his next shot. “You sound like my mother.”

  Truck snorted and knocked in an easy corner ball. “Your mother wants you to shrink back down into her Little League all-star.”

  One very short, totally unplanned visit by his mother to their college team locker room almost a freaking decade ago, and none of them would let him forget it. Sadly, his mom had been way too memorable. As had the
snapshot of him at about eight, festooned in trophies. Daniel decided gaming was the topic of lesser evil. “Found a new online game. The regular levels are decently cool, but they have a set of elite levels with the best graphics I’ve ever seen online. Fast.” Especially when a certain wizard was throwing lightning at his head.

  “Never gonna catch up with video games. The net’s too slow.” Truck sank another ball, a tricky side shot this time.

  Daniel didn’t bother to answer—it was an old argument, and he was pretty sure history would eventually prove him right. Besides, Truck’s time to play games these days was seriously limited by his “real” job. If he wanted to stay old school, that was his right. “This one’s kept me interested for a few weeks. Comes complete with wizards and sexy gypsies.”

  Truck only snorted—and still made his shot. “The gypsy’s probably a twelve-year-old boy.”

  Nope. Not this gypsy. Daniel hadn’t seen her often, but he figured her for a lock on Nell Sullivan. She had the kind of moves that twelve-year-old boys just hadn’t met yet.

  Pedro looked up from his plate of hot wings, frowning. “You’ve been playing the same game for weeks?”

  Crap. Clearly his friend’s instincts were buzzing. They weren’t always fast, but they were damn accurate. Spidey senses ran in the family—Pedro’s sister Becky could smell a single guy at a hundred paces. “Some of us aren’t busy planning weddings.”

  “I got fired from wedding planning ages ago.” Pedro grabbed a cue as Truck finally missed a shot. “Lately I’m mostly on three-year-old terrorist duty. And reminding Becky which of our relatives hate each other.”

  Given a choice between small, sticky girls and seating plans, Daniel would have run for the hills. Love did really strange things to formerly excellent second basemen.

  Pedro made his shot and raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Weeks?”

  The man could stick like a saddle burr when he wanted to. “It’s a good game. The creators play, and I’m pretty sure they’re the top two players in the elite levels.”

  “Hmm.” His friend made one of his signature impossible bank shots. “Good game, leading-edge graphics, involved management.”

  Daniel wasn’t at all sure he liked where this was headed. He grabbed another hot wing. Talking just gave Pedro more ammunition.

  “The hiring?”

  Whoa. That was a new track. Daniel stared at his best friend. “I have no idea. Why?”

  “Because you need something to do.”

  He had lots to do. “Truck has enough work hours for both of us.”

  “Truck has a challenge he loves,” said Pedro, lining up a two-in-the-pockets shot. “You don’t, and you need one before Chloe has to dispatch cops to bust your ass.”

  Introducing Skate and Pedro had been a mistake—they’d put their heads together and agreed he was one short step away from a life of delinquency and crime. Which was probably true, but it was hardly news. His mom had decided the same thing when he was eight and climbing the tree outside his bedroom at 3 a.m.

  He eyed Pedro. “You think working for a gaming company’s going to turn me into a mature, law-abiding citizen?”

  Truck snorted. His first act on passing the bar had been to make up a business card and tuck it in Daniel’s wallet.

  “No.” Pedro’s second shot moved every ball on the table. “But they might have a problem or two you can solve with that fancy coding of yours. You keep doing your current gig much longer, your brain’s going to turn into mush.”

  That point had already come and gone. His work mind had been numb for weeks. He frowned at the pool table, uncertain why he was resisting. It wasn’t like the life he had was worth all that much fight, and Realm was the most intriguing thing he’d stumbled on in months.

  Pedro leaned over, talking quietly now. “You need a team. Maybe they have one.”

  He had a team. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

  “Nothing.” Pedro bent over one more shot. “But if we were enough, you wouldn’t still be cruising the halls of boredom and delinquency.”

  This conversational track was making Daniel’s head ache. He grabbed a handful of nachos and kept his surly comebacks to himself. Pedro only raised an eyebrow and sank his shot.

  “We have company.” Truck grinned and gestured with his beer.

  Daniel looked up, very happy to see Jesse slide in the door of the pool hall. Saved by the guy with bigger life problems. He elbowed their chief psychologist. “Your next victim just arrived.”

  “Contact them.”

  In another life, his best friend would have made a very good, very persistent priest. “Fine. Now go fix Jesse and let the rest of us mess up our lives in peace.”

  Truck snorted. “Speak for yourself, man. My life is an easy-flowing river. No problems here.”

  Right. Said the guy working fifteen-hour days for a corporate law firm. He had no time to get into trouble. Daniel held out the plate of hot wings as Jesse arrived. “Here—have some sustenance before we wipe the floor with you.”

