A Witch Central Wedding (2 page)

-o0o-

Moira tipped her face up to the sun.  Early spring in Nova Scotia never came with such lovely weather.

Nell chuckled and sat down beside her.  “Ginia’s been doing that all day.”

Aye.  Their young healer had done yeoman’s work teasing all the flowers into bloom for the wedding.  They’d all had a hand in Lauren’s bouquet, though, showering it in magic, beauty, and shared laughter.

Might Lauren and Devin be blessed with all of it every day of their lives.

And old women weren’t the only healers who should be taking a rest after the morning’s activities.  Moira gazed over the busyness of Witch Central preparing for joy.  “Have you seen Sophie?”  Very pregnant women needed to put their feet up.  Aaron had Elorie tucked into a chair next to his kitchen empire, but Sophie was a less-biddable witch than her granddaughter.

And not quite as round, just yet.  Elorie’s twins would be coming any day now.

“I’m right here,” said a dry voice behind her shoulder.  Sophie slid into view, three glasses of lemonade in her hands.  “Waddling along just fine, thank you.”

Nell grinned.  “I hated the waddling part.”

“Don’t we all?”  Sophie settled into a chair with a sigh.  “Aaron said I’m to sit down and delegate, so I’ve decided to humor him for a bit.”

Moira hid a smile.  Aaron was getting very adept at maneuvering grumpy, pregnant witches.  “I believe we’re nearly ready.”  And even for an old woman, patience was ebbing low. 

Sophie chuckled.  “You’ve been saying that for two hours now.”

Possibly.  It wasn’t every day she had a wedding to look forward to.  “The witchlings are getting restless.”

“Not only the witchlings.”  Nell looked over at her husband, currently playing catch with their oldest son—and winced as the ball nearly brained Elsie, video recorder in hand.  “She’s taking her responsibilities as wedding documentarian very seriously.”

A development that pleased Moira greatly.  She sensed a witch historian in the making—a lover of details and a blossoming appreciation for the threads that tied them all together.  However, it wouldn’t do for the girl to get a concussion.  “Where’s young Kevin?  I taught him a lovely spell for warding off swords that might help our Elsie keep her head on her shoulders today.”

“Protecting all our witches-in-a-fog, are you?”  Nell shook her head.  “We have quite a few who could use that.  Ginia walked right out into the street last week, muttering spells under her breath.”

“I’m glad she wasn’t injured.”  Witch intuition hadn’t quite evolved to include cars just yet.

Nell snorted.  “Aervyn got to do a rescue by broomstick.  It was the highlight of his week.”

“We could use his help in Fisher’s Cove.”  Sophie bloomed the mint sitting in her lemonade.  “The girls have been working out some tricky spells, and Ginia isn’t the only witch not watching where she’s walking.  Lizzie tripped right into a tidal pool last week, with Sean two feet behind her giggling.”

And young Lizzie, deeply offended, had nearly turned him into a toad.  “Earned him a cauldron scrubbing, it did.”  Moira looked around for their most incorrigible troublemaker.

And saw what they’d all been waiting for instead.

Edric, their oldest water witch and the man who would preside over the joining, walking toward the marriage rock.

It was time for a wedding.

“Only one left.”

Retha looked over at her husband and smiled.  “Pretty sure Matt’s running for the hills right now.” 

Michael grinned.  “Yeah, but he took Téo with him.”

Téo had shown up at the medical center in Costa Rica one day, computer and stethoscope in one hand, newly minted medical degree in the other, and had simply started to work.  He’d been a treasure from day one, shouldering a sizable portion of the weight on Matt’s shoulders. 

It had taken her sensitive, focused son a lot longer to see what else Téo offered. 

And if she read the stars in her granddaughters’ eyes right, the two men had probably timed their quiet escape to the hills rather well.  The girls had a serious case of wedding fever.  

She only cared that her son had found someone who loved every inch of the man he was—and knew how to make him laugh.

