An Unlikely Witch (21 page)

Felt Ginia’s hesitant tendrils doing the same, tiny scouts sent out into the dark.  Looking for a needle in a haystack.  Looking for the
shadow
of a needle in a mountain of hay.

Carefully, Sophie guided her young partner over to the edge of—something. 

Moira caught only the tiniest glimpse from one of their minds.  A ghost—an echo, almost.  The sense that something had once been there.

Ginia started to move forward, and then stopped, turning back.  Confused.  Waiting for her mentor to join her.  Moira held her breath—knowing what she watched, and aching for both her girls. 

They’d hit the limits of Sophie’s power.  What Ginia did next, she would do alone.

She can’t hear me.
  Lauren sounded ready to punch through walls. 
Her trance is too deep.  If I push any harder, I’m going to disrupt that.

Aye.  We can only watch now.  Sophie will know if we need to pull her out.
 Moira closed her eyes, hoping they’d done enough.  Enough training, enough persistent, careful repetition, and the constant encouragement of good and independent judgment.  The foundations of every healer. 

Lessons taught because every healer, no matter what their skill, would someday work alone.

Ginia’s magical presence stood, a little forlorn, still leaning back toward Sophie’s energies.  And then Moira could have sworn she saw young shoulders straighten.  A burden, picked up.

Again, the young healer sent out questing tendrils—and this time, they weren’t tentative.  With sure and steady magic, Ginia Walker went where no healer had ever gone.

Everyone else did the only thing they could.  They held fiercely steady and prayed.

And then they all heard one young warrior healer’s thought, plain as day. 
I’ve found something.

-o0o-

Lauren had no idea why she suddenly had a clear path to Ginia’s head again, but she did.  And this time, she damn well wasn’t letting go. 
What do you see, sweetie?  Can you share it with us?

I’m trying. 
Her niece’s voice was ethereal.  Musical. 
Can’t you see it?  It’s totally beautiful.

Not with mind-witch eyes.  Lauren tapped the other two healers. 
Either of you getting a read on this?

Negative.

Lauren cast around, trying to figure out what to relay.  And realized that Ginia wasn’t actually
seeing
anything at all.  She was… part of it.  Traveling in a sub-atomic river of light. 

Oh, crap. 
Sophie’s mindvoice was reverent.  And concerned. 
Ginia, honey, I need you to stretch a flow back toward me.  Now. 
The last word cracked out into the ether.

Lauren amped it with everything she had.

Can’t.
 Ginia’s mind presence solidified some. 
I have to follow it, but if you keep talking to me, I won’t get lost, I promise.  It’s coming from Nat’s center, but I don’t know where it goes yet.

No, sweetie.
 Sophie’s words stayed gentle, but her mind was ratcheting up the panic.  Y
ou can’t just flow in the channels, you know that.

This isn’t a channel.
 Almost a smile. 
It’s something different.

She has to anchor. 
Sophie reached for thin air. 
Or we have to pull her back.  And I don’t know if I can.

Ginia, love. 
Moira’s send was as calm as lake waters in the early morning—and took every ounce of strength the old witch had. 
The flow runs from Nat’s center.  Anchor yourself there.  Auntie Nat will hold you strong.  She loves you very much.

Lauren felt Moira’s mind disconnecting.  Intentionally.  A healer, out of steam.

She’s okay,
sent Sophie crisply. 
And Ginia’s doing what she asked.  Now make sure Nat knows what to do.  She has to hold steady—she’s got Ginia’s safety in her hands.

Lauren didn’t have to be told twice.

-o0o-

Lauren’s voice sounded so far away.

Nat knew she was as deep into meditative state as she’d ever been.  Doing what Moira had asked of her in the garden.  Holding the center.

Keep it up.
 The words from her best friend were quiet, easy. 
Ginia’s rooting her scan from your insides, so keep it nice and steady.

She was what?  Nat felt her concentration faltering. 
Is that safe?

