by Debora Geary
“Two?” Daniel looked blank for a moment. “Marcus is the main engineer behind all this genius. Aaron and Mike helped too—they added the baby toys.” He reached into the carrier and held them up. “Fake iPhone, car keys, credit cards, and sea-glass teether. The sea glass is real. The rest we magicked from baby-safe materials. All firmly attached so they can’t be pitched overboard or swallowed.”
Nell blinked, and touched her finger to the fake iPhone screen. It beeped happily. Okay. That was cool. She looked up at her husband. “I’m still not having another baby.” But she mightily appreciated his attempts to cheer her up.
He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “Well, it was worth a try.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure you can borrow Kenna when Jamie’s done playing with her.”
“I think Devin’s next. Maybe Aaron will share—he’s got two.” Daniel patted his carrier, thoughtful. ”I wonder if we can rig this thing to carry two babies? There’s got to be a market for that.”
Nell just shook her head. “You guys are really going to make this thing, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question—she knew her man.
“Yup.” Her husband looked like Aervyn let loose in the Lego store. “I’m building the website, and Jamie knows some engineer who does product certification testing.”
She was afraid to ask.
He grinned. “That’s where you wear the carrier while bungee jumping or narrowly escaping car crashes. And Devin wants to try broomstick flying.”
Nell snorted. “You’d never get Kenna back down from the sky.” Her eyes sharpened. “Wait. Devin doesn’t have babies. How come he’s involved in this?”
“It’s bungee jumping,” said Daniel, his dimple flashing. “I think he overlooked the babies part.”
Drat. No new Sullivans on the way. Yet.
She kissed her husband’s cheek. “Go have a daddy play date. And send Elorie back this way. Ginia’s got more spa stuff brewing on the stove.” Her daughter was apparently having a very busy day.
He grinned. “I know. Why do you think Nathan and Aervyn beat it out of here right after breakfast?”
Silly boys.
Then again, the last batch had smelled a fair amount like skunk.
And with that, she was squarely on her feet again. Life, back to crazy normal. She reached up to kiss her husband’s cheek. “Thanks.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
~ ~ ~
Marcus stood on the cliff’s edge and looked out over sand and water. It always pulled him back.
The beach had been their plaything, the place where he and Evan came to worship boyhood. A stretch of sand just outside the village, divided from humanity by the rock promontory under his feet. They’d felt like explorers. Or pirates of old, discovering the shores of America.
Historical truth had never interfered overmuch with their quests.
It had taken a long list of rules and an Act of Dad, the day after their fifth birthday, to gain permission to visit the beach alone.
For the next three months, he and Evan had practically lived there, two small boys dizzy with freedom and a world that stretched further than their eyes could see.
And then Marcus had woken one night and found himself standing on the beach, screaming Evan’s name and hurling magic at a force he couldn’t see.
His brother’s body had still been back in his bed, tucked in with a life-sized bear and an illicit baseball. His soul—gone. Vanished into the mists.
At first, coming back to the beach had been an act of fractured, anguished hope. Marcus had stared over the waters, willing Evan back out of the evil green fog.
He’d never come. Time and tears had eventually eroded the hope, but Marcus still made regular pilgrimages to the beach. Some days, he got no further than the rock promontory before pain chased him back to safer ground.
Not today.
Marcus stepped off the rock point, making his way down the narrow, winding path to the sand. He cursed as pebbles slid under his feet. Damn old-man shoes.
He’d come with intentions, and they didn’t involve landing in an ignominious pile. A few more steps and he reached the relatively easier footing of sand and seaweed. Small birds feasting on beach detritus skittered out of the way as he advanced, then closed ranks behind him again. Survival stopped for no man.
He headed straight for the midpoint of the beach. There was a nexus there—a point of balance between land and sea, east and west. The place his magic would be strongest.
Power surged as he arrived, water and air responding to his call. He was a witch at the peak of his powers—and it was time to use them.
He turned to the sea, arms stretched to the sky.
“I call on water, toss and turn,
I call on air, meld and burn,
Build a storm, loud and free,
As I will, so mote it be.”
