A Dangerous Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 3) (20 page)

The silent white world shook.  Quaking. 

Ginia whirled, hands yanking for magic.  “Moe’s dying.  I can feel it.” 

Lauren, hanging on to a full circle’s power for dear life, could feel what the healer felt.  Moe’s ghostly presence, ebbing.

Began in fire.  Will die in fire. 
Pride, still.
 Go.  It is time.

Lauren felt more power blasting in from the circle—and knew that very soon it wouldn’t be enough.  They had to leave.  She threw an order at the circle outside. 
Help me get them out.
  And then threw helpless fury at a glass ball. 
Come with us.

One bereft, very committed word. 
Can’t.

We’re ready to pull you out.
 Jamie sounded determined—and ineffably sad.

There was always a way to make the deal.  Always.  Lauren’s brain scrabbled for something.  Anything. 

And then she heard three whispered words, touched with a hint of Ireland and deep, reverent belief. 
Bard.  Healer.  Mage.

She was none of those, dammit.

And then her eyes fell on three eleven-year-old girls.

The one who knew how to heal the things that hurt.

The one who knew how to make a marble feel important.

The one who knew the value of her steady hands and fierce heart.

Healer, bard, and mage.

And one feisty realtor who was going to get this deal done. 

Hold on.
 Lauren snapped the two words at Jamie, and then the same two at Moe.  And then she blasted the idea at the three standing in front of her.  A picture worth a thousand words.

Ginia’s eyes got very big—and then she dropped to her knees, hands splayed against the white surface under their feet.  Willing a marble to live.

Shay raised her flute and began to play, a searing, trilling, desperate melody.  Insisting on a marble’s right to be. 

The white light flickered.  Fighting.

And then lightning flew out of Mia’s eyes.  “No!  You don’t get to die today, Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep.”

The last whiff of light that was the orb froze, stunned. 

Lauren fed Moe every ounce of the power at her back—and added every speck of her own prodigious belief too.  They were
all
leaving.  Right now.

All five of them.

-o0o-

They had done it.

The orb saw the beautiful fabric of time, unknotted, dancing around three shiny, wriggling threads.

Bard, healer, and mage.  They would be a power to be reckoned with.

The one who listened had traveled out with them—and simply refused to let go.  Long enough for the small yellow thread to see that its sacrifice had not been in vain.  Moe sent two quiet, heartfelt words her direction, and hoped she might be granted the chance to hear its last words. 
Thank you.

And then the orb cowered and turned to face its death, very certain it had not escaped the forces’ wrath.  Human magic didn’t weigh on this scale.  Tools were not supposed to act—it was one of the deepest unwritten laws of the universe.

Tools obeyed.

Tools served.

It could not regret its choice.

The girl who held the fire of a thousand suns would be safe, tucked in the heart of the three and the strength of the many.  She could not use her magic without the crystal ball who had dared to defy the universe.

The orb held that memory tight to its center and waited for the shattering that would pull its energies out of time and lay the last fragments of the man who had served to final rest.

Wrath did not come.

The sound was quiet at first, and so ephemeral, the orb barely heard it.  Barely felt it.

And then the gentle swell built to a tidal wave even puny human ears couldn’t have missed.

Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep froze, entirely unable to believe.

The forces were astonished.

The forces were laughing.

The forces were…
PLEASED.

-o0o-

Moira wove her way carefully amongst the small gatherings in the Realm’s meadow, smiling at faces bright and giddy with relief.  She trembled, even as fierce pride totally swamped her heart.

In the moment, she had only had the strength to feed the will of a hundred generations of Irish magic into the heartblood of a crystal ball who had made the ultimate sacrifice. 

In the aftermath, fear marched through her soul all too bright. 

“Yeah.”  A shoulder touched quietly to hers.  Lauren, eyes wet with tears yet unshed, Moe nestled in her arms.

Moira tipped her head in for a hug.  There were so very many heroes on this day. 

Bard, healer, and mage, hmmm?
  Lauren’s mind magic wavered, but her gratitude didn’t.

Moira only smiled.  Now probably wasn’t the time to mention that the words hadn’t been hers.  She exhaled, drawing in a breath of the simple joy that moved around them.  The people involved in this day were already moving to find their balance. 

There was one patient, however, who still worried her.  Moira gently touched the glass sphere.  “How is our lovely friend?”

“Still babbling.”  The realtor shook her head—but her hands, holding Moe, were gentle and reverent.  “Something about an island—Greece, I think.  And a dude in sandals, and sand and choices.  It’s a whole lot confused.”

Moira startled as the first image reached her mind.  She knew that island.  “That’s Crete.”  A gorgeous land of rocks and sand and the twisted silhouettes of ancient cypress trees.  An orb thinking of its roots.  The healer approved.

Lauren raised an eyebrow.  “I thought Moe’s name was Sanskrit.”

“It is.”  Moira nodded, distracted.  “Perhaps it traveled.  Or perhaps its maker did.”  Such history.

Her young companion was frowning again, hands restless.  “It’s stuck now.  Saying the same words over and over again.  With this eerie laughter in the background.”  Lauren looked up, eyes deeply anxious.  “Can crystal balls go crazy?”

