A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) (11 page)

He watched as his fearless girl pulled herself up, using a sturdy and very tolerant bamboo plant for leverage.  And made a mental note as the container wobbled—time to put more rocks in the planters.  Other babies used furniture props as they learned to walk.  Kenna favored dogs, skateboarding teenagers, and greenery.

Typical Sullivan, doing everything the hard way.

She giggled as the bamboo canes swayed in her grip, her little feet doing a mad dance to try to compensate.  Landed on her bottom with a squelchy thunk and more giggles.  And then froze, head tilted to the side.

Listening.  To something nobody else could hear.

Jamie didn’t bother reaching out with his mind—even Lauren was beginning to raise her eyebrows at Kenna’s range.  “What do you hear, sweet girl?”

She flashed a drooly grin and took off toward the door.  “Ah, ah, ah!”

Her word for “auntie.”  Which didn’t narrow down the possibilities much—the kid had more honorary aunts than the Dalai Lama.  Jamie levered himself out of his chair, hoping it was someone with lots of energy.

He pulled open the front door and grinned at his sister.  “Heh—a real auntie this time.”

Nell scooped up Kenna as she shot between Jamie’s legs, heading for freedom.  “Nice try, punk.”

Kenna snuggled in and looked up with big brown eyes.  “Nay-nay?”

Jamie tried to hide his snort—his nephew Nathan and his very fast skateboard were Kenna’s current favorite pastime.

Nell rolled her eyes.  “Nice to see you too, turkey girl.  I’ll send Nathan over to give you rides tomorrow.”

Given his daughter’s desire to fly, that required a supervisor with porting talents.  Jamie yawned.  “Don’t send him too early.”  Maybe Kenna would sleep in—he could always hope.  So far, she seemed to have inherited Nat’s early-bird genes.  He probably couldn’t blame the hurl-down-a-hill-on-a-skateboard genes on his wife, though. 

Nell headed for the couch, a chatty Kenna in her arms.  One head leaked happy stray thoughts—the other was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

That didn’t bode well.  Jamie raised an eyebrow.  “What’s up?”

His sister blew raspberries into Kenna’s belly and laughed when sparks flew out the baby’s fingers.  “Silly wiggle.  Your dada thinks I need an excuse to come visit.”

Hardly—Witch Central didn’t have the foggiest idea what privacy was.  “You have your mind barriers all battened down for no good reason, huh?”

“
Some
of us actually practice our mind magics on occasion,” said Nell dryly, dancing lights on her palm to amuse Kenna.

Jamie caught the edge of his daughter’s power surge and threw up a training circle, breathing a sigh of relief as it landed about a nanosecond before Kenna’s streaks of fire.  And snickered as his sister’s eyebrows almost got crisped.  It was his job to protect the couch—aunties who should know better were on their own.  “
Some
of us are a little busy at the moment.  Kenna, no hot fire inside the house.”

His daughter, mildly chastened, held up a very well-behaved fire globe.  And then slid off Nell’s lap, scooting across to her beloved fire truck.  “’Ot, ’ot, ’ot.”

Maybe their next child would be a water witch.  He could always hope.

Nell snorted.  “Be careful what you wish for.”

He ported drinks and some of Nat’s homemade granola from the kitchen.  “Okay.  Maybe our next child will be a mild-mannered, cooperative sweetheart who sleeps at night and enjoys afternoon siestas.”

His sister nearly sprayed granola crumbs across the room.  “Only if you’re not her father.”  She grinned at Kenna.  “And siestas are boring, right, biggest girl?”

Jamie only sighed and snagged another handful of granola.  Nell had done plenty of late nights and nocturnal babies.  “So, back to whatever it is that brought you here?”

He got hit by the sudden image of Nell’s mind carefully choosing words.  “You know that Beth’s here.”

“Yup.”  His nieces had been buzzing with the news.  “What’s going on?”

“How much do you remember about your visit to her coven?”

Not a lot.  Jamie dug for the memories buried deep under layers of diapers and all the places a small child could hide the TV remote.  “A little magic, a lot of attitude.  Beth had some potential.”

Nell raised her eyebrows.  “Lauren said you walked in, defrocked several witches, flashed your magic, and left.”

