Witches Under Way (WitchLight Trilogy: Book 2)

by Debora Geary

  Her knees were buckling, and the hip-and-cool office didn’t have any chairs nearby. She backed up against a wall and slowly slid to the floor. “It’s just a map.”

  Josh came to sit beside her. “No, it’s not. You’ve totally changed the way people can find a home, don’t you get that? Most real estate agents ask how many bedrooms you want and do a search on that.” He waved at the wall monitors. “You get that the house doesn’t really matter. It’s about the neighborhood, the little piece of the world you live in.”

  Sure. “It’s what Lauren does. I just made some maps to help.”

  He grinned. “Then give her a cut of the profits. There will be plenty to go around.”

  Okay, now they were back at the part that made her knees dissolve. His mind felt way too freaking sincere. “Anybody could make a map. You just need Google Maps and a little time.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t let Danny hear you say that. He spent a bunch of hours cursing at the census data API.”

  Well, yeah. Not having to enter that manually was a pretty big deal. “Can you do that with the driving time and transit data too?” Calculating how long it would take to get to people’s offices and stuff was a major time suck.

  Josh’s eyes gleamed. “Let me get Danny and Mira in here.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Babysitting witchlings wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Elsie was beginning to think she’d gotten in way over her head. “I don’t know if the park people really want you adding a water fountain to the sandbox.”

  Aervyn grinned. “Uncle Jamie can fix it if anyone gets mad, but I bet some of the other kids wanna make mud pies too.” He wiggled his fingers again, and water started spouting out of the small pipe he’d magicked out of the ground. “See?”

  Engineering wasn’t her strong suit. “Isn’t that just going to flood the sandbox?”

  “Uh, huh.” His eyes gleamed. “And maybe I can even make a moat and a castle too.”

  She didn’t have enough fire power to do a quick-dry spell on a sandbox the size of her living room. Especially if there was still water pouring in. “Do you know how to turn the water off?”

  “Sure.” Aervyn started mixing water and sand, totally unconcerned. “But first we should get dirty and silly and have fun. Gramma Retha says that’s what kids are supposed to do. If you’re clean at the end of the day, then you aren’t doing it right.”

  Elsie looked down at her very clean hands, and her very clean shorts—and wished there had been a Gramma Retha in her childhood.

  “It’s okay,” said Aervyn softly, holding out handfuls of dripping sand. “You can be dirty and silly with me now. There’s plenty of mud.”

  Elsie paused long enough to hope her mud-pie skills weren’t as rickety as her cake-baking ones—and then plunged her hands into wet sand. Eew. She held up her fingers, dripping goop, and made a face at Aervyn. “Totally disgusting, dude.”

  “Yup.” He giggled and sloshed his handfuls into a pile, mud droplets spraying everywhere. “So first we have to make a mountain. A really, really big one. Which is kinda tricky, because it all wants to slide back down into the goop lake.”

  She dumped a handful of muck on top of his pile and watched. Sure enough, it was all morphing back into primordial ooze. “How do we stop that from happening?”

  “Magic.” He grinned. “We can use a fire spell to dry out some of the mud. Kind of like a moat, only backwards. And then we put the wet mud on the inside, and keep drying the outside, all the way up to the top.”

  Elsie thought hard, helped by the mental picture he casually dumped in her brain. Hard and dry on the outside, wet on the inside. “Won’t that make a volcano?”

  “Yeah.” The glee in his eyes scared her silly. “You can ’splode the first one if you want. That’s the funnest part.”

  “Wait—aren’t we just making mud pies?” She was the babysitter. The responsible adult.

  “Nope.” Aervyn shook his head, grinning. “We’re supposed to be having silly, dirty fun, remember? Uncle Jamie said to start slow, cuz you’re new to punk witchlings, but I bet you really, really want to make a volcano ’splode. Right?”

  She couldn’t have said no to those eyes if her life depended on it. Elsie picked up a big handful of soggy sand. “Okay, you do the fire part on the outside, and I’ll put the wet stuff in the middle. I need the practice.”

