Helga snorted. “That’s what you think. Remember that power outage twenty years back?”
“Exactly,” Marion said, stabbing her needles for emphasis. “You lit candles without a match. Thought we wouldn’t notice, did you?”
Caro blinked, her fireglobe vanishing. “Non-witches generally see what they want to see.”
“You just keep telling yourselves that, dearie.” Helga settled back, chortling again. “You just keep thinking that.”
Elsie could feel her energy running low. “Sorry, Sammy. I have to turn this off now. I’m a tired witch.” She was prepared for his wail of dismay. She was totally unprepared for the basketball-sized fireglobe that suddenly appeared over his head.
Jodi’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room. Even Sammy was silent, staring at the light in astonished awe. A moment later, the globe disappeared.
“Ah, then,” said Caro softly. “We have a baby fire witch, do we?”
The fear on Jodi’s face as she cuddled her baby razored Elsie’s soul. She ached to protect the tiny boy from a mother who didn’t want a child who could make fire.
“I should have guessed—he always sleeps better in something knit.” Caro leaned forward and gently touched Jodi’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. We’ve got plenty of people who can teach him everything he needs to know.”
Jodi looked up, eyes hesitant. “Is it dangerous? Could he hurt himself?”
“Not at the moment.” Caro stroked the cheek of a very sleepy Sammy. “That little bit of light totally tuckered him out. He hasn’t got enough power to do more than that yet.”
“Yet?” His mother’s eyes were still deeply worried.
“Most fire babes emerge with their power on full blast.” Caro chuckled as Sammy gave a huge yawn. “We’ll keep a good eye on him, but most likely, he’ll just be able to keep his hands warm and amuse small children.”
“Okay, then.” Jody rocked her baby boy gently as his eyes closed. “I guess there’s a reason we wandered into this knitting shop before you were born, sweet boy.” She looked up, all traces of fear gone. “Tell me what I need to do for him.”
Caro smiled in approval. “Bring him by for lots of visits. Feed his affection for knitted things. He’ll always feel happiest with a knit sweater or a blankie.”
Jodi laughed. “I bet you say that to all your customers.”
“Maybe.” Caro winked. “But this time, it’s true.”
Helga picked up a ball of yarn off the table. “Well then, let’s get started, shall we? Dibs on making him a stripy sweater.”
Elsie’s hands shook more stitches off her needles, her heart a tangled mess. Jodi had traveled from fear to acceptance in less than a minute. Sammy was a very lucky little boy. And it was suddenly very clear to Elsie that she’d been waiting thirty years for her own mother to make that same trip.
~ ~ ~
Lizard laid her head on one end of their couch and watched her roommate’s clicking needles. “You’re getting faster.”
“Practice.” Elsie looked up and frowned. “You should go to bed.”
Her bed sounded better than chocolate and a million dollars. “Can’t. Essay to write, maps to make.”
“If you pass out again, Ginia’s going to make you drink more of that green goo.”
Lizard shivered. That stuff had been totally vile. “I’ll sleep, okay? I just have stuff to do first.”
Elsie turned her knitting around. “Do you know there are studies that show productivity increases up to fifty percent if you’re well rested?”
Welcome back, stick-butt Elsie. Lizard stuck out her tongue. “I hear it’s true if you’re having great sex, too.”
“I don’t believe they’ve done any scientific studies on that.” The voice never changed, but Elsie’s mind was actually amused. Dang. If her roommate was learning to crack a joke, the world must be ending.
Elsie set down her knitting. “Can I offer some advice? I’ve always been pretty good at using my time efficiently.”
She was actually considering advice from stick-butt girl. Yup. World definitely ending. Lizard lifted one eye open. “Okay, but keep it simple. I’m not used to having this problem.” She’d spent the last ten years in desperate search of something to do.
“Well, first you need to prioritize.” Elsie tilted her head. “But honestly, I think you’re doing okay with that, except for the sleeping and eating parts.” She paused a moment. “I think what I want to tell you is that you don’t have to do everything perfectly.”
