by Debora Geary
Aaron chuckled. “Not a problem. Aervyn’s sleeping in that bed, and he’s only three feet tall. He’ll never notice.”
Elorie fixed the sheet anyhow.
~ ~ ~
Sophie sat down in front of her laptop and let out a long sigh. Packing was finally done, her house was back in order, and her system was settling down after the lovely shock of Mike’s arrival.
He’d found excellent use for her zinging hormones and then gone off for a run while she finished packing. Running was serious business for Mike—she didn’t expect him back for at least another hour.
She had plans for that hour. A nine-year-old was aiming for Realm domination, and Gandalf wasn’t the only witch who could take her down. Sophie’d been planning a sneak spell-raid for almost two weeks now, and her pushed-up travel plans meant she needed to spring the attack tonight.
Warrior Girl was online and on the prowl. Perfect. And odd. She was wandering around in one of the easiest witch-only levels, and she had company. Huh. Normally the top players stayed in the higher levels. It wasn’t any fun squishing newbies, and complex spells didn’t work as well in the beginners’ zone.
Sophie dropped into the level-one world to investigate. Maybe Warrior Girl would be more vulnerable without her fancier spellcoding tricks.
At first, Sophie thought one of the lower-rated players had made the eternally dumb mistake of launching a magic attack on Realm’s number-four-ranked player. Watching from the forest, however, it soon became clear that Warrior Girl wasn’t fighting—she was training. Which was fascinating on a bunch of levels, not the least of which being that her companion had a very strange mix of glaring weaknesses and nifty magical tricks. Sophie looked up the username. Hecate. Hmm.
She didn’t know what gave her presence away, but suddenly Hecate fired a very tricky freeze spell in her direction. Sophie reacted instinctively, pulling a reversing spell out of her bag in the nick of time.
Nothing like being completely unprepared. Ugh. Sophie squared off with Hecate and tried to keep an eye on Warrior Girl.
Hecate had some nice magical moves, and she used them. Sophie dodged where she could, retaliated when she had to, and wondered how the heck she was going to get out of this with even a fraction of her spell stockpile intact.
Just when she was getting somewhere, Warrior Girl tossed in an illusion spell to make things interesting. Sophie would have appreciated her sense of fair play more if Hecate didn’t appear to have six arms now.
There was only one way she could see to end this, and she’d better take it before Warrior Girl got more seriously involved. Hecate had snazzy magic tricks, but she had really weak physical fighting skills. Sophie waited for an opening and moved in. One conk on the head with the butt end of her sword, and Hecate dropped to the ground like a stone, out cold.
Ginia flew to the side of her fallen trainee. “Aunt Moira!”
Sophie’s brain slowed to molasses. “Aunt Moira?”
Ginia looked up, a very pained look on her face. “Ssshh. Keep it down. She’s my secret weapon, but it won’t do me much good if everyone figures out who she is.”
Oh, God. She’d conked Aunt Moira on the head. In an online game. Either of those events was insane. Both must mean the world was coming to an end.
She bent down beside Ginia. “What do we do?”
Ginia looked up. “I don’t know. I don’t have any safe zones in this level.”
Sophie sighed and drew a cloaking spell out of her bag. This was going to cost her mucho game points. She initiated the spell and a dome slapped into place around them. “It only lasts for fifteen minutes, so think fast.”
“I didn’t know you could do that.” Ginia looked moderately impressed.
She should be. Only four Realm players had cloaking capabilities, and Sophie had managed to keep hers secret until now. “So how do we fix the conk on her head?”
Ginia shrugged. “I could make her a new avatar, but I think Aunt Moira likes this one. I don’t have any healing spells, though.” She raised her eyebrows. “Somebody hasn’t been sharing lately.”
Spellcoding only worked with magic you possessed in real life, so Sophie was one of the very few Realm players who could create healing spells for the game. Once upon a time she’d done a brisk business trading those spells for other useful things, but in the last few weeks, she’d been hording them. Healing your competition just wasn’t all that smart in the long run.
