A Dangerous Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 3) (16 page)

“I think she learned to aim.  And she never knew whether the fire would be there or not.”

Nell tried to imagine swinging her sword and not knowing before she swung whether the blade would be there or not.  “How long did it take her to go insane?”

Daniel’s shudders started again.  “I don’t think she ever did.  She was twenty-two years old when she called the fire on the field of battle for the last time—and then refused to let it go.  She held it just long enough for her sept to get out of the way.  And then she turned it on herself.”

The last act of a heart still human—and the reason her husband clutched an old and dusty book wet with tears.

Mia would never stand at the center of a war.  That much they could prevent.

But her heart was wildly, gloriously, powerfully human.  She was not a child who ignored, who turned away.  She stood squarely on all of life’s battlefields, offering up who she was.

Nell wrapped her arms around the man holding the musty book and let her tears fall to join his.  They could fight many things.  But her daughter’s beautiful heart wasn’t one of them.

Chapter 13

If yawns could split heads, Fuzzball was about to become two cats.  Lauren peered at their lazy, half-awake kitty and managed to peel her second eye open.  Late-night visits to Fisher’s Cove were hard on a woman.

Coffee, husband, shower, breakfast.  Probably in that order.  It was a rare morning at this time of year that she didn’t have clients and houses clamoring for attention, and her soul desperately needed some recuperation time.

Fuzzball’s comedy routine of yawning started again, and Lauren’s face seriously contemplated joining him.  Definitely time for coffee.

“Morning.”

The smile from the bedroom doorway was palpable, even though Dev hadn’t moved into her line of sight yet.

A hand slid over her shoulder and fondled Fuzzball’s head.  “Looks like he could use some coffee too.”

A rusty chuckle worked its way up Lauren’s throat.  “Exactly how did I end up married to a guy who thinks caffeinating a cat is a good idea?”

His weight settled on the bed beside her.  “I wooed you with coffee.”

She could smell it now.  The exotic, rich blend of Costa Rican magic that she’d fallen in love with sometime in the dog days of March.  “You’re a saint.”

“Nope.”  She could hear his gentle grin.  “Just hungry.”

It sounded like such a typical morning in their cottage.  And if you couldn’t hear and feel all the undertones, you might even believe it.  Two people trying to lighten each other’s loads.

Maybe it was time to talk about it instead.

Lauren slurped coffee and tried to resist the urge to soothe the hurt away and aim for more comfortable weekend-morning pursuits instead.  “Worried about Mia?”  It wasn’t really a question.

“Trying not to be.”  His smile was a little lopsided.  “Of the three, she’s the most like me.”

Yeah.  Both of them charged through life headfirst, and both had big, soft hearts that were easily moved to outrageous generosity—and easily bruised.  Lauren contemplated Moira’s late-night charge to Shay.  Maybe their musician wasn’t the only one who could be tapped a little differently on Mia’s behalf.  “How did Matt and Jamie used to help you?”

“You mean, besides acting as my best accomplices?”  Dev climbed into bed beside her, sliding into the human knot they’d somehow perfected over the last two years.  “Mostly they’d help me think stuff through.”  He sighed.  “And then I’d usually get up the next morning and do something dumb anyhow.”

Fire mages couldn’t be dumb.  But her gut smelled something here.  Lauren reached for it and sipped more coffee.  “Dumb, how?”

“It’s—” Her man of action paused, searching for words.  “Some people are good at letting uncomfortable things sit in their heads.  Nat, Moira, Dad…”

The thinkers.  The current generation had some of those too.  “Shay.”

“Yeah.”  Devin loved the niece who lived in her inner landscapes every bit as much as he loved the others.  “And then there are those of us who need to
do
stuff.  Especially when we feel uncomfortable.”

Lauren pondered.  When the man she loved felt that way, he tapped into the primal powers of the sea and went for a swim.  A long, wild, solitary one.  “Mia needs an outlet.  A non-magical one.” 

“Yeah.”  He shrugged.  “Nell will know that.  And Jamie.  And Mom.”

