A Reckless Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 3)

by Debora Geary

  Right after she got her knitting swatch done and Devin’s eyes out of her head.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Are you cold? Do you need to put your feet up?” Ginia tucked a blanket around Sophie’s expanding waist and pulled out a bottle of water to put on the floor beside her. “It’s non-toxic paint, but I still think it’s a good idea to leave the patio door open.”

  Sophie grinned. Ginia sounded like a miniature Moira. “I’m fine, sweetie. And you can’t get out of painting by taking care of me all afternoon.” Nell had shuttled her through Realm to come supervise the painting of Sierra’s apartment—and to pick up some clues about what kind of furnishings she might like.

  Ginia grinned. “Sierra’s still trying to decide on all her colors.” She motioned to the group over at the counter. “Come over here—maybe Sophie can help us decide.”

  In moments, there were about a hundred paint chips spread out over the floor. At least half of them were pink. Tahiti Sunrise. Bubblegum. Pinkify Me. It was a selection that had nine-year-old girl written all over it. Sophie grinned at Sierra. “It’s your apartment—do you have a favorite color?”

  She giggled. “Well, I like pink. But I’m not sure I want to live in the middle of an entirely pink room.”

  Indeed. Time to impart some gentle decorating advice. “I usually like to pick a pretty relaxing color for my main room. Then you can use funky colors in small spaces, or on furniture, or art.”

  Sierra laughed, sweeping her hands around the empty room. “I don’t exactly have a lot of furniture.”

  Not yet. Sophie spread out her arms. “Tell me what it would look like if it was done up any way you wanted.”

  Sierra just blinked. Clearly no one had asked her a question like that in a very long time.

  Ginia held out a paintbrush and tapped her on the shoulder. “I am your Fairy Godmother Giniarella. What kind of room can I bring you, oh lucky peasant girl?”

  Now Sierra giggled, obviously more comfortable with goofy games than serious questions. She closed her eyes and spun around a few times. Mia grabbed her just before she bumped into a wall, and four giggly girls collapsed on the floor.

  Sophie hoped Sierra offered up some clues soon. The real fairy-godmothers-in-waiting needed the inside scoop, and she really needed to pee. This whole being-pregnant thing was starting to get uncomfortable.

  Sierra looked around at her walls, considering. “Maybe something watery. I’d kind of like to feel like I’m floating in the ocean.”

  That sounded like a good fit for a water witch, but oceans came in a lot of different moods. Sophie dug a little. “In Nova Scotia right now, that would mean all gray and blustery.”

  “Uh, uh.” Sierra rolled over. “Warm blue water, like Hawaii in the summer, or Tahiti.”

  The girl had been to Tahiti? Lucky her. But they could work with a Hawaiian-ocean theme. “What else can you see as you float?”

  “Happy fish. I used to like the yellow stripey ones best—they were the most curious. And the huge old green sea turtles, and big red flowers on my favorite beach towel.” Sierra was lost in memory now, eyes closed and a smile on her face that tugged at Sophie’s heart.

  Then her face fell, and Ginia and Sophie both reached out, the heartache that had just hit obvious to any healer. Ginia touched Sierra’s cheek gently, offering comfort even as her nine-year-old heart struggled to understand. “Did you go there with your mom? To Hawaii?”

  “Yeah.” Sierra sat up and cuddled her knees. “We went back there a lot. I was born in Hawaii, in the ocean.”

  Ginia’s eyes opened wide. “That’s so cool.”

  Sierra grinned. “Momma said she felt like a whale, so it made sense.”

  Sophie giggled quietly and rubbed her belly. She was beginning to understand how that felt, and she was nowhere near as big as Nat yet.

  Shay got up and started collecting blue paint chips. “Are any of these the right kind of watery color?”

  Sophie watched as the four girls put their heads together and began debating the merits of Blue Moon, Tropical Turquoise, Forget Me Not, and her personal favorite, Love In a Mist. Quietly she pulled out her cell phone and began to text instructions to the waiting brigade of shoppers.