  He nodded soberly. “I can stay all the way ’til lunch time. That should be enough time to get pretty dirty.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Nat grinned as they arrived at the edge of the park. “You guys are the kinds of friends my mother warned me about.”

  Jennie laughed—quietly. They were trying to sneak up on a pair of witches, and Aervyn, even well distracted by a sandbox, was still a formidable mindreader. Nat was pretty sure Jennie and Caro were doing something mind-witchy to keep them all from being detected.

  “I can see the top of Elsie’s head,” said Caro, pointing. “But that little hill’s in the way.”

  That much, Nat could fix. If you were going to be a spy, you might as well be a competent one. She reached up for the tree branch over her head. “We should be able to see from up here.”

  “I’m no tree climber, missy.” Caro’s chuckles were putting their skulking at risk. “And Jennie used to clamber pretty well, but I’m guessing she’s not headed up there either.”

  Nat shook her head, amused. And stopped at the first branch—pregnant women probably shouldn’t be climbing very far up a tree, either. “You’re mind witches. If I can see, you two can just borrow my eyes.”

  Caro gave Jennie a nudge reminiscent of the Three Stooges. “How come we didn’t think of that?”

  Nat laughed. One of the most awesome things about Witch Central was that most of the adults never quite grew up. Life was a lot more fun that way. Settling on a wide branch, she looked over at the sandbox. She had a clear line of sight now—and what a sight it was.

  Elsie was covered in mud, head to toe. Any more and she’d be mistaken for sandbox sculpture. Aervyn was a little cleaner, but that wasn’t saying much. And in between them sat a humongous mountain of wet sand.

  Since there was a serious gigglefest going on in her head, clearly Jennie and Caro had hooked in. Assuming they’d hear her, she asked the obvious question. What the heck are they doing?

  Jennie just shook her head, shoulders quaking. No clue, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Elsie’s idea.

  Caro snorted. Good thing they didn’t do it in my kitchen.

  Nat grinned—her husband made that kind of mess in the kitchen on a regular basis. She’d come to really appreciate a good cleaning spell.

  This wasn’t done in the pursuit of food, sent Caro dryly. And you ever need cleaning, you just ask. You’ll have a line-up around the block in trade for a jar of your husband’s spaghetti sauce.

  She’d married into witch royalty—Jamie’s tomato sauce was sublime. People were willing to share all kinds of useful things in exchange for some. Nat leaned over for a better view. Elsie and Aervyn were still busy piling and patting, shaping the outside of their mountain. Nat watched in fascination as the woman who used to be her intern focused every bit of her being on a mound of dirt—and felt some of the residual tension leaving her shoulders. This was much better than folding towels. So much better.

  Aervyn suddenly stood up and scrambled back from the dirt mountain, looking gleeful. And Elsie, looking very determined, waved her fingers at their muddy creation.

  Caro squinted, not much help when she was using Nat’s eyes. Now what are they up to?

  Jennie started to laugh. Uh, oh.

  Nat didn’t have much time to wonder. One more wiggle of Elsie’s fingers and the sandbox blew up, a pelting shower of mud coating everything and everyone within a hundred feet. They were outside the spray zone—barely. Poor Elsie, sitting at ground zero, was plastered, and it obviously wasn’t the first time. Aervyn danced a jig in front of her, clearly very excited at the outcome.

/>   Nat held her breath, holding a wish in her heart.

  And felt happiness bloom as Elsie grabbed Aervyn and rained glunky kisses on his cheeks, blanketing the park in their shared laughter.

  Exploding mud volcanoes definitely beat folding towels—especially when you liked it.

  ~ ~ ~

  ------------------------------------------

  To: veronica.liantro@witchlight.org

  From: Jennie Adams

  Subject: Two happy hearts.

  ------------------------------------------

  Dear Vero,

  I just watched a minor miracle happen. Aervyn shared the magic of his little-boy heart, and Elsie learned how to get really, really dirty. On purpose. The baking mess was a bit of an accident—this time, it was entirely intentional.