But none would get it quite so deeply as the guy she loved.  “I bet you could find hers.  You’d know what would fit her best.”

He was already thinking about it—she could hear it.  “When did you get so smart before you finish your first cup of coffee?”

Lauren nestled into his chest.  Costa Rican rain-forest blend, for the win. 

-o0o-

Nell tiptoed into the craft room, already warned.  The denizens were cranky.  Very, very cranky.

The first person she saw was Aervyn, sitting in a corner doodling with a paintbrush, unnaturally subdued.  Helga sat beside him, holding a second brush and watching the occupants of the table Nell couldn’t yet see.

And Fuzzball, apparently on a sojourn from his cottage by the sea, huddled under the room’s one squishy chair, tail as big as a squirrel’s.

Ooooh, boy.

Nell held the plate of brownies in front of her like a shield and stepped far enough into the room to see her daughters.

Ginia had her usual supplies out—glitter, beads, and fourteen shades of pink and purple paint.  Shay’s color palette drifted a little more green these days, but she had plenty of shiny things laid out in front of her, too.

And neither of them had touched a thing.

They only had eyes for the girl lashing out with her paintbrush at the easel in the corner.

Mia, hurling the colors of puke and destruction.  Nasty, brown-haunted orange streaks ran into swirling pits of black and gray, with angry, violent slashes of red as the backdrop.

Nell took a quiet, steadying breath.  Mia was no great artist, but the intent and the driving, soul-eating emotion were screamingly clear.  Sliding the brownies onto the table as she went by, Nell headed to Mia’s shoulder.  “I didn’t even know we owned paints in those colors.”

No answer from the artist.  Just another stabbing blow with the paintbrush.  Puke green this time. 

Nell watched a few more wild strokes and then went with her gut.  With quick, angry movements, she jammed a fresh piece of paper onto a second easel, stabbed a brush into Mia’s brown-haunted orange paint, and let some of the nasty, roiling mess in her own gut hurl toward the paper she’d just set up.

Mia startled in surprise—and then stared at the ugly orange splat.  “What are you doing?”

Validating her daughter the best way she knew how.  “Same as you.  Showing the world how I feel.”  Nell considered the line of angry paint colors.  “I think we need more black.  And red.  And maybe some dark blue with glitter.”

Her daughter’s eyes were as big as plates now.  “Glitter is for happy stuff.”

Like hell it was.  Nell plunked her brush into black, and then into yellow.  “Glitter is for stuff you want people to notice.”  Shay might paint to let her emotions out.  Mia was painting to scream them at the world.

An extrovert who hated what boiled inside her—and still needed it to be seen.

Slowly, Mia reached for a bottle of glitter.  “I’m going to put yellow in mine.”

Nell upended an entire container of orange sparkles into her black paint.  Probably overkill.  She didn’t care.  It was time for all the crap in all their bellies to stop festering and find somewhere to go.  And if she had to lay the trail with glitter, so be it.

She grabbed the biggest paintbrush in the art can and ran amuck through puke green paint, orange glitter, and something that hopefully wasn’t glue, and then threw the works at her paper.  It landed, spraying gobs of angry puke goo everywhere.

She felt the slack-jawed awe from behind her.  And then heard Helga’s quiet whisper.  “Come on.  We’ll all paint mad this morning.”

There were scurrying sounds as Mia slashed yellow glitter at her furious masterpiece.

Nell grinned.  Savagely.  And threw more paint.

There were so many ways for warriors to fight.

-o0o-

Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep watched the wild, screaming, angry colors land on the canvas of the world.  The furious, alive, defiant glory of them. 

And wished, for the first time in its existence, for hands.

And a paintbrush.

-o0o-

Moira made her way into the faerie glen Ginia had been nurturing in a tucked-away corner of the Walker back yard—and stopped, surprised by the number of people already there.

Clearly she wasn’t the only one who had been issued an invitation. 