A modern witch, worried about her glass marble—and not at all used to magic’s irrational side.  An old healer didn’t shake so easily.  Moira leaned in and touched the orb gently again, utterly curious.  “And what is it that Moe has to say?”

Lauren smiled, bemused.  “Birth is not destiny.”

An old Irish witch felt the words land—and her heart nearly melt.  Four words, said to a child in a moment of despair.  Heard by ears she hadn’t even known were listening.  And used to save a life.  Or many of them.

Love was never helpless.

Moira let her hand rest in reverent awe.  Moe would be fine.  Today, a tool of magic had claimed the right of all living things.

To choose. 

Epilogue

Nell cuddled the now-quiet orb in her arms, as carefully and possessively as if it were one of her newborn children.  And then looked at Lauren, eyes beseeching.  “Can it hear me?”

Moe still swam in the land of ghosts and white snow, but the warmth seemed to feel good.  And something else.  Lauren smiled.  “It’s listening to your heartbeat.”

Nell’s eyes widened—and then she ran a finger over the smooth white surface.  “Not such a cranky old fart after all, huh?” 

Daniel chuckled, three girls tight in his arms on Lauren’s couch, the sound raw and hoarse and deeply meant.  “We can probably rig a baby sling to hold a crystal ball.”

Yeah.  If Moe wanted to ride next to Nell’s heart for a while, or anyone else’s, for that matter, it was absolutely going to happen. 

Lauren sniffled as creeping warmth pushed back the ghostly white.  “You’re helping.”  She hoped.  Nobody had a freaking clue how to heal a still wildly shaky crystal ball. 

“Good.”  One warrior witch didn’t even look up, feet moving in the gently swaying dance universal to parenthood.  “Tell me if I do anything it doesn’t like.”

They all watched, mesmerized by Nell’s gentle shuffle.

And then tears fell on the orb’s surface.  One, and then another.  And two whispered, barely heard words. 
Thank you.

Lauren felt the gratitude sinking into the gentle place of safety Nell had created for a magical tool that had never known love.  The receiving of the knowledge that the woman holding the orb would give absolutely anything in her power as thanks.  And felt the words that rose up in return.

Lauren caught one hoarse, hiccupping breath—and then melted into a puddle of snotty, slightly hysterical laughter on her living room floor. 

Devin squatted beside her a moment later, utterly confused.  “What gives?”

She grabbed his arms and tried to pull herself together.  And then relaxed again as Aervyn plucked the relevant thought out of her mind and started to giggle too.  He grinned up at his swaying mama.  “Moe wants to try ice cream.”

Nell stared.  “What?”

“Moe wants to try ice cream.”  Aervyn didn’t seem to think this was strange at all.  “I bet it likes chocolate best.  Or maybe the one with fudge and marshmallows.”

Daniel stared at the sphere in his wife’s arms, eyebrows up.  “Exactly how do you feed ice cream to a crystal ball?”

Lauren swallowed one last hiccup.  This one she could answer.  Orbs lived vicariously.  “We feed us.  And sit close.”

Comprehension dawned around her living room.

And then Nell started to laugh.  When she touched the crystal ball again, her hand was much less tentative than before.  “Dude.  You totally joined the right family.”

Her last words got lost in the sounds of the mob transporting off to raid freezers near and far.  Lauren knew Moe wouldn’t really understand it right now anyhow.  But her marble would learn. 

It had put its existence on the line for a Sullivan.

And in doing so, it had become one.

Series End

Those of you who follow me on Facebook already know this, but I wanted to take a moment to talk to each and every one of you.  (And for those of you already in the loop, keep reading.  There’s a tiny walk more with my witches right after this.)

It still makes my heart hitch terribly to say this, but
A Dangerous Witch
is my last release in the world of
A Modern Witch
.  It’s not the ending I had planned, to be sure.

But life happens.  This past December, my marriage of twelve years imploded.  It was a very painful shock, and it rocked the foundations of my world and that of my two kids.

I have wonderful people walking this road beside me, and not all of what has come is ache and heartbreak.  There has also been strength, and discovery, and new community, even joy.

There has also been solace and guidance in the million words of Witch Central.  Just like Nat, I have a job to do, and two kids to anchor in my heart.  And just like so many of my characters, I have had a hard journey to walk and a need for Moira’s wisdom and Nell’s sword and Aervyn’s giggles. 

As you all know, I believe deeply in the power and resilience and existence of happy endings.

But Witch Central was born and written from the roots of what my family was, and my dreams for what we would be.  The current unraveling of much of that has deeply touched my writing.  All too often, I haven’t been able to call to what I need to make the words of my witches right.  To make them gel.  To feel the magic.

I struggled mightily to write the first draft of
A Dangerous Witch
this winter (that’s why it didn’t release in June like I’d planned).  And you might have noticed it was shorter than usual.  When I circled back around to the book again, I made myself a promise.  I was only going to include the words worthy of becoming part of the fabric of Witch Central.   

I think it worked.  Enough was right and beautiful and full of magic to tell a story I am proud to have written. 

I’m grateful that I could dance with my witches one last time before stepping down from my role as their chief storyteller.

I am also so very sorry.  I know many of you will respond with the love that made you my readers in the first place.  And plenty of you will feel the frustration of watching a series you adore stumble and fall.  I’m a reader—I know exactly how that feels, and I am so very sorry to be the cause of it.