“I don’t stomp!”
“Well, you should try it then.” Helga chuckled. “Give a little booty swing while you do it. That’ll make all the cute boys look.” Jennie managed not to inhale her soda. A couple of other people in the room weren’t so lucky.
Lauren leaned over. “Should we be rescuing Lizard?”
“I don’t think so.” Jennie sent out a cautious mindprobe. “It isn’t all temper tantrum. Something going on back there is scaring her at a different level than her fashion sense.” And sucking her in. Whatever Helga had carried behind the mountain was calling to Lizard.
And making her denial really loud.
Jennie winced. Maybe someone really should ride to the rescue. She moved to get up—and then sat down in a rush, hands diving for her camera, as Helga pushed Lizard out of hiding.
Killer black leather boots—the fierce, stomping kind with heels. Leather pants that moved like a second skin. The sexiest purple smocked top Jennie had ever seen. And a black beret that should have been way over the top—and wasn’t.
Lizard looked like a poet. A bombshell rebel poet.
Oh, Helga—what have you done? thought Jennie ruefully, and snapped the picture her fingers were itching to take. A Doubtful Poet. Perhaps not as good a title as Nat’s, but she could hardly call it anything else with the angst shining out of Lizard’s eyes.
Then Jennie felt the reverb of Lizard’s mind slamming shut—and the directed flare coming from Caro. The kind that signaled a mindsend with some serious force behind it.
Lizard scowled. Caro mindsent again—with enough power to make Jennie wince, even though she couldn’t hear the words.
The words are none of your business, sent Caro tautly. Just mine and hers.
Jeebers, sent Lauren, catching the byplay. How’d we end up with a mind-witch showdown at the O. K. Corral?
No idea. Jennie shook her head slowly, eyes and mind intent on the sudden, silent drama. But Lizard’s not blocking her. Caro’s send was just a shade short of forced entry—with enough effort, Lizard could have kept her out. Instead, teeth gritted—she listened.
And finally, grudgingly, nodded.
Something big had been decided. Jennie just had no idea what.
Lizard turned to the room, struck a pose—and recited poetry.
Roses are red, violets are blue,
This room’s a psycho shopping zoo.
The fashion’s a disaster, the mirrors are large,
And somebody left a crazy lady with needles in charge.
The room exploded in giggles from those who knew Lizard only casually—and utter, silent shock from those who knew her best. Of the latter group, only Caro stood unsurprised, the gleam of victory in her eyes. Jennie sent her a look of immense respect. She still had no idea what had been said, but Caro had just pushed a flower through a mountainside.
Now they just had to survive the aftermath, which was in serious doubt for a few nerve-wracking moments. And then the crazy lady targeted in the poem leaned over and adjusted Lizard’s beret. “Your delivery is excellent, my dear. And there’s more of your heart in that poem than you think.”
Lizard spluttered. And reddened. And couldn’t hold back her punk grin.
Jennie shook her head. A room full of mind witches, and it was the little old knitting lady with all the right answers. That just figured.
~ ~ ~
––––––––––––––
To: [email protected]
From: Jennie Adams
Subject: Any lighter, and they’ll be floating.
––––––––––––––
Dear Vero,
My darkroom calls—I know I caught truth in my camera lens today, and I can’t wait to see it.
It all started when Elsie went shopping for clothes to match Gertrude Geronimo. Whoever added a bike ride to her Silly Jar was either mystically lucky or very wise. If it was the latter, I want to know how Melvin guesses these things.
Buoyed by the joys of a fast set of wheels, she went looking to buy the right self-decoration for freedom—and then danced for us all. I’ll send you the picture as soon as I have it, but you’ll see something of yourself in it, I think. That bewitching stage presence of yours comes from the same taproot as what we saw in Elsie today.
She was magic in a yellow dress and red shoes.
This one, I will have to print in color.
The rest of us just got caught up in the enchantment—and the Helga typhoon. I should know better than to underestimate my elders by now, but she was a force. Even Lizard got swept up.
