A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) (29 page)

“Yes.”  The young voice filled the room with sunlight.  “To respect the craft and work hard.  To do good wherever we can.  To harm none, no matter what.”

Words that had been said for centuries, by new witches young and old—a fabric, linking them through time.  Moira felt the quiet joy in the room and happily added her own.  A young girl, just coming into her power, joining those who had touched magic for a lifetime.

It was good to remember the cycle.  Her energies were on the wane, but what she lost would grow new roots, nurturing young witches and those who loved them.

Humor touched her mind and Moira looked around, seeking the source.  Liri sat in a corner, her thoughts plain as day on her face.

Nobody was witch fertilizer just yet.

Moira chuckled at her own silliness.  Solstice brought out the melancholy and the morbid—and laughter was always the best way to greet them.

Beth led Rhianna over to her place in the east, the rightness in the circle increasing with every step.  Moira looked around the warm, dark room and felt words rising in her heart.  As elder witch, it would always be her right to say them—and today it was a great privilege.  “So many have practiced just as you do here.  In small numbers, with small powers, right down through the history of time.  You honor tradition.”  She felt the truth of it shining in the dark.  “Those who came before you would be proud.”

Five faces smiled, including her in their numbers. 

She turned to their leader, as was only proper.  And waited.

Beth looked at each of them in turn, and then nodded to Mellie.  “Let the circle begin.”

Moira listened as the staid and solid Mellie called to earth, anchoring the circle in the slowest of the ancient energies.  And then she watched, a lump in her throat, as tears rolled down a grandmother’s face—and Mellie extended a line of power to the child beside her.

Rhianna caught the link competently and began her lilting call to air, a breeze touching the circle as she finished.  Eyes opened in wonder.  Beth’s flashed with excitement, even as she collected the connection from their newest witch.

Fire linked in quickly, and then Margaret squeezed her hand.  Time to close the circle.  Moira called a light flow—no need to tire out herself or anyone else.  Margaret’s tiny trickle joined with hers, two rivulets flowing into the greater whole.

The quiet jolt of the last connection made, and then magic flowed around the circle.  United.  Uninterrupted. 

It was the barest of shimmers, hardly more than a faery’s wing.  But it flowed.  From hands and hearts and love for craft and each other.

Aye.  There was magic here.  Soft and quiet magic—the kind just right for baby shoots sticking up their first leaves.

And perhaps for those clinging to their last leaves, too.

Moira bowed her head and let the faery’s wing dust her heart.  It was time to let her own solstice reckoning land.  She would not be doing a full circle again—she’d felt her magic waver.  And felt Devin, young and brave, try to hide it away.

You couldn’t fool an old witch, especially when the waver came from her own hands.

But a small circle was still within her grasp.  A shimmer and a place to stand as a witch, strong and true.

A gleaming of the light, insisting this was not yet her final dark.

She looked at the young girl on the other side of the circle, face glowing in awed belonging.  And felt peace.

-o0o-

They were whole.

Beth held the energies of her circle steady and rejoiced.  An air witch, and one of their own, come into power.  Rhianna had sat at Mellie’s feet for as long as anyone could remember, asking for stories of craft and lore.

And now she stood among them, magic flowing from her hands.

Carefully, Beth checked in with each element.  Mellie’s power was strong and true.  Margaret was a steady trickle, buoyed by Moira’s solid presence.  Rhianna simply danced.

Impatient longing tugged at Beth’s heart.  There was real power here.

And a brand-new witch.  With the discipline of years of practice, she pushed the impatience away.  Spells could wait.

Gently she began the steps that would draw the circle to an end—and felt Liri’s exasperated thunk on her head.  Beth’s eyes shot open, looking for whatever had caused that kind of magical outburst.

Her partner shrugged.  Raised an eyebrow.  Dared. 

Beth glared.  It wasn’t the responsible thing to do.

Liri only grinned.