  Pedro just rolled his eyes.

  Daniel grinned and handed over a pool cue. There were many paths to cheering a buddy up.

  Jesse’s slightly troubled look cleared, replaced by his signature “bite me” grin. “The only way I lose is if I get saddled with you as a partner again.”

  They’d been the four stars of the baseball team, and the campus’s four best pool players. Sticks and balls. But in their internal hierarchy, Daniel was the king of baseball—and the worst of them with a pool cue. “Nope. I’m Truck’s cross to bear tonight.”

  The big man looked mournful. “I could play left-handed instead.”

  Jesse laughed—likely the intention. “You are left-handed, you big doofus.”

  Daniel decided to give humor an assist. “Maybe we can borrow the bartender’s bandana and you can play blindfolded.”

  It scared him when Truck appeared to be taking the suggestion somewhat seriously.

  Jesse, however, was back to morose, which was a bad sign. Daniel leaned over. “You can spill now, or we can let Pedro slowly torture you all night. Either way, you gotta tell us why the hell you’re so damn miserable lately.”

  Silence for a moment. And then Jesse sighed into his beer. “Shelley’s changing.”

  Daniel and Truck looked at each other and shut up. Girl trouble. That was squarely in Pedro’s territory.

  Their second baseman shook his head and then fielded the ball. “Changing how?”

  “She picked the movie we went to see last night. She sang in the shower this morning.” Jesse’s face had the hurt, puzzled look of a toddler with a squished sand castle. “And she’s redecorating the living room.”

  Daniel tried to imagine how those were marriage-shaking actions and failed miserably. “What, is she threatening to throw out your favorite chair or something?” Jesse was totally tone-deaf—it couldn’t be the singing.

  “I don’t have a favorite chair.”

  “That’s your problem, dude.” Truck had a favorite chair for every room in his house.

  “It’s not about chairs.” Pedro lined up his shot and spoke with the decisive knowledge of a guy with five sisters. “Congratulations. Sounds like Shelley’s growing up.”

  Jesse looked hammered with a pitch. “She’s what?”

  Pedro dropped a sweet pocket ball and took a seat on a stool. “She grew up with pretty overbearing parents, right?”

  Even Daniel could answer that one. They’d all had run-ins with Jesse’s mother-in-law at the wedding.

  Pedro didn’t wait for answers. “She was used to being who they wanted her to be.”

  “I’m not like her parents.” Jesse looked horrified at the thought.

  “No, you’re not. And you guys have been married for what, three years, right?” Pedro picked up his beer, voice full of approval. “She’s finally coming out of her shell, figuring out who Shelley Windgro is when she’s not trying to please somebody else.”

  Je
sse blinked. “So this is a good thing?” He took a shaky breath. “I thought maybe… someone else was making her happy.”

  “Idiot.” Pedro punched his shoulder companionably. “She’s making herself happy. You made a marriage where she feels safe enough to do that. Don’t screw up now.”

  Daniel watched the light come back into Jesse’s eyes. And handed Pedro the hot wings, pondering. Shelley and Jesse had seemed awfully happy the way things were. He’d never thought about what might happen if you found the perfect woman—and then she changed.

  “Your teammate’s coming into her own.” Pedro smiled at Jesse and looked pointedly down the table. “Shelley just needed a few extra years to grow up, that’s all.”

  Ouch. Daniel grabbed a pool cue, bent on revenge. And wondered if his friend might be right.

  -o0o-

  Ah, home. Place of total peace, quiet, and neatness.

  Nell sat on the couch and looked around at her most preciously guarded secret. She’d moved into the small apartment right after college, afraid she was sinking into a black hole of programming code, Doritos, and men who needed keepers.

  And turned her quirky little place into the antithesis of all that. No computer monitors, no junk food, and very few visitors. It was her oasis for the person she thought she could be without Realm, troublesome little brothers, and life-incompetent college roommates.

  She surveyed her domain. Warm yellow walls covered in abstract art prints, a squishy brick-orange couch with pillows and hand-knit throws, a long shelf housing her monstrous CD collection and the treasured books of her childhood. Princesses, elves, and Jane Austen—the ones she’d kept well hidden from her brothers.

  And that the tooth fairy had always mysteriously known she’d wanted.

  Mom was one of the very few people she let visit her sanctuary—and the only one besides Sammy who hadn’t been shocked at what lay behind the nondescript beige door. The hidden face of Nell Sullivan.

  Caro hadn’t been at all surprised either. Brusque, matter-of-fact knitter, artist, damned fine fire witch, and Nell’s trainer since the first time she’d sparked something in a fit of toddler rage. Caro had no tolerance for sparks, but her patient hands had shown a feisty three-year-old how to weave the strands of fire power into beautiful, dancing spells.