He kept it short—the storm was already well underway. With deft hands, he twisted currents of air, bending them double and tossing them into frothing water. Lightning flashed, long crackling columns running flat out to sea. East.
The lightning was a new trick. Marcus smiled grimly. He’d learned a thing or two from Sierra Brighton.
For the first time in forty-three years, he wanted the mists to hear him. Faster now, he slammed energies together, fueling a fog of magic and rage. Evan! Crackling magic amplified his call. EVAN!
He didn’t listen for an answer. There wouldn’t be one, and Marcus Buchanan had long since stopped begging his brother to talk.
Today, he only wanted him to hear. Hands fisted, Marcus faced the mists—with a message. It was short, sweet, and he flung it with every ounce of power he possessed.
You can’t have her.
His magic died, the spluttering halt of a witch out of gas.
The witch was done. The man had barely begun. He had wards. A warming spell. A castle, a team. And a reason to fight.
He wasn’t living scared anymore.
Chapter 18
Sophie looked out the window of the inn, trying to identify the source of the commotion—and saw Marcus standing in the street, surrounded by clamoring children, Morgan strapped in her familiar position on his chest.
His gaudy, purple-paisley chest. Perfectly matched to the gaudy purple baby carrier.
She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Giggling helplessly, she motioned Elorie and Aunt Moira to the window.
“Oh. Oh, dear.” Moira managed a few words around convulsive laughter. “Did wee Lizzie help him shop, then?”
That seemed like an unfair commentary on their youngest healer’s fashion sense.
Elorie, the artist of the group, just looked pained. “Maybe he’s color blind.”
“Perhaps—” Moira’s laughter hiccupped to a stop. “Perhaps it’s a hopeful sign. Coming out of his shell, so to speak.”
Sophie grinned. “It’s a pretty purple. Kind of matches Morgan’s eyes.”
Aaron rolled into the room, a tray of berries and scones in his hands. “What’s up?”
“Uncle Marcus got new shirts,” said his wife, with a more-or-less straight face.
“Great.” Aaron laid his tray on the table. “He said Morgan had puked on all his old ones, so I sent him to that website you shop on for all of my stuff.”
“I think—” Elorie spluttered to a stop, gasping for air. “I think he took a wrong turn into the retro Hawaiian beachwear section.”
Aaron stared a moment at his wife, dissolved onto the couch in a pile of giggles. And then walked over to look out the window. Sophie watched as he manfully swallowed. Several times. “Well, it’s not black.”
“Indeed it’s not,” said Moira staunchly, lips quirking. “I think I’ll just go put on one of my sunniest skirts. We could use a little more color around here.”
Lizzie burst in the door of the Inn. “Sophie! Gran! I need something purple to wear. Uncle Marcus said it’s Purple People Eater Day and anyone who isn’t wearing purple mi
ght end up getting eaten by the one-eyed monster.” She didn’t look at all upset by this possibility. “He’s gonna teach us the song and everything.”
Marcus knew the Purple People Eater song? Sophie looked over at Aaron. “This is still Fisher’s Cove, right?”
He just shrugged his shoulders, eyes twinkling. “No idea, but I’ll go bake more scones. Pretty sure we’re about to get overrun by witches.”
Absolutely. Marcus gone crazy was bound to be a tourist attraction. Sophie grinned and grabbed Lizzie’s hand. “Come on. I’m pretty sure I have purple glitter glue tucked away in one of my healer kits.” It fixed any number of minor ailments, but she was willing to sacrifice for a good cause.
Lizzie danced a quick jig. “I bet Gran will let us pick some of her purple flowers, too.”
Also likely.
They were about to have a party. Instigated by Marcus Buchanan, a shopping disaster, and a bright-eyed girl with purple eyes.
Sophie shook her head. Wonders would never cease.
~ ~ ~
Moira slipped into her garden, a pair of shears in her hand, and discovered Sophie already there. “Standing guard, are you?”
“I promised Lizzie the last of the purple flowers.” She looked behind her ruefully. “Good thing Ginia’s bringing some backup—I think we’re down to a couple of fairly sad specimens.”