Sighing, Beth closed her eyes—and let speed win.  Her hands shaped the spell they’d worked on for almost twenty months.  Lithe power danced under her fingers, so much more than she’d ever had.

Quickly she shaped one bubble.  Two.  And still the magic danced.

Demanded.

It was snickerdoodle season.  Beth tossed off restraint and shaped more bubbles than she could count.

And when she released them, her small but mighty circle exploded in joy.

In Chicago, the light had come two days early.

-o0o-

Moira picked up her cup of tea and walked over to the table where Beth sat fingering a beautiful old Celtic knot.  “That’s a lovely bit of carving.”

“Liri brought it back from a trip to Ireland when she was a child.  I’ve always loved how it feels.  Like many hands have sat and done this over the centuries.”

Tradition and roots.  “My great-gran used to say that the knots represent a journey.  And that a traveler should remember that what feels bumpy and twisty-turny makes for a work of art in the end.”

Gran had never been one to be bothered by a few bumps in the road.  Or the slight altering of a story for higher purpose.

“I never go on a journey without a map.”  Beth sighed.  “Until now, at least.  I don’t know how to fit California into my life.  I feel like I’m traveling on two separate continents.”

Something a witch with Ireland in her soul could well understand.  Moira started with the answer least likely.  “You could be part of what’s in Witch Central.  They’ve always room for one more.”  Or two or five.

“No.”  Beth’s answer was fast and definite.  “What’s there is too much for me.  Too many people, too many connections.  Too much magic.”

Honest—and a little wretched.  Poor sweet girl.  Coming down from victory was always hard.  “Well, not all of us choose to live in a place as big and bustling as Berkeley.”

Beth’s fingers played with the small packets of tea Moira had left lying on the table.  The smell of verbena floated up, pungent and homey.  “Our circle here is small.  We don’t have much magic—I know that now.”  Her voice sank to a whisper.  “But they’re mine.  And they love me.  And we did real magic today.” 

“You did.”  Moira understood better than Beth would ever know.  “You have an important few.”

Beth nodded slowly, hair dancing in the quiet light.  “Whatever I might need as a witch, this is what I need as a woman.”

Some of the answers were working themselves out, then.  “You can’t separate a flower from its roots, my dear.  Whatever one needs, the other does as well.” 

“I know.”  Beth sighed.  “But I kill plants.”

Ah, such a lovely heart.  Moira reached for the Celtic knot again.  “When I visited my gran’s village a few years back, I saw so many of these.  On doorways and benches, pub tables and t-shirts.  You wouldn’t think a wee knot could take so many shapes.”

Beth’s fingers joined hers, tracing the smooth wood.  “Liri says the journey is as important as the destination.”

“That makes her a lovely partner for a woman who likes to know where she’s going.”  Moira smiled, so very glad she’d come.  “You’re wonderful together—I hope you know that.”

Beth’s cheeks flushed a delightful pink.

“You’ll need to bring her to Fisher’s Cove soon.”  Irish hospitality came with rules.  “We’re a sleepy little seaside village, and I’ve a warm pool for you to soak in and a book or two for your library, if you’d like them.”  She’d not mention the people just yet.  One step at a time.

“Liri would like that.”  Beth’s eyes softened.  “Maybe in the spring, when the shop is quieter.”

A seed planted—for today, that was enough. 

Moira set her cup to the side.  “Perhaps we might go back down to your shop before I leave.  I’m in need of a solstice gift for Sophie, and you have a green tourmaline down there that’s breathtaking.”

Beth stood awkwardly, still cradling the wooden knot.  “You don’t need to buy anything.”

“Don’t be denying an old lady her pleasures.”  Moira got to her feet, suddenly a mite teary.  “I’ve a mind to take a little piece or two of Chicago home with me.”

The awkwardness slid away, a small smile in its place.  “I’ll go find Liri.  She loves to help people shop.”

Moira took one last look around the tiny kitchen.  She’d be sad to go—it had been a truly lovely visit.  But in the way of the Irish, she’d be leaving a piece of her heart behind when she left.