Sometimes forces of nature can get it really wrong, but Helga has either uncanny insight or really good sources. Or both.
And Lizard recited her first poetry in public. It was intentional silliness, of the kind that makes small children and witches giggle. No matter. It was poetry.
That, too, I have on film. And I’d print it in black and white, to catch that edgy humor at work—but I can’t possibly leave Helga’s purple miracle hidden. Color it will be.
There were chains thrown off today. Big, fat, heavy ones.
And apparently, even my darkroom will be festooned in color to celebrate.
With love,
Jennie
~ ~ ~
––––––––––––––
To: [email protected]
From: Vero Liantro
Subject: Re: Any lighter, and they’ll be floating.
––––––––––––––
Jennie dearest,
Ah, such cause for celebration. I must see pictures of our girls in their finery, especially my lovely Elsie. I have very fond memories of a yellow dress from my younger days that always made me feel as if I were floating on sunshine. I wish such feelings for her.
Melvin says he’s not the one who added the bike ride to Elsie’s jar, and that you should seek the wise writer of those words in her yogic realm. He claims it’s just a hunch, but I’m not sure I believe him. There’s a beautiful and mysterious connection between Natalia and that husband of mine. It is good—she needs a grandfather, and he has always needed hearts to love.
I am intrigued by Helga’s role in all of this. She’s a feisty and interesting woman, and clearly she’s taken to your students. Melvin remarks that we shouldn’t be surprised—anyone who is a dead shot with a water pistol has obviously lived a fascinating life.
I’d love to know where he comes up with these things.
I’m thinking back to when some of your heaviest chains went flying, Jennie darling, and I’m reminded of something. It was one of the very few times I believe I was helpful to the wise man I married. You had just brought him the picture that mattered, the one he’d asked for, and he was so very proud of you.
You only ever really astonished him once—and it was with what you did next. Out of your feeling of lightness came an act of incredible bravery, one that even he wasn’t expecting. You put that picture up on your wall—and it nearly broke you.
Neither Lizard nor Elsie lacks for bravery, so I fully expect them to test their new wings. Be ready.
Sending gentle winds,
Vero
Chapter 19
Lizard opened the oven and scowled at her biscuits.
“Something wrong?” asked Elsie, pouring orange juice. “They smell delicious.”
They were golden brown perfection, and they’d taste like heaven. None of which was going to make her day any better. She looked over at her roommate, belatedly realizing Elsie didn’t seem so perky this morning either.
Lizard sighed. Sometimes she wished for stick-butt Elsie back—she’d been easier to ignore. “The biscuits are fine. I have a sucky day coming up at work, that’s all.”
Elsie moved quietly to the table with glasses of juice, ignoring the obvious invitation to complain about her day too. “Lauren says you’re becoming an excellent re
altor. That’s something to be really proud of.”
Lizard frowned—her roommate sounded almost wistful. “Yeah. Today I get to give Josh his keys.”
“And that’s a bad day?” Elsie’s eyebrows winged up. “I thought he was really happy with the property you found for him.”
It was so weird to have a roommate who actually listened to stuff you said and remembered it. “He is. It’s a nice house, right around the corner from the diner, and half the neighbors love him already.”
“Sounds nice.” Elsie sounded wistful again. “So what’s the problem?”
Lizard squirmed, suddenly realizing she was having this conversation out loud. Dammit, it was hard to keep people out of her personal life when they asked questions before breakfast. “He wants cooking lessons. Hey, can’t you cool those things off?”
Elsie grinned, tossing a still-hot biscuit hand-to-hand. “Fire magic’s only good for making things hot.” She broke it in two and dropped it on a plate, then deposited the plate in front of Lizard. “Josh wants cooking lessons?”
Yup. She actually listened. Lizard wished briefly for the kind of roommates she used to have—the stupid, unreasonable ones that let her sulk in peace. “He can’t cook, and he thinks I should teach him.”
