A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) (16 page)

He looked over at Kenna, who was busy trying to stuff her butterfly into her favorite yellow bus.  That it had no hope of fitting clearly hadn’t dawned on her yet.  “That will frustrate her pretty fast.”  He shaped a quick fireproofing spell and pushed it the way of her new treasure—metallic balloons probably weren’t all that happy with flying sparks.

“But she’ll come back to it.”  Beth spoke with conviction, even though she’d never seen his daughter’s tenacity with a problem she couldn’t solve.

“She does.”  And it made him oddly proud.  “She works out each step until she understands it.”

“Then you already know most of how I learn.”  Beth wrapped her arms around her knees.  “I work it out myself.  Break something down into its pieces until I can figure out each one.”

There was strength in that.  “I write computer programs.  There’s a big job market for people with those skills.”

She smiled.  “Lots of geeks are Aspies.  Not all, but many of us find a home in the logic and intricacy of computers.  It’s not always so useful in real life, though.”

He watched his daughter slip the corner of her butterfly’s wing into the little yellow bus, still light-years away from acknowledging the laws of physics that were shattering her dreams.

And wondered how you helped someone to learn that her butterfly didn’t fit.

Chapter 11

“It’ll be okay.”

Beth looked into the gentle eyes of her new friend, clutched her jar of macadamia-coconut-flaxseed butter, and opened the front door of Nell Walker’s house.

The last thing she expected was utter silence.

Then quiet footsteps came from somewhere deep in the house, and a smiling blonde face popped out into the hall.  “Hi, Auntie Nat.  Hi, Beth.”  A few more soft footsteps and the face smiled up at them from much closer.  “Come on in.”

Beth stepped through the doorway gingerly, expecting noise to explode at any moment.  “Is anyone else home?”

“Only those of us who know how to be quiet,” said the blonde child cheerfully.  “Which means Dad and Aervyn went over to visit Uncle Jamie.”

They were doing this for her.  Beth gulped.  “I don’t remember your name.”  And it suddenly felt important.

“I’m Shay.”

“You have two sisters.”  They’d seemed so much bigger last time, towering over her as she sat on the grass.

“Yeah.  They’re Mia and Ginia.  It’s okay if you can’t tell us apart.  Most people can’t.”  Shay sat down on a staircase that headed upstairs.  “Can I tell you a bit about what we planned, and you can tell us if it’s okay for you?”

Beth nodded slowly, at a loss for words.

“We have a few people downstairs.  My sisters, and my mom, and Lauren, and Aunt Moira.  With you and Auntie Nat and me, that will be eight.  If we try to be nice and quiet and only talk one at a time, will that be okay for you, do you think?  We’re going to make some decorations, but we have some instructions that we wrote out, and we’re going to work in small groups.  You get to work with me and Auntie Nat.”  Shay slid to a halt.  “Sorry, I might be talking too fast.”

Words were one of the few things that had never been a problem for Beth at all.  She swallowed hard as their true meaning landed.  There were six people downstairs and two right beside her trying their hardest to be exactly what she needed. 

And for eight people who hardly knew her, they’d come up with some amazingly thoughtful ideas.

A gentle hand squeezed hers.  Nat.  Support—and a signal.

Beth looked at the girl sitting on the steps, waiting for an answer that hadn’t come yet.  “I’m sorry.  Sometimes I need to think a minute before I give you a reply.”

“That’s okay.”  Shay set her chin on her cupped hands.  “What were you thinking about?”

“About how you look smaller than the last time I saw you.”  Beth smiled.  “And about how kind you seem.”

Shay’s smile spread all the way to her knees.  “We’re going to color a dragon.”

Beth’s hand slid to the small crystal in her pocket.  “I think I’d really like that.”  She ignored the voice in her head listing off all the ways it could go wrong—eight people deserved that much, and more.

Walking into the room downstairs made putting the voice to rest easier.  The quiet murmur of conversation continued as they entered.  A couple of faces looked up in friendly welcome and then went back to their work.  Soft yellow light cast the room in warm tones and quiet music played from somewhere overhead, sounding very much like something Liri would play in the shop.