Chapter 21

Beth stood outside the arrivals gate at the San Francisco airport, well disguised in sunglasses, noise-canceling headphones, and a shiny red cape.

The first two soothed her senses.  The last one made her laugh.

She’d no sooner transported back to Berkeley than Aervyn had presented her with a huge, carefully lettered card festooned in sparkles, a couple of adorable spelling errors, and something that might be balloons.  Or possibly the moon.

An invitation.  For Liri.

And a plane ticket.  Because apparently they intended for Liriel’s trip to California to start off gently.

It was wildly generous and entirely sweet.  Liri had laughed, cried, and jumped on a plane two hours later.

At least fifteen people had volunteered to meet her at the airport, including several not old enough to drive.  But Beth had decided she actually wanted to
see
her partner before she got swallowed by Witch Central.

Which might be easier said than done.  The quantity of people flooding out through the arrivals gate made finding one short, curvy witch harder than it might seem.  She strained to see over the crowd, amused by the blue-green tint her borrowed sunglasses gave everyone’s faces.

Searching for one Liriel Andretti, turquoise alien.

“Look down,” said a laughing voice at her knees.

Oops.  Beth had forgotten the part where she’d climbed up on an advertising platform for a better view.  Liri hopped up and gave her a kiss that had more than one onlooker clapping.

Beth was pretty sure her cheeks matched Aervyn’s cloak.

“Come on.”  An excited Liri slid off the platform, eyes dancing.  “I heard a rumor there’s sun outside.”

The woman she loved, always seeking the light.

They stepped outside the doors into a rush of heat and noise and car exhaust.  And then Liri grabbed Beth’s hand and started heading in totally the wrong direction.

“The car’s over there, Lir.”  Jamie had offered her his, even gamely wrestling all small children out of the back seat.

“Grass.  Green stuff!” 

Beth finally figured out her laughing partner’s destination.  Liri jumped into the middle of a sad little plot of grass and lifted her arms to the sky.  “It’s warm and green and totally gorgeous.”

It was crowded, polluted, and even the dandelions looked limp.  Beth grinned, unable to resist her beloved’s joy.

There
were
some very good things here in California.

And every last one of them had just gotten better. 

-o0o-

Jamie picked Kenna up off the changing table, shaking his head at her wiggly antics.  “Keep that up and you’ll need to learn to port, silly girl.”

Nat laughed from behind him.  “I think that falls into the category of be careful what you wish for.”

Truth.  “I can’t believe it’s her birthday.”  The big Witch Central birthday bash was tomorrow, by triplet decree.  Today was for the three of them.  He wrapped an arm around his wife, remembering. 

“Our girl of storm and fire.”  Nat reached up and stroked Kenna’s cheek.  “Hard to believe when you’re all cuddly and cute, little one.”

The baby just cooed and snuggled in closer.  Sleepy time.  Maybe.  “Family nap?”  Kenna loved those best, lying in the warm nest of her parents and her favorite red blanket.

Nat led the way into the bedroom, stopping just long enough to rescue the blankie from the top of the pillow fort.  Kenna’s birthday request.  At 5 a.m.  No wonder they all needed a nap.

It was a good sign when his tornado of a girlchild curled up between them, her head pushed against Nat’s chest, her toes working her way under his ribs.  Jamie grinned sleepily at his wife.  “How come I always get the feet end?”  Kenna’s definition of “snuggle” still needed some work.

Nat breathed in the moment—they’d learned a lot in the last year about appreciating stillness when it landed.

Or he had.  His wife had been born wise.

A few more moments gazing on the treasures in his bed, and Kenna’s whiffling sounds signaled success.  He looked at her chubby fingers, curled in the red blankie Caro had knit on the night of her birth.  “So peaceful.”

“It won’t always be.”  Nat sounded awfully certain, even with her eyelids drifting shut.  “You can feel the currents in the universe at this time of year.  Lots of energies moving and changing.  Some years you get a slow-moving stream.”