Besides, no decent healing spell worked in this level. Witches were restricted in the spells they could use in level one, mostly for safety reasons. “None of my spells are basic enough to work here—they’d all trigger the spellcode lock.”
Ginia frowned down at the still-unconscious Hecate. Then she looked up at Sophie, eyes full of mischief. “The lock only works on spellcode. Maybe we can try something different.”
Uh, oh. “Like what?”
Ginia looked around furtively. “Is your cloaking spell soundproof?”
Just barely, but no point letting Warrior Girl know that. “Do I look like an incompetent witch?”
Rolling her eyes, Ginia pulled one of her trademark spellcubes out of her bag. They were remote-triggered, and everyone in Realm had learned to be very careful when they spotted one. She set it gently on the ground. “Now we’re soundproof for sure.”
Yeesh, what was this—a secret spy convention? “What are we doing, kiddo, waking the dead?”
“Close.” Ginia’s eyes twinkled. “I want you to do a healing spell on Hecate.”
“I can’t heal in-game, you know that. We need spellcode to do that, and we’ll trigger the lock if we try. Maybe we can take Hecate to one of the higher levels.”
Ginia shook her head. “Nope. She’s almost ready to pass to level two, but not quite. I can’t seem to teach her to keep her sword hand high.”
Since that was how Sophie had gotten around Aunt Moira’s guard, she wasn’t about to argue. “So what are you suggesting we do?” Ginia was plenty creative—maybe she’d figured out a way around the lock.
“I’m going to use Net power.”
“I thought that just worked for spellcoding.”
“Nope. It works to join things. Spellcoding joins magic with programming code, but I can join other stuff, too. I tried it yesterday with Uncle Jamie and Gandalf, and we joined two spells here in Realm.”
Splendid. Just what they needed in the game—Warrior Girl with magic no one else could match.
Ginia looked down at Hecate. “So I bet that if you try to heal her, I can use Net power to join your in-real-life healing magic with what happens here in Realm.”
Real magic in Realm?
Sophie was pretty sure she’d just heard the final clink in Ginia’s quest for Realm domination, but she couldn’t resist the lure of a new magic trick. Crouching down, she laid her hands on Hecate’s head and chest. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
When Ginia nodded, Sophie reached for power and tried to pretend she felt Aunt Moira under her hands, rather than her computer keyboard. It was a very strange sensation.
Strangeness vanished when Hecate coughed and tried to sit up. She looked up at Sophie, eyes scolding. “Sophie Ellen Delaney, what on earth were you thinking, conking me over the head like that?”
Oh, yes, definitely Aunt Moira. “How does your head feel?”
“My head is just fine, but Hecate here will probably have a bit of a bump.”
Sophie laughed at herself. It had been a dumb question to ask, but she wasn’t used to virtual healing.
Virtual healing. Or rather, real healing magic, done in-game. They’d brought real magic into Realm. Sophie looked over at Ginia, the weight of what they’d accomplished suddenly sinking in. Ginia met her eyes with a very sober, very adult look.
Two things hit loud and clear. One, Net power was a new world, and Ginia was leading the scouting party. Witch school was going to be very interesting. And two, Warrior Girl was about to turn Realm upside-down. With Aunt Moira
at her side.
First things first. Sophie grinned, warrior to warrior. “So, how about a girl-power alliance? I might even be able to help you train this one to keep her guard arm up.”
They shook hands over Hecate’s spluttering laughter.
Chapter 11
Nell heaved a sigh of relief as she climbed out of Aaron’s van. Here in the middle of nowhere, she could finally stand down from high alert. Four-year-olds and airplanes were a fun mix for about an hour. Unfortunately, it took a lot longer than that to get from California to Nova Scotia.
And she’d had to clamp a silence spell on Aervyn going through customs. The nice border agent didn’t really need to know what an unhappy witchling thought he could do to make planes go a little faster.
“Try not to lose your brother before dinner, Ginia,” she called out to her daughter, already halfway across the lawn happily greeting Lizzie, with Aervyn not far behind.
Kevin waved. “Don’t worry, Aunt Nell. We’ll make sure he doesn’t fall in the ocean.”