Shay stretched out a hand and then jammed it back against her side.  “Our table is over there in the corner.”

Beth hadn’t been born with a head that understood body language—but thirty years of practice helped with a lot of things.  She reached out gently for the fist hidden in the folds of Shay’s glittery skirt and wrapped the small warm fingers in hers.  “I don’t mind being touched by friends.”

It felt like all the room smiled in return.

-o0o-

Ah, it was so very lovely when a plan came together.  Moira looked up from her job coloring a dragon’s tail red and took in the melodies of the room.

The conversation was soft, and little souls in particular were making an enormous effort to be gentle with their noise.  But periodic giggles floated up into the air and contentment was on wide display, even with the volume turned down low.

“I think you’re done that part, Aunt Moira.”  Mia’s eyes twinkled, clearly amused by forgetful elders.  “We just have to do the spiny things now.  And the eyes.”  She squinted at the head of their dragon.  “Are you sure the eyes should be purple?”

“Absolutely.”  Moira pointed a finger at the instruction sheet, written out in glittery pink crayon.  “It says right here to make sure we use our very favorite colors.”

“You have a lot of favorite colors.”  Mia giggled, looking at the rainbow wings and bright green dragon toenails. 

It was no fun being seventy-four years old if you couldn’t be at least a little silly every day.  “You’re sure you don’t want to add a little brown or maybe some lovely mossy green?”

The look she got in return said someone wasn’t all that far from embracing her teenage years.  Moira chuckled—she enjoyed the liveliness of the young ones hitting puberty, even if it made their parents a little crazy.

A second blonde head appeared over Mia’s shoulder.  Shay—quiet, thoughtful, and extremely proud of herself.

And so she should be.  Moira pulled her in for a quick hug.  “That was very well done, sweetheart.  You have a special talent for taking very good care of people’s hearts.”

“Especially quiet people.”  Mia handed her sister a bright blue crayon.  “You’re like Auntie Nat.”  That was the highest of praise—all of her nieces adored their yogini aunt. 

Shay’s eyes shone starlight bright.  “I was thinking maybe one of you might want to go take a turn at our table.”

It was an idea Moira wished she’d thought of herself.  “Our Beth is ready for a little variety, is she?”

Shay took the question very seriously.  “I think so.”

Moira looked at her young coloring partner.  “Would you like to go?  You can make sure they’ve got a little bit of red tucked into their dragon somewhere.”

“You go.”  Mia’s eyes shone with mischief.  “I’m going to go color the toenails on Auntie Lauren’s dragon.”

Oh, dear.  Someone’s leash on her exuberance was sliding—and she was smart enough to know it and head for safe ground.  Moira reached over for a hug.  “And what color were you planning on making them?”

Mia’s eyes met her sister’s, triplet secret code passing between them.  “It’s a surprise.”

Moira watched, amused, as the two of them giggled their way over to the table where Lauren, Nell, and Ginia sat industriously coloring.

The toenails would surely be glittery and pink—she’d been a bubbly girlchild once.

Moira picked up her Irish green crayon and headed for the table in the corner where Beth and Nat were sitting.  Perhaps there was another dragon needing its toenails colored.

Nat looked up as she approached.  “Come to help us, have you?”

She had.  But as Moira took a seat, she realized that help was totally unnecessary.  The dragon’s body was covered in beautiful swirls of color blended one into the next.  A garden for the eyes.  “I do believe that’s the most enchanting dragon I’ve ever seen.”

Beth was finishing the last of the swirls on a knobby dragon knee.  “It was Nat’s idea.”  She looked up, smiling.  “It feels like I’m lost in a Monet painting.”

Natalia Sullivan did very few things by accident.  Moira studied the work of art, curious.  “And how did this idea come to pass?”

Beth reached out to touch a tiny crystal figurine sitting at the top of a table.  Light glinted off the scales and curves of a small, entirely gorgeous dragon.  “This is mine.  See how the light makes all the colors dance?  Nat thought we could maybe do something like that with our crayons.”