She’s got her favorite aunt holding on to her. 
Lauren exuded all the confidence in the world. 
Breathe, like only you can.  You’ve got this.

Nat didn’t question.  She didn’t dare.  Breathe.  Air and energy and adoration and life into the very core of her belly.  Breathe.  Into the heart of who she was and the birthing ground of everything she would ever be.  Breathe.  Into the soul of Natalia Sullivan.

And into the niece she loved so very much.

-o0o-

Lauren could feel the exhaustion pouring in—from everyone except an iridescent eleven-year-old girl dancing with the universe. 

And then the dancing stopped, replaced with utter awe.

I know where it goes.
  A whisper, from a child looking on a miracle.

Lauren saw the image of the small girl dancing at the end of the atomic tunnel of light.

Oh, God.

It ran to Kenna.

Chapter 17

Moira set down tea on Marcus’s coffee table.  One patient, sound asleep.

While her healers tried to figure out what on earth they’d found.

Sophie sat on the couch, wan, tired, and deep in thought.  Nell had the couch’s other end.  Ginia’s head was in her lap, a powerful brew working its way into her channels.  The child should have been asleep.  Instead, her face was a study in readying.  Preparing.

For what, Moira had no earthly idea.  She’d barely had the strength to make tea, and that after two glasses of Sophie’s fierce goo.

Even Lauren had drunk her share.

Nell’s fingers stirred on her daughter’s head.  It had been their warrior witch’s power that had sent Nat into a deep sleep of recovery.  She was clearly considering exactly the same treatment for her child.

Moira was quite sure she would discover that no longer worked.  Their youngest healer had crossed into new lands today.

Silence, as green goo did its job and the room contemplated what came next.

And then Ginia sat bolt upright.  “Mama.  I need to scan you.”

“No.”  Sophie was already moving to intercept.  “That was deep and tricky work—you’re not nearly ready to do that again.”

“I don’t need to.”  Their girl’s eyes held shining singularity of purpose.  “I just need to check one quick thing, I promise.  I think I can read it from the outside now.”

It wasn’t permission she was asking for—her hands were already moving.  Nell held still, asking a very pointed question with her eyes.  Moira shook her head, mystified.  She had no idea, but whatever it was had electricity zinging from Ginia’s every pore. 

“Do you see it, Sophie?”  Breathless words.  Excited ones.

Sophie met Moira’s eyes.  “No, lovey.  Tell me what you see.”

“Mama’s got one too.  Kind of like an echo.”  A young forehead furrowed, unhappy with that explanation.  “Or maybe more like a fossil.”

Moira hid a smile at the choice of words. 

Sophie was nodding.  “You mean you can see the space that something used to occupy.  Mike says that happens with the deep rock magics—they leave this kind of negative space for a while after they’re gone.”

Ginia was nodding almost frantically.  “Exactly.  It’s like a magical umbilical cord.  There’s just a tiny little bit left of this one now.”

Of course.  Moira felt the deep patterns of the universe shift and rise up truth.  Umbilical cords.  Mothers, protecting their babies.  “It connects to Aervyn.” 

Ginia dropped out of trance and charged for the corner.  To a tattered box and the treasure that lay within.  “Great-gran talked about that.  About the special stuff she did when a mama had a baby with power in her belly.”

Moira frowned, pulling up the words of her beloved gran in her mind’s eye.  “She treated them with wintergreen and ginger.  To keep the babe’s powers quiet.”  They didn’t do that any longer—it increased the risks of post-birth hemorrhage too much.  And Kenna and Aervyn had both had more power in the womb than any pregnancy Great-gran had ever known.

“I remember one mama.  Siobhan.”  Ginia was flipping pages as quickly as their delicate, old nature would allow.  “She had a little boy with water magic.  And she couldn’t ever have another baby.”

Sophie was leaning in now.  “I remember that one.  They even tried a calling at Beltaine.”

More things modern witches weren’t brave enough or reverent enough to do.  Although if Moira remembered rightly, even Beltaine rituals hadn’t helped Siobhan overmuch.