  And then she needed to contemplate Sierra a little longer. The girl was putting on a good front. But Sophie was pretty sure she wasn’t feeling nearly as bubbly as her exterior might suggest.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nat tried not to grunt as she extracted herself from the car. It was sad and pathetic to drive less than four blocks to go shopping, but Jamie insisted on having the car nearby these days. Which was pretty funny when he could have teleported her the four blocks home.

  Mostly she just wanted an anti-gravity device that would make her feel a little lighter. She hadn’t been upside-down in three months, and every organ in her body had settled in somewhere under her ribs.

  And that was enough very-pregnant-lady whining. She smiled over at Jamie, who was reading the incoming text on his phone. “Do we have our mission?”

  “Yeah.” He frowned. “Hawaiian ocean in spring. Aren’t we supposed to be getting shopping instructions?”

  He was so cute. “Those are instructions, sweetie.”

  “Not. Instructions are things like ‘eight-foot couch’ or ‘table and four chairs.’”

  Well, she hadn’t married him for his shopping skills. “We know Sierra needs all that stuff, but this is about more than making sure she has a place to sit and sleep. It’s about making her a home.” Nat tried to imagine Hawaii in spring in her mind. It sounded lovely.

  “Eight-foot couches are homey.” Jamie pointed hopefully at the furniture store.

  She started waddling in that direction. Everyone waddled at nine months pregnant. It was humbling. “Well, we need to find a homey couch that will remind Sierra of Hawaii in spring.”

  “One couch with palm fronds, coming up.”

  Nat tried not to giggle. It wasn’t a safe activity with a belly this big. “I don’t think we have to be quite that literal.”

  He leaned down to kiss her forehead and opened the store door. “Fine. I’ll judge the comfort factor. You figure out if it will pass the decorating committee’s standards.”

  Ten minutes later, two things were obvious. One, furniture salespeople got really nervous when very pregnant women sat down on squishy couches. And two, most comfortable couches were insanely ugly.

  Nat sat down carefully on a footstool and sighed.

  Jamie looked over from his prone couch-testing position. “Maybe we’re going about this backwards. What would the perfect couch look like?”

  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine. “Curvy lines. Watery, so squishy and soft. Sophie says the walls are going to be a soft blue color, so maybe a darker blue for the couch, with a really soft fabric.” She touched the footstool. “Most of these are way too scratchy. We want it to feel like water, not carpet. Some pretty pillows and throws—I think Caro and Moira are taking care of that.”

  “We’re in the wrong place, then.” Jamie grinned. “I know the perfect couch.”

  Hallelujah. Levering up off the footstool, she took his hand. “Where are we going?”

  “Home.” He laughed as she stopped in confusion. “You know that ugly monstrosity in our basement?”

  It was olive green and coffee-stained—and one of Jamie’s most prized possessions. “You’re going to give her The Monster?”

  He shrugged and headed for the door. “Sure. It’s perfect. Big as an ocean and comfy and curvy. It just needs a new cover. I’ll call Nell—we must know someone who can sew.”

  The generosity of the witching community still made Nat catch her breath with regularity. Her husband would give up his couch, get it a new cover, and think nothing of it.

  She was a lucky woman. And maybe not the only one. Things were stirring for another Sullivan brother. “So what do you think about Devin and Lauren?”

  “What about them?”

  “Y
ou think what’s flying between them will go anywhere?”

  Jamie stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  She grinned. It was serious fun figuring things out faster than a mind witch. “I think it started at our wedding, actually, but it’s getting really obvious now. Did you see them at knitting this morning?”

  “Dev? And Lauren?” Jamie was practically squeaking.

  Yeah. Not the likeliest of pairs, on the surface. “The beginnings are there, but they might just ignore it. Lauren’s always been really happy on her own. She needs a guy less than anyone I know.”

  Jamie stared another long moment—and then his face slowly lit with mischief. “Well, that might be the one thing Dev would find irresistible.”

  Possibly. Nat kissed his cheek. “Resist the urge to meddle.”

  “Oh, we’ve already done that.” He grinned. “We put them together in our birthing circle.”

  She was missing something. “And how is that meddling?”

  “They’re going to be scared witless, depending on each other, and overwhelmed by our gorgeous girl.” He snickered softly. “Mom will be thrilled.”