He winced—that sounded about right.  “I had stuff going on.  I probably wasn’t very patient.”

“Well, you’re going to get a second chance.”  His sister’s gaze was serious now.  “She’s here, and she wants training.”

A picture floated to the surface of a woman in a dark cloak.  “She was the only one with more than a sniff of magic.  I told her to come if she ever wanted help.”

“Mmmm.  She came.”

Jamie frowned at the skeptical tone of her voice.  “What’s up?  We train witches all the time.”  He mused.  “Might be a good project for Elsie.”

“Beth’s different,” said Nell carefully.  “She’s got a kind of high-functioning autism called Asperger’s.”

Jamie knew what that was.  Geek syndrome.  “We have a lot of people like that here in California.”  His quiet investing activities brought him into contact with plenty of geeks.

“Maybe.”  Nell fiddled with a stray thread on the couch.  “But most of them don’t have magic.”

Something was up.  Jamie waited for the shoe to drop.

Nell looked up.  “I don’t get her, Jamie.  She came over this morning for a training session, and it was a disaster.”

He listened as she filled him in on the tale of the witch who needed slow, quiet, and controlled and had somehow landed in the middle of a Walker-house morning instead.  And heard what she didn’t say.  His tough, charge-at-life sister was confused, oddly wary, and hurting. 

Her mind wasn’t anywhere near Fort Knox anymore.

He got up and moved to join her on the couch.  “Training doesn’t always go well—you know that.”

“Yeah.”  Her fingers still tugged on the annoying thread.  “But I’m not used to it failing quite that dramatically.  When was the last time someone left one of your training sessions and got on a plane to leave the state?”

“She’s not leaving.”  Jamie glanced at his phone, full of messages that now made sense.  “Lauren seems pretty sure that she’s going to show up at my house tomorrow morning.”

Nell grimaced.  “Sorry.  That’s the part I came to tell you.  Didn’t get here fast enough, I guess.  We need someone else to take a swing at this.”

“Sure I’m the right person to pick up the bat?”  The memories of the coven meeting were coming back to him now.  It hadn’t been pretty.  “She’s probably got grounds for thinking I’m an arrogant asshat.”

It was a sign of how disturbed Nell was that she ignored his last comment.  “You’re way more creative than I am.  You prove that with my son every day.”

He snorted.  Training sessions with Aervyn were almost always a blast.  “I’m way less mature than you are—not sure that’s the same thing as creativity.” 

It was good to see her crack a smile. 

Nell sighed.  “You used to be really good at getting out of a jam.  We’re hoping you can help us all wiggle out of this one.”

He’d have volunteered for far worse than that to help the angst in his sister’s head.  “Okay.  And have those of you who concocted this little plan come up with any ideas to help a poor, sleepless guy when she shows up in the morning?”  He didn’t need rescuing, but it generally amused the women in his life to pretend otherwise.

She caught the edge of his thoughts and managed a grin.  “Nope.  One step at a time.  Maybe she’ll be swayed by your charm and winning personality and it will all be fixed.”

Women were never that simple.  And his sister didn’t believe it was going to be that easy either.  “Witch Central has lots of room for quirky.  It’ll be fine.”

He might as well have been speaking Klingon.  Nell wasn’t paying attention anymore.

She was looking over at the corner with a mind full of goo.

Jamie followed her gaze and felt the rush of love from somewhere deep in his toes. 

His girl.  Sound asleep, head pillowed on her fire truck.

They both watched her for a while, two people who knew how to deeply love a moment of quiet joy in a hurricane life.

“I dropped the ball.”  Nell stood up from the couch, her eyes melted into sad again.  “I’m hoping you can pick it up for me.”

He reached for her hand.  “You’re a fighter, sis.  You attack problems, and maybe that hit Beth a little hard.”  He waited until he had her full attention.  “But my girl in the corner there?  Your superdude?  They need a fighter.  I sleep easier knowing they have one.”

She looked a long time at his sleeping daughter.  “They have more than one.  But thanks.”

Jamie watched her walk away, mind lighter.  He was glad that for once, he’d managed to find the right words.

And wondered what the heck to do with a witch who had undone Nell Sullivan Walker.