Moira’s fingers ached to touch the wee dragon.  “My gran would have loved that very much.  She had a deep fondness for dragons and things that shine in the light.  Part of her collection keeps me company in my cottage.” 

“I’ve never been a person for collecting things.”  Beth picked up the small crystal, nestling it on her palm.  “But Liri loves them.  This one was a gift when I left.”  Her voice wavered.  “To remind me that home would be waiting when I was ready.”

Sometimes it took a room full of love to discover the obvious.  Or perhaps it only took an hour with Nat Sullivan.  Moira laid a finger on the tiny dragon’s head.  “You miss home terribly, don’t you?”

Beth looked up, mute.  Yearning.

“I told you the story of a wee Irish lass who traveled across the ocean.”

“I know.”  Gratitude shimmered on Beth’s face.  “And it made me feel better.  Thank you.”

Tears teased the backs of Moira’s eyes.  She traced the crayon swirls that spoke of love and longing and home.  “I’m glad of it, my sweet girl.  But it occurs to me that there’s one very important difference between that lass and you.”

Nat was already smiling.

Beth’s grip on her crayon tightened.  “What’s that?”

“You can go home, my dear.”  Moira reached out to touch a brave cheek.  “You can go home.”

“I don’t need to.”  Beth looked around the room, suddenly frantic.  “This was just right.  Please, I think I can make this work.”

Oh, child.  Moira’s heart broke.  “We’re not sending you away, sweetling—it’s just for a bit of a visit.”  She squeezed Beth’s hands tightly, crayon and all.  “Everybody needs to nurture their roots once in a while.  You go home and spend a night or two with the people who love you.”  She firmed her own wavering voice.  “And then you come back to us with your soul well watered and ready to grow a bit more.”

Understanding finally hit Beth’s eyes—and with it, an ocean of thanks.

-o0o-

Beth wrapped her arms around her ribs and tried not to think of
Star Trek
transporter malfunctions.  Once Witch Central had decided she might want to go home, things had moved very quickly.

Nell’s very nice husband looked up from his computer terminal and smiled.  “I have a smooth, easy ride all set.  Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

She tried not to shake, focusing on what she knew.  Fact.  It was probably less traumatic than getting on a plane and enduring O’Hare again.  Fact.  They’d never lost a witch in a transport spell yet, or even so much as a shoe.  Fact.  She really needed to see Liri and spend a night soothed by hearth and home.

Fact.  Her body was about to be hurtled through space by a power not even the people in charge thoroughly understood.  Beth clamped her teeth shut.  Sometimes, you just needed to jump.  “Beam me up, Scotty.” 

Daniel winked—and then he was gone.

The cold wasn’t so awful this time, and her feet hit solid ground before her brain totally dissolved in fear.  Beth kept her eyes closed a minute, waiting for things to stop whirling about.

And then she heard Liri’s squeal.

Her eyes popped open just as her partner jumped into her arms.  Or rather, mashed into the very large bouquet Beth was carrying.  “Careful, you’ll destroy the flowers.”  Or the joy exploding out her fingers was going to cook them.

“Mmm.”  Liri inhaled deeply, still squishing the bouquet between them.  “What did you do, rob a florist?”

“Just a garden or two.”  Helped by three giggly, adorable ten-year-olds.

“It must be glorious.”  Liri backed up a step and buried her face in the flowers properly this time.  “Having this kind of richness around you all year long.”  She looked toward the window and laughed.  “Puts my planter box to shame.”

“No, it doesn’t.”  Beth tried to rescue the most mangled of the blooms.  “These are a small gift.  Those are home.”

Her partner looked up, eyes suddenly solemn.  “You came home.”

“Yes.”

Liri took a deep breath.  “Are you going back?”

“Yes.”  Until she answered, Beth hadn’t been sure.  “I need to be there for a little while yet.  But I needed home, too.  I needed you.”

Liri’s cheeks might have been wet, but her smile was a mile wide.  “You should have told me you were coming.  All I have for dinner is soup.”