Young Ginia’s garden was bold, creative, and festooned with purple. “I was just hoping for a wee gardenia for my hair.”
Sophie grinned. “How do you feel about white or yellow?”
Moira looked down at her bright floral dress and purple hand-knit scarf. She looked a bit like a garden explosion already. “Either of those ought to do nicely.” She smiled, mentally running through her list. “And a bit of mint for the lemonade, and let’s see if we have any beets we can speed up a little, shall we? I’ve a mind to make some purple soup.”
“Aaron’s making blueberry squish muffins.” Sophie leaned into the herb patch, snipping competently. “And last I heard, Sean and Kevin were trying to turn some poor, unsuspecting corn-on-the-cob purple.”
She’d eaten stranger things. “Uncle Billy’s bringing us in a nice load of lobster.” The spring ones always tasted the nicest, and if the pinging of her phone was any indication, there was quite the crowd coming.
Once upon a time, she’d owned nary a device that pinged.
Sophie held out a basket brimful with purple mint. “Enough?”
“Barring a full-scale invasion.” Moira took the basket, enjoying the lively aroma of mint and flower cuttings. “Has my nephew gone into hiding yet?” The last she’d heard, Lizzie had been trying to convince him to run purple streamers down from the church steeple.
“No.” Sophie smiled quietly. “He’s on your front porch. Helping Sean turn T-shirts purple.”
Moira felt the lump hit her throat, and looked around for a place to sit. She needed to shed a few tears before this party got underway.
Sophie tucked in beside her, a soothing arm around her shoulders. “He’s finally becoming the man you’ve always believed him to be.”
“He is.” Moira let the tears trickle down her cheeks. She didn’t speak of what might come. Of what was coming—she felt it in her bones. “I hope it’s enough.”
Sophie looked out at the garden for a long, long time. And then touched Moira’s hand in quiet comfort. “It’s the flowers that bloom last that hold best against the fall frosts.”
Aye. And this flower was finally planting himself in good, strong soil. But in the end, the frosts almost always won.
~ ~ ~
Jamie looked over at Daniel. “At what point do you think we’re supposed to step in and carry him home?”
Daniel grinned. “If I’d known he’d be this happy a drunk, I’d have gotten him sloshed fifteen years ago.”
“There’s not a drop of alcohol in him.” Moira squeezed in between them, two glasses of mint lemonade in her hands.
Jamie looked over at Marcus, leading a rousing and entirely off-key rendition of Purple People Eaters. They’d finally found someone who sang badly with more enthusiasm than Aervyn. And none of the several dozen people who’d crashed a quiet day in Fisher’s Cove seemed to mind.
Nor did the villagers. Jamie was pretty sure an impromptu lobster bake was in the works. Which was good—that way there would be someone awake to play with Kenna at 2 a.m. Maybe he’d actually get to sleep with his wife for a change. He spotted her happy head, dancing with the triplets while a growing crowd belted out the Purple People Eater chorus.
No one loved a spontaneous party more than Nat.
Moira slid a glass into his hand. “The babies are all still napping. I checked.”
So had Jamie. All five of them, lined up in baskets on Moira’s porch, happily sleeping through enough noise to wake the dead. “I dropped the TV remote yesterday and it woke Kenna up.”
Daniel snorted. “Nathan slept through all four home games of the world series. But if a chair creaked while he slept? Nell threatened to send me to remedial ninja training.”
If there was such a thing, he was signing up. Jamie squeezed Moira’s shoulders and collected Daniel’s empty glass. Time to go see if Aaron needed help feeding this crew.
He made it two steps. And then sun-bright power flashed from Moira’s porch.
The babies.
Jamie got there first—but only because he ported. Marcus thundered onto the porch an instant later, one blazing ball of purple fury.
One look at Morgan, and they both knew. She had the still, terrifying translucence of a body that had just parted with its soul.
And then Jamie looked at his own daughter, and his fear went nuclear. He dropped to his knees at her side, yanking for power and screaming. KENNA!