“If you don’t want to teach him, I’m sure he’d understand.” Elsie was back to biscuit tossing again. “That goes well beyond your obligations as a realtor.”
Lizard grinned. Sometimes stick-butt Elsie still made a brief appearance, and it was oddly reassuring. “Nah, this is a separate deal. He’s not one of those clients.” Some were, and she was usually tempted to zap them with mind magic, something her boss unfortunately frowned on.
“Then why…” Elsie’s voice trailed off, and her eyes suddenly got a look that made Lizard squirm. “You don’t want to spend time alone with him in his house.”
Frack. The old Elsie had been way less smart. “It’s just his kitchen.” Lizard scowled. “Besides, the diner is right around the corner, and he’s richer than Borneo. Why does he need to learn how to cook scrambled eggs?”
“I have no idea how rich Borneo is, but I take your point.” Elsie’s lips quirked. “Maybe he really likes eggs.” She touched a biscuit with a finger, mind suddenly filled with gratitude. “Or maybe he knows that really good food makes a place feel like home.”
Okay, they were getting way too touchy-feely this morning. Lizard started to scowl, and then got hit by a brainwave. “Hey, you make pretty decent eggs now. You could show him, and then you could teach him how to make spaghetti sauce. Not your special stuff, just a basic recipe.” Josh would totally go for that. Scrambled eggs and spaghetti pretty much covered all the food groups a single guy needed.
Elsie got up from the table and reached up into the cupboard over the fridge. She came back bearing two jars of red sauce and a package of fettuccine noodles. “A housewarming gift.”
Jeebers. That probably meant she wasn’t getting out of scrambled-egg-lesson duty, but it was worth one last try. “You could go drop them off yourself—he’s getting his keys in about an hour.”
Her roommate’s face went blank. Which wasn’t nearly as scary as the sudden emptiness in her mind. “I have some other things to take care of this morning.”
Lizard stared. This wasn’t even stick-butt Elsie. It was worse. What the heck? “Where are you going?”
No answer. Just—distance.
To hell with that. Lizard reached out, hands and mind both demanding an answer. “Where are you going?”
Elsie slid back into her own head—real again, and ineffably sad. “To visit my mother. It’s time.”
~ ~ ~
Jennie beamed straight into Melvin’s living room. She didn’t have time to knock.
And found him sitting in his usual chair, hand wrapped around his pendant, eyes focused on faraway places. She knew better than to interrupt, even though her heart knocked with fear.
It nearly undid her when his fingers reached out to curl in hers. “Thank you for coming, sweet Jennie. I need the company.”
That wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “What’s going on? Why are the pendants going nuts?”
He was silent a long while. “There are moments in every person’s life. Moments of infinite hope and great danger, when the egg of the soul cracks open.” His grip on her fingers tightened. “One of those moments is today.”
Brought on by the magic of exactly the right clothes and people who saw you as you could really be. Damn, damn, damn. She had the insane need to leap tall buildings in a single bound. “What do we do?”
His face sheathed in pain. “We wait.”
Unacceptable. Jennie jumped up, reaching for her cell phone.
He stopped her with a whisper. “It’s not ours to do, bright Jennie. It’s ours to wait.” A tear ran down his cheek. “And I’m terribly sorry it’s been asked of you.”
It hit her then, like a sledgehammer. He’d done this before. Lived with this tearing need in his soul—and done nothing but waited.
She crouched down at his knees. “You did this for me.”
“Yes.” He rested his forehead on hers. “It doesn’t get any easier.”
~ ~ ~
Elsie fussed with Gertrude’s ribbons, double-checked the lock, and kissed the head of her brand-new lime-green frog, riding in a place of honor on Gertrude’s handlebars. She hoped it would give her courage.
And remind her of the woman she wanted to be—the kind who got pleasure from kissing cosmically ugly green frogs. The kind who rode her bike in a pretty skirt and sandals, just because the sun was shining. They weren’t her Helga-gifted red shoes—even the new Elsie was pretty sure she couldn’t ride a bike in four-inch heels.