It was hard to take that promise seriously from a boy whose pants were wet up to the knees. “Just make sure you all come back for dinner.”
In moments, all five children were around the end of the house and gone.
“It will do them good to run for a bit,” Aaron said, grabbing some of her luggage.
Nell grinned. “You just don’t want them burning it off inside your inn.”
“That, too. Although Elorie assures me it’s been witchling-proofed.”
“Nothing is Aervyn-proof.”
Aaron chuckled. “Remind me to triple your damage deposit, then.” He picked up a bag. “What the heck is in here—rocks?”
“That would be Ginia’s collection of potions. She wanted to show Sophie and Moira some of her latest creations. Unfortunately, potions are heavy, and not all that easy to get through customs.”
Aaron eyed the bag with sensible caution. “I can imagine. Will any of them turn me into a frog or cause me to express my undying love to the wrong woman?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re pointed at your wife if you drink that one.” Aaron laughed, and they began lugging bags into the house. Nell decided she approved of Elorie’s guy.
A sense of humor was an important quality if you were married to a witch, particularly if there were witchling babies on the horizon. Nell knew a case of baby fever when she saw one. Elorie’s eyes had strayed to every baby on the West Coast during her visit. She’d be shocked if there weren’t a little Shaw in at least the planning stages.
Moira was waiting in the inn’s parlor. “How very lovely to see you.” She hugged Nell and gestured to the table. “Come, sit. I’ve tea already poured. I assume your children ran away with our ruffians.”
Nell breathed deeply and downshifted to rural Nova Scotia speed. “They did, but Ginia can hardly wait to sit down with you and Sophie. She’s been practicing her potions and threatening to turn our entire back yard into a garden.”
Moira beamed. “She’s most welcome in my garden. My flowers could use some tending by young hands. They feel a bit neglected these days.”
“None of your witchlings have earth magic?”
“Our Sean has a wee bit, but his talents are mostly with the rocks and land. He’s not at all interested in the plants, and I don’t think he’s got the patience to sit and tend to flowers.”
“That’s women’s work,” Marcus said from the doorway, nodding at Nell. She wasn’t entirely sure he was kidding.
Moira looked heavenward. “Nell, you’d do me the most wonderful favor if you could tinker with my nephew’s thinking while you’re here. Some of his brain appears to be stuck in the Middle Ages.”
Marcus poured himself a cup of tea. “I’ve never denied it. Welcome to our corner of the world, Nell. I won’t ask about your trip—I assume that with two witchlings in tow, it was less than pleasant.”
Nell could feel a hiss of protest coming on, even though Marcus was exactly right. He just rubbed her the wrong way.
“Marcus, behave,” Moira said, an amused look on her face. “So, Lauren didn’t travel with you then, Nell?”
“No, she didn’t. There was some last-minute deal she had to wrap up this morning, so she took a different airline and routed through Colorado. She and Sophie will be coming in together in a couple of hours.”
Marcus sat and offered Nell a bowl of berries. “Perhaps she reassessed the wisdom of spending hours on an airplane with a four-year-old.”
Nell just raised an eyebrow. She knew how to handle bullies. Her pithy reply, however, got cut off by Aervyn’s flying entrance. “Blueberries!”
He made a beeline for the bowl in Marcus’s hand, and then caught and ported it to safety when it went crashing toward the floor. Everyone froze as a flood of love and pain hammered into every mind in the room. Marcus’s face was pasty white and a study in anguish.
“Evan.” His harsh whisper as he stared at Aervyn’s face cut through Nell’s soul.
Her son reached out gently and laid his hands on Marcus’s cheeks. “I’m not your Evan, but you can love me. That would be just fine with me.” He climbed into Marcus’s lap and nestled.
Nell watched the crotchety old bachelor hold her son like he was spun glass, a haunted sadness on his face.
Aervyn ported over the blueberries and held them up. “Here, have some berries. They’re my favorites. Did Evan like blueberries, too?”
“Yes,” whispered Marcus, kissing the top of Aervyn’s head. “Yes, he did.”
“Was he your brother, or your little boy?” Aervyn asked. “Your mind is kind of jumbly.”