Sweet, true love had found all her boys, and it was a lovely thing.  And it had always been the one getting married today who had worried her the most.  Retha leaned her head on Michael’s shoulder.  “They’re going to be happy together.  Lauren’s exactly right for him.”

His chuckles shook both of them.  “Is that mom or witch speaking?”

A little bit of both, but she knew what he asked.  Her spotty and unreliable precog talents most often showed glimpses of her children’s futures—and it generally struck on days of import in their lives.  “I haven’t seen much yet—just glimmers.”  Touches of contentment.  A splash of laughter.  Good ingredients in a strong marriage.

“Lauren’s got tough insides, just like Nat.  She’ll do fine.”

Her husband was one of the very few people who had seen Nat’s core of steel from the very beginning.  Interesting that he saw it in Lauren as well.  “She’ll need it.  Being married to our tornado isn’t going to be an easy task.”

“Pretty sure she knows that.”  Michael’s lips twitched.  “Any woman who requests body armor as a wedding gift knows what she’s getting into.”

The gift list had been hilarious—and revealing.  The actual gifts were likely to be both as well.  Retha had cursed a blue streak knitting the pattern of interlocking circles, but she’d sent her square for the wedding throw, duly blessed in a rare quiet moment with her husband.

She’d added photographs to the album Jennie and Caro were assembling.

And she’d refrained from contributing any recipes to the cookbook that would be Nell’s gift to the couple.  Devin was smart enough not to eat anything his mother had concocted, but dear Lauren might try.

Retha lifted her face up to Michael’s for a kiss.  “Ready to be married to a crone?”

This spring solstice marked her passage to the witch equivalent of old woman. 
Wise, revered
old woman.  She kept trying to remind herself of that.  All while planning revenge on the son who had very carefully timed his wedding for this day.

It was the crones who would perform the most powerful wedding blessing.  And Devin’s mind had contained far too much glee when he’d casually mentioned the date they’d picked.

Michael grinned, reading the thoughts flowing through the light mind connection between them, and squeezed her shoulders tighter.  “You can always wait until next year.”

In the witching world, “old” was a mantle you picked up by choice.  She sighed.  Some choices were heavier than others.  She wasn’t ready to be old.

Her husband chuckled again.  “I believe the correct response to that is ‘pants on fire.’”

She blinked, surprised by the gentle chiding in his voice.  “What have I done now?”

“It’s not the ‘old’ part that has you bothered.”  He touched her cheek gently.  “It’s ‘wise’ you don’t think you’re quite ready to be.”

She stared, and felt the truth of his words slide over her bones.  “When did you get so smart?”

He grinned, shades of Devin’s glee tingeing his mind.  “Since I woke up this morning married to a crone.”

-o0o-

Devin stood in his wedding finery—bare feet, suspenders, and all—and waited for Jamie’s teleporting spell to whisk him away.

He hadn’t had to ask.  The brothers who had stood beside him through more kinds of mischief than any of them could remember had known exactly what he would need before taking the entirely insane step of promising to be reliable and dependable for the rest of his life.

Jamie had simply waved his fingers, winked, and asked if Devin was ready to go yet.  And Matt had made rabbit ears behind Jamie’s spell, just like he always did.

It was Jamie’s power that would carry him—but odds were good the idea had been Matt’s.  The best ones always were.

The light tingle of spell hit, two grinning faces shimmered, and Devin felt the sun-warmed sand under his feet before he even opened his eyes.  The small strip of beach under the cliffs at Ocean’s Reach.

The wave sounds crashed against his eardrums and the rocky cliffs to his left.  The water wasn’t gentle here, smashing into rock with a force and persistence meant to remind you that in the end, the water always won.

He’d loved this place ever since the first moments his toddler feet had touched its sand.  His power had awakened here, on an innocent romp after a picnic.  The power of the oceans, called into his veins by the magic that lived within.

He’d only known that he’d danced with the water.