Gone. She wasn’t there. His sweet girl was gone.
He looked up into his wife’s eyes, their worst nightmare alive and hunting. And clawed, one fingernail at a time, back onto the ledge of sanity. Marcus. Nell. Sophie. Devin. We need a circle. NOW.
He’d named the four points. He trusted they’d collect the witches they needed.
Aervyn charged through the crowd, Lauren on his heels. I can cast, Uncle Jamie. I can do it.
It would shame Jamie for eternity that for just a split second, he considered it. And then he bent down and cradled the boy he loved like his own son. “Not today, superboy. I’ll cast. I need you to monitor, okay? Help Lauren—it’s going to be a really big job.”
He zeroed in on Lauren with the tightest mind channel he could muster. If I don’t come back, you break the connection. Don’t let him come after me.
Lauren turned sheet white. And nodded.
Spinning around, Jamie looked for his circle. And found them already pulling power. Nell on fire point, eyes blazing. She would give everything she had for his little girl.
Sophie leading earth’s trio, her husband at her shoulder. She’d already linked with Nell. They’d buy him every second of warmth possible.
Devin, water witch and warrior, holding monumental power in his hands. Jamie blinked at the sheer volume—and then saw Sierra and Lizzie behind him.
Praying, Jamie turned to the last element. It was air that would power the journey he had to take—and Marcus was the strongest air witch of their generation.
If he could function.
Jamie met the eyes of the man who would hold his life in his hands—and looked deep. Beyond the horror, beyond the desperate, screaming fear.
And found what he needed. Solid rock. Reaching out, he touched Nat’s mind with wordless love—and then stretched his arms to the sky.
“Earth, water, fire, and air,
The need is great and so we dare
to ask for speed of thought and flight
to find the two now lost to sight.
One of me, and four times three
As we will, so mote it be.”
Jamie felt power explode in his hands. Damn. They had some seriously hyped-up witc
hes. Astral plane, people, not the moon.
The power dimmed. Some.
Fine. Soon enough, he’d need it all.
Carefully, ignoring the queasy feeling in his belly, Jamie leaned into the column of power at his back. His own magic spasmed in his veins, rejecting the invasion. Jamie leaned harder, ruthless, and felt his consciousness splitting off, tethered only by the circle’s magic. One quiver and he’d be the astral plane’s next permanent resident.
Him and two very unhappy, hungry girls.
A wisp of humor floated through the torrent of magic. Someone with the bravery to laugh. Jamie grabbed it with both magical hands—laughter was life!—and rode it up into the sky. Seeking. Reaching.
Gray clouded all his senses. Jamie trusted thirty years of training and ignored it.
Kenna!
For now, he had to trust the two would be together. If they weren’t, he’d cross that terrifying bridge when it came. His magic would seek a lot more easily for the child of his blood.
Slowly, not wanting to shake the circle, he separated the power streams at his back. Leaning hard on Nell and her trio, he sent out a web of fire power, like seeking like. Kenna’s strongest magic was fire—and the deeper they got into the astral world, the less useful it would be.
Next he reached to Devin. Blood of Kenna’s blood—and there was no water anywhere he couldn’t bond with. Shedding the innate distrust of a fire witch for anything liquid, Jamie slid into the mists, using his brother’s strength to feed flowing currents of power.
KENNA!
He was getting cold. Relentlessly, he tugged on the earth trio’s flow and felt the healing gift packaged with it. His circle was getting creative—and his feet were no longer going numb.
The webs of water and air had stretched as far as magic could take them. Time to mindseek. Jamie shaped a channel and discovered that his mind talents were far less clunky than usual. Marcus. Hot damn.
The gray was thicker now, a choking fog that seemed to swallow magic whole.
Silently, Jamie pushed with his mind—and thanks to his wife, with his heart. Kenna, lovey—show me where you are. It’s time to go home, baby girl. He pictured her in his mind—whole, safe, and holding tight to a tiny girl with purple eyes that matched her daddy’s shirt. And then laughed as the obvious hit. This was a world of cold, wet dark—his little fire witch would be mad as hell.