  Her mud volcano was spectacular—and their laughter after, even more so. It was sheer delight to watch, even if we nearly blew our super-spy cover with our giggles. Tell Melvin that as Nat watched Elsie, I watched Nat—and he’s right. She’ll be fine. It did her heart much good to see Elsie happy. I’m not sure I gave Melvin enough of those opportunities in our early days together.

  From Lizard, we have heard little. Lauren reports that she headed off to San Francisco this morning to take some paperwork to Josh. And since he hasn’t shown any signs at all of being a high-maintenance client before this, she suspects he’s up to something.

  So I’m off to sit in her office and await the prodigal assistant’s return. Some days we do more than indulge in spying and idle gossip, but apparently today isn’t one of those days.

  All my love,

  Jennie

  Chapter 13

  They heard Lizard coming from halfway down the block. Lauren grinned at Jennie. “Wow, Josh must have really pushed her buttons.”

  Jennie leaned back into her chair, looking intrigued. “I think I have to meet this boy.”

  He was young, but he was no boy. Lauren kept her mouth shut, however—Jennie was more than capable of figuring that out for herself. And Lizard’s mind was spewing a lot of snippets that didn’t seem all that related to Josh.

  Interesting.

  She blew through the door, looking monstrously frazzled. “Lauren. How do most real estate agents come up with a shortlist of houses for clients?” She skidded to a halt in front of the desk. “Hey, Jennie.”

  Lauren blinked, trying to hop aboard a conversational tornado. “Most agents, or this office?”

  “Most.” Lizard sat down, but her mind was bouncing like a fish tank full of Superballs.

  “Well, any decent agent gets a sense of what the client wants in a house and tries to match that to available listings.” Which was hardly news to her assistant, but a good negotiator knew when to bide her time. Something big was on Lizard’s mind.

  “The house, right? But not the neighborhood.”

  Ah. This had something to do with the maps. Clearly Josh wasn’t moving slowly. “Well, good agents have a feel for the areas they typically sell in, and you try to match that up with a client—but it’s more art than science. Partly it’s because good information isn’t as available—that’s why those maps of yours are so useful.”

  Lizard nodded, still distracted by the thoughts firing around her brain. “That’s what Josh said.” She looked up, eyes suddenly clearing. “But the idea to pay attention to the neighborhoods is yours. I just did the maps.”

  Okay, she was falling behind again. Lauren studied her assistant, trying to gauge where this was going.

  She’s trying to worm out of owning her genius, sent Jennie quietly. She can do that if you let her be just the data flunkie.

  It was always good to have backup. Lauren kept her voice casual. “It’s not a new idea. Any good realtor knows clients buy into a whole package—the house, the neighbors, the cute little shop or park down the street. But those things are really variable, so they’re hard to put on a listing sheet. It’s easier to focus on bedroom closets and whether the kitchen has nice appliances or not.”

  “So most real estate agents don’t really focus on the neighborhood.”

  Lauren’s inner negotiator could smell the deal now. “They might. If they had the right tools.”

  Lizard glared, suddenly radiating suspicion. “Have you been talking to Josh?”

  Bull’s-eye. “No, but you have. Are you going to tell us what you talked about, or are we going to keep playing Realtor Twenty Questions?”

  Her assistant scowled. “He wants to make a fancy version of my maps and sell it to real estate agents across the country. Make all the data automated and stuff.”

  That much, Lauren knew. “How do you feel about that?”

  Lizard shrugged. “Less work for me, I guess.”

  Murky territory again. “It wouldn’t be as good as your maps. You walk around the neighborhood, get a hands-on feel. Databases can’t substitute for eyes on the ground.”

  “That’s what I told Josh.” Lizard’s eyes lit. “We need to hire people to go walk around the neighborhoods. Take notes.”

  Jennie’s eyebrows flew up. “That’s not exactly a small undertaking. Or a cheap one.”

  The jumble in Lizard’s mind multiplied tenfold, all underlaid with a thick coating of doubt. “He says he knows investors. Suits with lots of money and no ideas of their own. He thinks they might be interested in the prototype.”

  In a parallel universe, Lauren might be keeping up with this conversation. “What prototype?”