  Nat shook her head, amused. “It’s not exactly a done deal yet.”

  His eyes shone with the kind of glee she usually saw in his four-year-old nephew. “No, but Mom will be here in a couple of days. And no one meddles better than Retha Sullivan.”

  They stepped out of the store into the much busier street—and two feet kicked into Nat’s ribs hard enough to make her double over. Jamie grabbed her arm, concern all over his face. “Contractions?” Then he shook his head. “No, I can feel her mind—her head hurts. Too many people.”

  He laid a hand on her belly and closed his eyes for a minute. She could feel the baby instantly quiet. “Whatever you did, she’s much happier now.”

  He nodded. “I threw up barriers, just like I did for Lauren once upon a time. I think all the strange minds confused her.”

  Nat tried to breathe and roll with the newness. “Ginia’s been coming over to clear our channels every day. Is there more we need to do?”

  He shrugged. “Ideally we teach our sweet girl to barrier, but as Lauren’s discovering, that’s tricky just yet. I tried lessons with Aervyn before he was born, too. Some stuff worked a little, some didn’t. Lauren’s a way better mind witch though, so maybe she’ll have better luck.”

  Magic lessons for an unborn witch. She definitely wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

  Chapter 12

  Lauren walked into Nell’s living room and laughed. “Didn’t any of you go home?” It was pretty much the same crew who had been there after the Channel Islands emergency.

  Jamie grinned. “Shopping exhaustion. And we were hungry. A little bird said Caro was bringing over food again.”

  Nell rolled her eyes. “Dev and Jamie came over to do a magic lesson with Aervyn, but he’s napping.” Her face softened. “He asked Sierra to come tuck him in, and when I went upstairs, they were both curled up together.”

  The two of them had bonded deeply in the last twenty-four hours. Aervyn’s capacity to forgive was humbling.

  “Done.” Sophie put down her needles, with what was presumably a swatch for Sierra’s blanket. “Napping’s good for people with channel shock.” She looked pointedly at Jamie. “You’re still tired—you could use some extra rest too.”

  He was tired. She could feel it. Lauren stood up. Witches who refused to take naps could at least eat. Nell’s kitchen always had cookies.

  She made it about halfway out of her chair before her head exploded, pounding with the incoming flood of desperation and sadness and incoming death. Oh, holy God. Not in the eye of the storm anymore. She fought for control—and then she heard Aervyn beginning to panic, overwhelmed by the trauma hitting his sleeping mind.

  First things first. Jamie! Get Aervyn out of there. Then get him barriered.

  She could feel Jamie’s fear, even as they both bolted for the stairs. Don’t know if I can. Once I port him, I won’t have much left.

  On it. Caro’s mental voice from just outside the house stopped them both in their tracks. Consider it done. You move him, Jamie—I have his head.

  Jamie nodded. Moved. He was sheet white again.

  Lauren squeezed her eyes shut in relief. Caro was a strong mind witch—Aervyn would be safe. She took one more moment to send an order to Nell. Barrier Jamie, or get him out of the house. He was almost empty.

  Sophie touched her arm, and then reached for Jamie, who was clutching the newel post, swaying. “I’ve got him. Go.”

  Thank goodness witches flocked to food.

  Lauren charged up the stairs and heard footsteps at her heels. She whirled on Devin. “Stay out—I can’t protect your mind and deal with her too.” Closer now, she was picking up Sierra’s dream—hurtling waves as big as a mountain, bearing down on a tiny island. “She’s reliving what happened.”

  “I’m mind-deaf, Lauren.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Whatever’s happening, it’s not hurting me.”

  She had no idea how anyone could be deaf to the tsunami of feeling coming from the bedroom where Sierra slept, but there was no time to argue. Yanking open the door to the room, she froze, barriering spell crashing to a halt.

  The poor girl was off the bed, trying to squeeze into the tiny space between the mattress and the floor, mewing like a tortured kitten. Her mind was one keening wail of pain.

  “Can I touch her?” Devin’s voice was an ocean of calm. “Is it okay to pick her up?”

  Lauren clung to his steadiness, fighting for control against Sierra’s devastation. “I don’t know. Move slowly—I’ll let you know if it gets worse.”