Moira, visiting from the east, had been there to hold his hand.  He remembered well the feeling of her trickle of energy dancing with his.  And the awful green goo she’d given him later, the price to be paid for strong magic and the ocean-sized temper tantrum he’d thrown when his fledgling power had finally run out.

He’d never done anything with restraint.

Reaching his arms out to the water, he pulled power, glorying in the rush, the memories, and the knowledge that this would always be his.

Permanence.

It had captivated the small boy, knowing that he belonged to something so immense and timeless.  And now, as he stood again on the cusp of permanence, it steadied the man.

Marriage came with storms and rocks.  He’d watched his parents long enough to know that.  Sometimes the outside world threw problems at you—and sometimes they came from within.

Devin grinned.  He’d spent most of his life a magnet for trouble.  That probably wasn’t going to change just because he planned to try to behave.

Not once had Lauren asked such a thing of him—but he asked it of himself. 

His soul was a restless and seeking one, and that wouldn’t change.  But his whole life had been a stream of lessons on how to join.  In magic.  In love.  In family.

When you held out a hand to someone you loved, she deserved for it to be steady.

He reached for the waters once more—and blessed the people who had spent a lifetime shaping his reckless heart to be ready.

-o0o-

Lauren walked in the door of the small house on the cliffs and closed her eyes, overwhelmed.

She’d walked countless clients through the doors of their new homes.  Touched their minds as gratitude and hope, worries and dreams, entered four walls and started to breathe in life.

She and Devin would do that here.  Together.

It was the right house—she’d known the moment she’d laid eyes on it.  A cozy nest full of light and character, with a spot for her couch right in front of the fire.  And water as far as the eye could see.

She was just going to ignore the fact that she’d first seen it in her crystal ball rather than the new listings report.

And she’d more or less recovered from the price tags on slightly run-down little cottages with million-dollar views.  It was meant to be theirs—and she’d seen that magic happen far too many times to ignore it.

Walking toward the large windows, she contemplated the ocean expanses.  Sunny and bright today, with early spring breezes riffling the wave tops.  Devin would feel his power calling here, stirring his sense of adventure.

Buying this house, with this view, was her gift to him.  A message.  She would take him exactly as he was, every reckless, seeking bone in his body.

No one lived life as deeply as Devin Sullivan.  And she wanted him to stay that way.

Being his wife would be anything but boring.

But she’d also seen him hold tiny newborn Kenna.  Pull a brand-new package of glitter glue out of his back pocket when supplies ran low.  Reach for Moira’s hand when Irish tears threatened—and when they didn’t.

Devin Sullivan also loved deeply.  And he loved her, Lauren McCready, with a steadfast fierceness that still rocked her every time she touched his mind.  A crazy kind of miracle that had her imagining all kinds of things she hadn’t known she wanted.  Starlit magic on a very private beach.  Sticky-faced toddlers and big family dinners.  Swimming lessons.

She’d always lived a life of purpose and roots.  But this was different.  More.

Wandering now, Lauren stepped into the kitchen, running her fingers along the counters.  Soapstone, showing the marks of time and history and those who had come before.  The listing realtor had blathered on about removing the dents and scratches.  She intended to keep them.

The kitchen window looked out on a tiny garden, hardy flowers trying to bloom in the brisk spring winds.  A little bit scraggly, much like the rest of the property. 

She knew a witch or two who might be willing to help with that.

The scraggles hadn’t bothered her—those were easy to fix.  It was the feel of the house that had called to her.  Comfortable, welcoming, and tough as nails—a scrappy little survivor nestled on a cliff.

In the crystal ball she still had trouble accepting as hers, it had been soaked in magic and love.

With a grin, she turned toward the largest of the bedrooms.  Its broad expanse of windows had featured prominently in her dreams of the night before.  Apparently her subconscious desired a lusty romp with a pirate, on silk sheets, with the smell of sandalwood permeating the air.