-o0o-

Sophie eyed the elderly witch on her laptop screen with a good deal of suspicion.  “And exactly why would you be wanting
those
crystals?”

It wasn’t comforting when Moira’s eyes only twinkled more merrily.  “I’m thinking they’d make our young Beth a nice housewarming gift.  I’ll be going to greet her properly in the next day or two.”

Waiting a whole twenty-four hours to welcome a guest was an eternity by Irish standards.  “Is she up to visitors yet?”  Gossip didn’t always arrive promptly in Nova Scotia, but the last Sophie’d heard, all they were sure of was that Beth hadn’t left town yet.

Not that it bothered a certain old witch to stick her nose into situations fraught with difficulty.

“I’m just one little old lady.”  Moira was using one of her better matriarchal looks—the kind that was supposed to end conversations.

Sophie was well used to the entire repertoire by now.  “Just remember Lauren’s message.  Witch Central in small, careful doses.”

“My ears are working just fine.  If you’re concerned, I can have Ginia look at them in the morning.”

Oy.  Sophie tried not to bury her head in her hands. 

She’d about had her fill of feisty witches this long and cold December.  Lizzie had decided to make her own potion and only called for help when the billowing smoke turned purple.  An utterly cranky duo of patients had just left—Morgan was cutting teeth and Marcus was convinced she was dying.  And apparently shipping Moira off to California hadn’t made her someone else’s problem.  “I don’t know that we should be using crystals and things to mess with Beth.”

“I thought you believed crystals useful for most everyone.”  Their elder healer seemed honestly surprised.

“I do.”  Sophie tried to hold on to some shreds of tact.  “But they work best when the patient is the one seeking.”  And when you knew what the heck you were trying to fix.

“Sometimes patients need a mite of help.”

“And sometimes they want to walk on their own two feet, in their own time.”  The words were said as gently as Sophie could manage.  “Take her a lovely housewarming gift by all means.  Sometimes it’s the simple things that heal a soul best.” 

“Don’t you be quoting my gran at me, young lady.”  Moira scowled at the screen. 

Okay—there was cranky, and there was downright snarly—and Moira was very rarely the latter.  Sophie wished for a kitchen table between them rather than two computer screens and several thousand miles.  She reached out, trying to touch.  “What’s really going on?”

“I don’t know.”  Moira stirred her tea pensively.  “I feel a bit out of step on this one.  Old and sitting by the wayside while people I love are hurting.”

And a new witch sat lonely in the middle of an ocean of potential friends.  “Some journeys are trickier than others.  And sometimes, much as we want to, it’s tricky to walk alongside.” 

“Aye.”  The spoon stirred more slowly now.  “Knowing where you’re headed is one thing.  Knowing how to get there is often the tricky part.”

Sophie smiled, love making its way through the frustrations of a difficult week.  “So an old healer taught me.”

Love came back at her through the screen.  “Someone needs to walk beside the poor girl.”

“It sounds like Lauren managed a little bit of that today.”  Witch Central had gained a very fine negotiator when a certain mind witch had joined their ranks.

“I know.”  Moira sighed and held up her hands.  “But the desire to help—it’s in my bones.”

And there were no finer healing hands on the planet.  Sophie pushed her own short temper aside—perhaps elderly instincts weren’t wrong after all.  “So, go visit her then.” 

“I believe I might.”  A pause for a sip of tea.  “Perhaps you might send some of my blueberry preserves—I’ve a jar or two left, I think.”

There were at least fifty sitting in Aaron’s pantry.  And Sophie planned to scan them for hidden blessing spells first.  “I can do that.  There’s no one better to extend her a true welcome.”

“And do nothing more, is that it?”  The twinkle was back in Moira’s eyes.  “I won’t push, I promise.  You’re a tricky one, you are.”

Sophie grinned and blew a kiss at the screen.  “I learned from the best.”

Delighted chuckles rolled out over greater California.  “Good night.  I need to go to bed—I’ve a wee boy to play with in the morning.”

The computer screen went dark and Sophie got up to check on her sleeping son, with the echoing laughter of fairies and elves and old Irish witches warming her soul.

Chapter 8