“He was my twin. He died when he was just a little older than you.”
Aervyn looked up solemnly. “It makes you really sad.”
“Yes.”
Aervyn tucked his head into Marcus’s chest. “It wasn’t your fault. Even really strong witches can’t fix everything. You were just little, like me.”
Moira sucked in a wavery breath. “You’ve blamed yourself all this time, Marcus? My sweet boy, it was never your fault. If anything, it was mine.”
She looked over at Nell. “Evan’s magic emerged young and hard. He was a fire mage, and a strong one. In the midst of putting out fires every night, we somehow missed that he was also an astral traveler.” Her voice dropped to almost nothing. “One night he left his body and didn’t make it back. He wasn’t quite six yet.”
Nell’s heart bled with all the sadness and guilt in the room. She had always wondered at Moira’s strict devotion to training. Magic that killed was the worst nightmare of every witchling’s parents.
“I couldn’t call him back,” Marcus said softly. “I could feel him, but I couldn’t bring him back.”
Aervyn tilted his head. “You still feel him.”
Marcus leaned down and kissed his head again. “Yes, my boy. I still do.”
~ ~ ~
Elorie finished her last bite of salmon and looked down the dinner table in satisfaction. Kitchens were the heart of any Nova Scotia home, and while she loved intimate dinners for two, it was also wonderful to have a table full of visitors and laughter. With all their guests now arrived, the table was definitely full.
The seating configuration was very strange, however. She leaned over toward Sophie and Nell. “Since when is Uncle Marcus a kid magnet?” He had Aervyn on one side, Lizzie on the other. Normally he and children gravitated to opposite ends of the table.
Nell spoke quietly. “Since this afternoon—with Aervyn, at least. Apparently my son looks a lot like Evan.”
Sophie sucked in a breath and exchanged looks with Elorie. Evan had always been the one subject no one talked about.
And I’d appreciate if it remained that way, Marcus sent.
Elorie felt her cheeks getting red, and the eyes of more than one child turned her way. There were far too many mind witches at the table. She checked surreptitiously to make sure her gizmo was still turned on.
Your br
ain may not be leaking anymore, niece, but your face is as expressive as usual.
So find something else to talk about, you old fart, Elorie thought, and then blushed even more furiously when Marcus began to laugh. Dammit, how was he hearing her thoughts?
I don’t need to hear them. It’s not the first dirty look I’ve received in fifty-two years.
Elorie put her mental foot down. Enough. This was her turf. Her home, her dinner table. She picked the most sympathetic face at the table. “Ginia, I hear you’ve brought a suitcase of potions to share with us.”
The girl’s face brightened. “I practiced everything Aunt Moira showed me on video chat.”
“Excellent,” Sophie said. “I think a potions class tomorrow morning would be a great way to get witch school started. Ginia, perhaps you could help me teach the others some of what Aunt Moira showed you.”
Elorie pushed down the small spurt of jealousy. It was only right that Sophie help organize witch school. This might be her turf, but she could surely share it.
Sean groaned. “Potions are boring.”
Elorie elbowed him. “That’s because yours never work. Perhaps if you pay attention and actually mix things correctly, your potions would be a little more exciting.”
“Who wants to make stuff for aches and pains, anyhow?” His brain finally caught up with his mouth, and he glanced at Moira with concern. “Sorry, Gran. I know that stuff works good for you.”
“Healing hurts is a great gift,” Sophie said, “and not one to be taken lightly.” Her eyes twinkled. “But I have a little recipe that says it will help a baseball pitcher’s arm recover faster.”
Sean looked interested in spite of himself. If anyone could make him sit through potions without grumbling, it would be Sophie. And Elorie had a sneaking suspicion that the pitcher’s potion had a lot in common with the one Gran used for her aches and pains.
Aaron and Mike returned from the pantry, bearing pies. “Anyone have room for blueberry pie?”
If anyone didn’t, they got drowned out under the avalanche of noise from people who did. However, as Aaron started slicing pieces and plating them, there was a sudden drop in volume—the kind that got any trainer’s attention very quickly. Four witchlings were very quiet and all looking at Ginia.