  Carefully he moved in beside Sierra, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Shh, sweet girl. Shh, now.”

  Lauren motioned for him to keep going—and then realized he’d do a lot better job if he wasn’t flying totally blind. She connected into his mind and sent a tiny fraction of what Sierra was feeling down the pipe.

  He nodded in thanks and slowly picked Sierra up, settling her in his lap like a small child. The pain in her mind dialed down a notch, and the awful mewing stopped.

  Lauren closed her eyes, trying to figure out what to do next.

  Can you hear me? His voice surprised her, but probably shouldn’t have. He’d been joined at the hip to a mind witch his whole life.

  Yeah. I’m going to try to dampen her emotions a little.

  No. His mind was very decisive. Not yet.

  She’s in agony, Devin. Lauren turned up the volume a bit so he could see for himself.

  He winced. Stop that, damn it. I’m not a stupid witch—I can see how bad it is just looking at your face. You’re whiter than Jamie.

  She dialed the volume back down, suddenly ashamed.

  And don’t freaking apologize, either. There’s no way this is all about a dead bird. You’re empath and telepath both, right? Focus on her dream—we need to know what’s hurting her like this.

  Lauren froze as his words sank in. He was right. She’d seen waves, but no birds at all. If Sierra was reliving the past few days, the bird would have been all over her dream. She swung around mentally and tried to pull dreaming images out of the flood.

  Hey! Devin had a hell of a kick for a guy who wasn’t a mind witch. Hook me in. Don’t you dare go into a dream alone.

  Freaking bossy Sullivans. He was right, however. Lauren threw him a line, and then dove into Sierra’s mind torrent, seeking—and glad for the guy who had her back.

  When she found the dream source, she backed off a step. Monitoring dreams was a tricky and dangerous business. Monitoring a nightmare…

  I’ve got you. Devin’s mindvoice was rock solid.

  Checking her mental anchors once more, Lauren grabbed hold of the roaring dream. And hissed as she suddenly found herself flying over the surface of the ocean at insane speeds. Holy God.

  Sierra’s desperate fear had nothing to do with the flying, however. L
auren looked up—and saw a mountain of water racing front of her. Just beyond it, a tiny island in the middle of the ocean. And on the island, a woman, blonde hair streaming—her back to the killing wave.

  She felt Devin’s harsh intake of breath. That’s Amelia. Oh, shit—Lauren, that’s Sierra’s mother.

  It was all too clear what was about to happen. And no way in hell did Sierra need to go through it again. Not today.

  Lauren reached for power, wrapping her own mind around Sierra’s. She grabbed the flow of the nightmare and folded it over, ripping out a large chunk of what came next.

  It took practically everything she had. Devin was right—this was a dream sequence with a long history, and it deeply resisted the change she imposed on it. She fought the overwhelming urge to make it permanent.

  Tying off the ends, she hit Sierra with the best sleep spell she could muster—and then reached for the floor as she felt the backlash hit.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sophie cursed as Devin carried Lauren into the living room. “What now?”

  Lauren lifted her head off his shoulder. “I just need a cookie. Or seven. I’ll be fine.”

  “Sit.” Sophie glared at Devin and pointed at the couch. She’d had more than enough witch heroes in the last few days. Reaching out for Lauren’s hands, she started a basic healing scan. And had to laugh. “What, you thought I hadn’t had enough practice with channel shock? What happened up there? Jamie thought it was just a bad nightmare.”

  “Beyond bad.” Devin spoke with a mouth full of cookie. “Sierra watches her mother die. Thanks to Lauren, she watched it one less time.”

  Sophie frowned. “She sees it? She was there?”

  “I don’t think so.” Lauren leaned back against the couch. “When she’s awake, she believes her mother’s dead, but she doesn’t know for sure. I don’t think she was there.”

  Sophie wasn’t so sure. “Recurring dream?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Lauren took the cookie Devin handed her. “Strong little bugger—I tried to loop out the worst part and just barely got it done.”

  Nat and Nell walked in, bearing bowls full of soup. It smelled like heaven—Sophie was pretty sure even her toes drooled. “Where’s Jamie?”