That was the kind of advice stick-butt girl would only give if she was suffering from a concussion. Lizard struggled to sit up. “That sounds weird coming from you.”
Elsie laughed quietly. “Yes, it does. And I probably need to take my own advice, but… it’s like setting the table.”
God, this conversation was hurting her head. “What do knives and forks have to do with this?”
“Well, you can set the table with nice china and three kinds of forks and cloth napkins, right?”
Not in her universe. “I’m pretty much a plate, fork, and mug girl, myself.”
“Exactly.” Elsie beamed. “So that could be good enough. Or if you wanted things to be a little special, maybe use a nice plate or a candle—a small effort, but not as much as the nice china and cloth napkins.”
It was beginning to make an odd kind of sense. “So good enough, but not perfect. Kind of like your muffins.”
Elsie blushed. “Sorry, I know those weren’t very good.”
“Nah, they were fine. Pretty good for a first attempt.” She’d have been willing to eat cardboard if it kept her brain moving—and that was Elsie’s whole point. “You’re saying I should be a little more half-assed about some things.”
Elsie’s lips twitched. “That’s one way to put it. Be competent—but you don’t have to be a genius at everything.” She knit a few stitches, and then laughed gently. “And I really do need to take my own advice.”
Maybe Elsie hadn’t been the world’s worst therapist. Lizard’s yawn nearly split her ribcage. And maybe a nap before tackling her essay. “You want biscuits for breakfast tomorrow?”
Elsie put down her knitting and picked up a notebook and a pencil. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that. I think we need a more equitable split of household chores.”
What? She didn’t have any more freaking time to do chores. And the place looked fine. “You want us to start polishing the floors with a toothbrush or something?”
“No. Not at all.” The hurt on Elsie’s face caught Lizard by surprise. “You’ve been doing most of the cooking and the grocery shopping. I know I’m not your equal in the kitchen, but I’d like to try to take some of that load from you. Maybe then you’ll have a little more time to relax and sleep.”
Crap. Lizard felt like she’d kicked a kitten or something. “I don’t mind cooking.” And Elsie’s muffins were okay, but that didn’t mean anything else was safe. “You could do the grocery shopping, though. That would be good.” It would be freaking brilliant. It was hard to cook with an empty fridge.
Elsie looked a lot happier. “If you make me a list of items we should have in the house, I’ll make sure we’re fully stocked.” She flipped through her notebook. “I also asked Caro for some simple breakfast and dinner recipes, and she’s going to give me a few lessons.”
If Caro was helping, they probably wouldn’t die. “Her lasagna’s pretty easy, and we could eat that for a week.”
“Leftovers.” Elsie beamed. “I didn’t think about that. I’ll add it into my plan.”
Uh, oh. “Plan” was one of those red-alert words when you were dealing with compulsive people. “What kind of plan?”
Elsie held up a sheaf of paper covered in very precise notations. “I have you scheduled to cook dinner twice a week, and breakfast on Saturdays. I’ll handle most of the others, and we can do take-out in emergencies.”
Part of Lizard, the part that hated plans and schedule
s, wanted to throw up. The part that liked to eat could have kissed Elsie’s feet. “Put me down for two breakfasts. Biscuits are easy.”
Elsie contemplated her master plan, eraser at the ready. “I’ll see if I can fit you in. Caro’s going to trade some food for helping with fall inventory, and Nat said Jamie might trade tomato sauce for cookies. Caro says cookies are pretty easy.” She looked up. “Do you like spaghetti? I’m happy to change the menu to accommodate your food preferences.”
Yup. She was going to kiss stick-butt Elsie’s feet. “I eat anything.” Lizard paused a beat. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Elsie grinned. “Cooking is a sensory experience. It’ll be good for me.”
Chapter 8
Nat stood in the hallway, eyes on her intern. 9 a.m. and she’d already folded the towels twice. It was turning into a morning ritual. A soul numbing, life-constricting ritual, the kind that made Nat’s throat close up just observing it.
It was like watching a plant die from lack of water. And it was happening in her studio.