But in the quiet hours of the night, she’d gone through the bouquet of clothes in all the untouched shopping bags and found those that made her happiest. The flirty, jewel-blue skirt was the sort of bold, daring color she never wore—and it had delighted her heart to slip it on this morning.
She brushed her hands over the vibrant material and sighed. A bold woman wouldn’t be standing here terrified to go knock on her own mother’s door.
Elsie touched her frog one last time for luck, and then walked through the white picket gate of the front yard where she’d grown up. Automatically she scanned the gardens, lovely as always. Her mother sank all of her earth-witch talents into the summer blooms. Elsie reached for a blue flower almost the color of her skirt and sent it a wisp of power, pleased when the blue petals perked up under her touch.
“Your skills have improved,” said a voice from the front door. “Perhaps this internship is doing you some good.”
“Hi, Mom.” Elsie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to channel Nat’s calm, and then turned. “You taught me how to use my earth magic well. I just had to learn to keep my fire power separate. I’ve gotten some help with that now.”
Her mother turned sheet white. “You’re not a fire witch. What ridiculousness is this?”
“I am.” Elsie reached out her palm and lit a small fire globe. “And without knowing that, I always used earth and fire magic together. It’s why I wilted the flowers.” Her inability to tend to the gardens had always been a permeating disappointment.
“Parlor tricks.” Her mother dismissed the fire globe with a flick. “Your father could do the same. True magic is power that can be controlled and put to good use.”
Elsie’s fingers nearly crushed the poor blue flower. “Papa was a fire witch?” Sudden, irrational anger flared. Why did they always talk about her father in the past tense? “He has fire power?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Her mother’s gaze was level. “He’s not real for me anymore, Elsie. And he abandoned you. His magic was weak, just like his love.”
Elsie gently magicked the small blue flower back to health—and felt a tug of empathy for the woman who had been left alone with a small, bereft child to comfort. As a lost child, the why’s had mattered little, but as a trained therapis
t, she knew that loving and being a responsible adult weren’t always the same.
She snuffed out the fire globe—and then felt her anger streaming back. Her head might understand, but her soul still seethed with slow-burning fury. And her mother had always preached the importance of proper training and control. “What about my magic? I’m not Papa. How could you ignore magical talent?”
“What good is a ball of light, Elsie?” She could hear the conviction, belief in a path well followed. “What use are a few magic tricks? Better that you learned to use your magic for good.”
“What, because it was Papa’s magic too, it can’t possibly be worthwhile?” Elsie could feel the pressure building inside her head. “Who are you to decide that?”
“I’m your mother.” Again, the conviction.
Elsie’s temper exploded. She reached up her hands, letting fingers spark to the sky. “I could have been dangerous. Fire power can be deadly.” The words screamed from her throat. “I could have burned the house down.”
“I know.” Her mother’s voice rasped sharp against the summer day, her eyes glued to the smoky residue of Elsie’s outrage. “I sat outside your room with a bucket of water and a fire extinguisher when your magic emerged. Every night for three months. I kept you safe, Elsie Bean.”
The old childhood nickname stopped Elsie’s streaming firepower in its tracks. The image of her mother, exhausted, sitting guard over her room at night, nearly undid her.
She’d come to rail against the injustices of a child denied her power and her passions, a child guided into a life of efficient emptiness.
And found love.
It had been love misguided—but it still mattered. And it quenched her need to rage against the woman who hadn’t been the mother she needed.
Elsie Bean’s past was already written—no amount of fire and fury could change it. But the future was entirely up to her.
To start, she could offer Mom a chance to get to know the woman she intended to be. Elsie smiled and held out a hand. “Come meet my new bike. Her name is Gertrude Geronimo, and she sparkles.”
It was worth the entire trip just to see the melting shock on her mother’s face. Elsie grinned. She might have to accept the past, but there was no need to make the future entirely easy. Time for Mom to meet her new daughter—the one with fire in her soul and ribbons on her bike.
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