  “Josh and a couple people he works with jazzed up my maps. We talked about a few more ideas to add, and then he wants to show them to some people.” Lizard suddenly looked kind of green. “He wants me to meet with them too.”

  Lauren tried not to laugh, imagining the culture shock that might happen if Lizard ended up on the other side of the table from the no-ideas-of-their-own guys. And then realized that was exactly the thing terrifying her assistant, in the short intervals when doubt wasn’t in control. Well, this much, she could help with. “Just pretend they’re naked.”

  Jennie nearly snorted tea out her nose, and tried to cover by being helpful. “Or covered in tattoos.”

  Lizard stared—and then her lips started to quirk. “Do I get to design the tats?”

  “Absolutely.” Jennie smiled. And sent a tightly channeled message to Lauren. Keep me posted. I might know an investor or two who don’t wear suits, if this is for real.

  Lauren hid her smile. Josh was for real, and she was pretty sure she could name a couple of Jennie’s investors. It had been a total shock to discover how much money ran quietly underground in Witch Central, and a good deal of it ran through her best friend’s husband. And there was no chance Jamie would show up wearing a suit.

  Lizard jumped as her phone beeped. “Crap, gotta go. Class starts in fifteen.” She was already on the move. “I’ll be in at eight tomorrow. Is it okay if I leave early for my new poetry class?”

  Since she didn’t wait around to hear the answer, Lauren figured the question was mostly rhetorical.

  Jennie smiled. “That was interesting.”

  “Yeah.” Lauren grinned. “Do you think Josh is ready for a bunch of witch investors?”

  “Hmmm.” Jennie’s eyes were pensive. “I’m more interested in whether Lizard’s ready for Josh.”

  She wasn’t the only one.

  ~ ~ ~

  Elsie reached up and ran a hand through her hair, pretty sure she still felt sand. That probably wasn’t a huge surprise—even her eyebrows had been caked with sand by the time she and Aervyn had finished blowing up every volcano in his imaginary universe.

  Running through the sprinkler afterwards had been fun, but it had mostly just spread the sand around to new places. Perhaps she should have taken Nell up on the de-sanding spell. It was apparently a pretty easy spell for an earth witch—and that troubled Elsie. She had minor earth talents. Why didn’t she know how to clean herself up when she got messy?

  She walked slowly
down the sidewalk, knowing the truth, and hating it. Because she’d never gotten messy. And now she was an adult with some huge, gaping holes in her life because she’d skipped way too many of the fun and silly parts.

  She’d worked with an awful lot of clients who had blamed their parents for their troubles, and never truly understood it. But if a ten-year-old girl didn’t know how to be silly, how could that not be her mother’s fault?

  Yes. She was angry with her mother. Scratch that. She was furious with her mother. And all the therapy degrees in the world weren’t helping her calm down.

  It was easy enough to follow the pretty classic lines of what had happened. A father abandons his wife and child. The wife, distraught, works to remove any reminders of the father from her life—including those that lived in her daughter’s personality. Papa had been a painter, a sculptor, an artist. Messy and silly had been his stock-in-trade.

  And after he’d left, guided by her mother’s sadness, Elsie had divested herself of the bits of her soul most like her father. It had been a willing transformation—Mom wasn’t the only one who had been abandoned.

  Fast forward to adulthood, and you ended up with a woman who needed a remedial education in how to have fun.

  Elsie stopped on the edge of a playground, watching a toddler throw sand with one hand and eat some mushy lump of gluck with the other. An older child balanced precariously on a skateboard, tongue sticking out in lopsided concentration. Further away, a group of giggly teenage girls stood watching a couple of shirtless boys throwing balls at a hoop.

  Oh, God, thought Elsie. Silly wasn’t restricted to kids under six. She’d done well enough with Aervyn, learning the fine art of making mud pies. But nine and ten and sixteen-year-olds did three lifetimes full of things she’d never tried.

  How did you catch up on more than twenty years of being the responsible, obsessively neat child who didn’t have any fun? Preferably without breaking any bones or getting arrested.

  There were so many ways this could go badly. But she had to try.

  She’d worked too hard finding this hole to refuse to fill it.