Nat tried to breathe, tried to find the open mental space she needed to think clearly. Instead, a line from Jennie’s email of the night before marched to a jarring beat in her head. We need to support her, instead of propping her up.
It sounded like Melvin’s advice.
Nat watched another towel land on top of the pile, corners crisply aligned—and suddenly knew, with terrible certainty, that Spirit Yoga had become one of Elsie’s props. She closed her eyes against the squeezing pain and directed one furious blast at the pendant around her neck.
Why was this hers to do?
The answer flowed back into her fingers. Because she was the one who saw the need.
Nat wandered back to the small kitchen, thinking and breathing and trying to soften the ache in her heart. The pendant around her neck brought with it some demands—she’d known that the moment it had been laid in her fingers. She’d made a promise to Elsie the night they’d both put their necklaces on.
Sometimes keeping promises really sucked.
She’d pushed very hard on Elsie before, and it was time to do it again. No more flaming interns—she’d promised Jamie. But this was going to scrape at Elsie’s soul.
Taking two teacups off the shelf, Nat poured some of the steeping tea, willing her hands to stop shaking. Some lovely blend of chamomile and strawberry—one of Ginia’s recent experiments. Nat inhaled deeply, letting the ripe smell of strawberry carry the richness of summer deep into her lungs. This time of year was full of abundance. Time to go water Elsie’s garden a little—even if it meant ripping the plastic off her greenhouse first.
She paused again in the hallway, watching. Elsie had been so vibrant during the water-balloon fight. Out of her element, surrounded by friends, and totally open to the possibilities. It was time to give that Elsie more room to play.
This was going to tear both of them in two—and it had to be done.
Nat stepped forward, holding out a cup of tea. “I think maybe this isn’t the place for you right now.”
Towel folding completed, Elsie shifted to straightening yoga mats. Ones that were already perfectly straight. “I don’t understand—do you have something different you need me to be doing?”
Even tea felt lumpy in Nat’s throat. She pushed her anguish away—there would be time for that later. “Take some time off. I don’t really need anyone to fold towels for me, and if I do, there are plenty of willing hands. You need time to explore who you are, and I don’t think that being here is serving you right now.”
“You’re firing me?” Elsie’s hands fluttered, her steady rhythm shattered. Her bleak eyes nearly tore Nat’s heart out.
“No.” It had seemed so clear a moment ago. Nat tried to cling to the tattered remnants of her certainty. “When was the last time you had a life free of commitments to anyone but yourself?”
Elsie’s voice was a harsh whisper. “I’ve never asked for that.”
“I know.” Nat kept her tears at bay—they wouldn’t help. “But I’m giving it to you anyway. You are always welcome here—but come when yoga calls to you.” Or maybe, friendship. “Come for your needs, not mine. Come because Elsie Giannotto feels the need to move and breathe in the way we do here, or because you have a sudden urge to be upside down. Come every day, or don’t come at all.”
The weight of freedom bowed Elsie’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I must have failed.”
Nat caught her by the arms, wishing she could reach the heart that was already fleeing. “You didn’t fail. If you believe nothing else, please believe that. You’ve been so brave. I’m not pushing you away—I’m trying to tell you it’s okay to take some freedom.” And right now, Spirit Yoga was just another chain weighing down Elsie’s responsible soul.
Elsie’s eyes were hollow. “I guess it’s my lacking that I don’t understand the difference. I need to go now.” She turned, her movements those of an old woman, and walked very slowly toward the door.
Nat leaned against the counter, holding her pendant and feeling sick. And prayed Elsie had a soft spot to land.
Her pendant beat a steady vibration on her chest. She didn’t know if it was cheering or crying. Nat laid her head down on the counter and let the tears come.
~ ~ ~
––––––––––––––
To: [email protected]
From: Jamie Sullivan
Subject: What the hell is going on?
––––––––––––––
Jennie,
I get a phone call from Melvin, telling me to go to my wife, and arrive to find her as devastated as I’ve ever seen her. All I’ve picked up so far is that she fired Elsie. Well, not really, but that’s how it feels to the both of them.