“Great-gran thought maybe Siobhan didn’t have enough magic to make her womb ready again.”  Ginia looked straight up at Nell.  “Mama, did you ever try to have another baby?”

“No.  Five of you were enough.”  Nell blinked and wrapped her arms around her belly.  And then connected the dots.  “You think maybe it wouldn’t have worked?”

Ginia folded into a pose matching her mama.  “It might.  Your umbilical cord is only there a little bit now.”

Moira smiled, quite sure Nell was finished having babies.  And then the deeper import of their youngest healer’s words struck.  If it took magic to undo the umbilical cord…

Sophie and Ginia are way ahead of you,
sent Lauren tersely. 
Nat doesn’t have any magic at all.

Oh, my.  Moira took the new idea, lifted from the pages of Doonan history, and held it gently in the palm of her heart.  And wondered what it meant for the small boy whose image lived on magical life support.

All around the room, soul after soul stilled, wondering exactly the same thing.

Ginia’s hands were moving over Nell’s belly again.  “Mama’s is different, I think.”  She looked over at Sophie.  “It’s hooked into her magic, not her heart.”

Odd fingers of dread squeezed between Moira’s ribs.

“You figured it out first,” said Ginia, eyes on an old witch now.  “It’s exactly what you told me to do when I was scanning Nat.  To anchor myself in her heart and she would keep me safe.”

A mother, keeping her baby safe.  And Nat, like Siobhan so long ago, had figured out how to do it—without enough magic to undo it again.

A long, slow silence.  And then a quiet, lurching, hope-filled breath from their youngest.  “I can maybe fix this.”

It was the desire of all their hearts.  And the fear.

Nell leaned forward, eyes only for her daughter.  “What are you thinking, girl of mine?”

“Umbilical cords dry up and fall off.  The real ones.”  Ginia had sunk deep into her own head.  Examining.  Thinking.  “But sometimes they stick around for a really long time.  Mine came off in two days, but Gramma Retha says Uncle Devin’s didn’t fall off for nearly a month.”

Moira smiled, despite the tangled mess of hope and fear in her heart.  Probably the only time Devin had been last at anything. 

Sophie nodded, eyes intent.  “You think the magical umbilical cords might be the same.  That some take a long time to go away, even if the babies don’t need them anymore.”

“Maybe.”  Ginia met the gaze of her teacher, eyes wide with anguished hope.  “And maybe Nat just needs a little magic to help do that for hers.”

“Think it through,” said Sophie quietly.  “Close your eyes and imagine how you’d do it.”

Moira took a shaky breath.  They were moving so very quickly.  The wee boy and his snowman virtually shimmered in the air over their heads.

Sophie’s eyes met hers over Ginia’s curls.  The words didn’t need to be said.  Sometimes healers had to move at the speed demanded of them.  The scanning map in their girl’s mind wouldn’t stay clear enough to try this next step for long.  They had to know now.  And if necessary, they had to act now.

The child’s eyes closed.  Studying.  Readying.  And when they opened again, everyone in the room knew.  She thought she could do it.

Moira rejoiced for the healer who had found a possibility.  A choice to offer.  And sorrowed, knowing well exactly how fragile that possibility was.

Magic of a kind no one had ever done before.  Had ever conceived of before.

She took the hand of the girl who had the power to shine a light into the darkest of darks.  And squeezed.  Ginia had earned the right to talk to Nat when she woke.  To offer her tiny sliver of hope.

Even if it might hurt both of them beyond all justice.

-o0o-

It was so very fuzzy.  And Nat wasn’t at all sure she wanted the haze to clear.

“She’s coming around,” said a quiet voice near her head.

Sophie.  Of course.

And then Nat remembered the end.  The thing that had come flowing up the channel of her breath.  “Kenna.”

Jamie’s fingers squeezed hers.  Wordless reassurance.  She clung to his warm, steadfast strength, so very glad he was here. 

Always,
came his instant reply.