Ginia, Shay, and Mia, she’d expected.  But this was no simple tea party, regardless of the pretty teapot and dainty cups laid out in the dappled shadows.

An old witch knew better than to underestimate anyone armed with a cup of tea.  Especially when she’d very intentionally given one of those people a good, sharp nudge.

She took a seat on a rocking chair fashioned from twisted branches and nodded at the glen’s other inhabitants.  Their Costa Rican contingent was well represented.  Matt sat on a stump, his arms draped loosely over his newly red-haired niece.  His partner Téo lounged in the shadows behind, a pink-striped teacup balanced on his knee.

Nat posed on a low, round hassock, the kind her studio kept in abundance for meditation purposes and elderly visiting witches.  She was currently leaned over, inspecting the contents of Grandpa Michael’s cup.

Hmm.  A very interesting collection of people indeed.  The quiet ones.  Those who worked from the shadows. 

Two days ago, it had been Witch Central’s most powerful witches gathering.  Today, the girls had collected those with the most powerful hearts.

Or rather, Shay and Ginia had.  Mia clearly had no idea what was up just yet.  She sat under her uncle’s arms, a bit restless.  A child who didn’t usually stay long in shadows or quiet glens.

Shay offered Moira a cup decorated with whimsical daisies and filled with a tea blend that teased an old healer’s nose.  She sniffed, curious.  Violet flower and lemon verbena.  A wee bit of vervain, if she wasn’t mistaken.  And hawthorn and a stitch of lady’s mantle.  She hid a smile.  Healers all had ways of approaching an illness or a problem, and their choices were as unique as fingerprints.  Ginia might have blended the tea, but she wasn’t the one who had envisioned it.  It had too many layers.  Too many quiet harmonies.

This was the kind of tea a musician would make.

And it told Moira the nudge had worked splendidly.  Today, whatever it might look like on the surface, was Shay’s tea party.

She looked around the glen—and noted, wryly, that she was apparently the last one to figure that out.  Everyone waited in their various inconspicuous ways.  And all of them quietly oriented in the direction of the child who had just picked up her flute.

Silently acknowledging leadership. 

The first notes of music were so quiet, it was hard to make them out from the breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees overhead.

Old ears strained—and then realized the leaves were meant to be part of the song.

It was a very simple melody, one that rolled through the listener’s heart even when the flute had gone somewhere else for a moment.  But always, it circled back.  Laying the foundations, and walking them over and over again.  Light as a puff of wind, and touched by whimsy—and then, almost hidden, the notes of melancholy.  The knowledge that happiness didn’t exist without also knowing its counterpart.

The song of a very wise faerie child.

Not Mia’s song.  This was the music of the quiet ones.

When Shay finished, even the trees were listening.  Or perhaps most especially the trees.  She smiled at her audience.  “Thanks for coming.  I wanted to talk about Mia and what we can do to help.”

Mia scowled.  “Nothing.  We’re just supposed to sit here and do nothing and ignore my magic.  Mama says it’s for my own good.”

And that rubbed especially raw on a girl who lived and breathed action.  Moira opened her mouth to speak—and then shut it again quickly.

This wasn’t her tea party.

“I don’t think that’s right.”  Shay sat up straighter, slower to find her words than her music—but no less intent.  “You aren’t supposed to touch your magic.  But there’s lots of stuff besides magic you can do.”

Nat nodded softly in the shadows.

“Magic and shields and healing are all really important, but—”  Shay paused, a wise child struggling to find words.  Polite ones.  Some in this clearing used those tools.

Matt leaned forward and did the honors.  “Those are all things
other
people are doing to help Mia.”  He kissed the top of his fiery niece’s head.  “I bet you want to help yourself, huh?”

Mia stared—first up at her uncle, and then at her sister.

One by one, the quiet ones began to smile.

“How am I supposed to do that?”  Mia had finally found her words—and underneath them danced the tiniest quiver of hope.

“I don’t know.”  For the first time, Shay seemed uncertain.  “I know that mage fire is really scary.  But you’re not just fire.”  She looked over at Nat.