Something about folded towels and chains and pulling the wings off caged butterflies. It’s hard to make much sense of words swimming in a vat of tears.
I’d go hit somebody, but I’m pretty sure my wife has done this to herself. She’s sliced her heart in two because she believes she had to.
I’m no stranger to the best among us being asked to walk the hardest road—and I know all too well that she’s one of our very best.
But as the guy wiping her tears, let me just say for the record—this bites. I want to know what the hell’s going on, and what that wise old guy in San Diego knows that I don’t.
If Nat’s not out of the bathroom in two more minutes, I’m going in. Pretty sure that’s in my marriage vows somewhere.
See if you can find a witch to come cover the studio, please? I’m taking my wife home.
Over and out,
Jamie
~ ~ ~
Elsie stumbled through the door of Knit a Spell, no longer able to hold back the faucet of tears. She made it two steps and felt Caro’s strong arms wrapping around her. “Shh, sweet girl. Shh.”
Hands and voices joined Caro’s in a chorus of concern as Elsie shook with sobs. Some part of her fought for control—in her world, tears weren’t a communal activity.
Nonsense, child. How better to cry than surrounded by friends?
Friends. She had friends. A few last hiccupping sobs, and Elsie picked her face up off Caro’s shoulder. Helga handed her a delicately embroidered hankie. “Here you go, dearie. Have a blow, and then come sit and tell us all about it.”
Elsie looked at the hankie in consternation. “It’s so lovely. Maybe a Kleenex instead?”
“Pfft.” Helga’s eyes twinkled. “A little snot never hurt anything well made.”
The giggle that snuck out caught Elsie’s bruised heart totally by surprise. Carefully, she blew, trying to keep the pink roses as clean as possible. It was a bit of a hopeless task.
Helga looped her elbow through Elsie’s and led her back to the tables. “So, was it a man?”
Elsie tried to get her brain moving. “A man?”
“Tears like that usually mean a man,” said Helga sagely as the othe
rs nodded. “It’s their Y chromosomes, dear—they don’t know any better.”
Jodi bounced her small boy on her lap. “Except this one. I’m going to raise him right.”
“You give it a good try.” Marion patted her knee. “But don’t be too hard on yourself it if doesn’t turn out quite the way you expect.”
Elsie felt their banter coating her soul in comfort. Friends. She had friends. “It wasn’t a guy.” She sniffled one last time. “I got fired.”
Helga frowned. “From where, dear? I thought you were taking a break from your therapy practice.”
“I am.” Elsie took a deep breath. “Nat fired me. From the yoga studio. Well, not really fired, but she told me to go away, which is pretty much the same thing.”
Caro’s eyebrows flew up. “That doesn’t sound like Nat.”
“I was there.” Elsie hated the bitter tone in her voice. “She told me none of the things I’m doing for her are very useful.”
“Wasn’t she the young pregnant woman at the water-balloon fight?” Marion’s needles stabbed her knitting rather fiercely. “She seemed nice enough. I guess appearances can be deceiving.”
“She’s wonderful.” Elsie jumped to Nat’s defense. “She’s worked very hard to help me during my time working with her.” She stopped for a moment as the true awfulness of what had happened came to sit on her heart again. “It’s me. I was sent to be her intern, and I guess I haven’t done an acceptable job.”
“Bull hooey.” This time Caro’s eyebrows stayed in their normal place. “There’s not a chance Natalia Sullivan said that.” She tugged on a couple of errant balls in the counter yarn display. “It might have been what you heard, but that’s a different kettle of fish.”
“Ah,” said Helga, setting down her knitting and pulling out a large plastic container. “Sounds like we need some chocolate, and then you can tell us exactly what Nat said, Elsie dear. We’ll put our heads together and see if we can figure out what it all means.”
Elsie took a brownie, blew her nose again, and started to tell the whole, miserable story. And felt better the moment the words started to flow.
Witches Under Way Page 8