A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) (9 page)

Nell joined her daughter on the couch.  Some things were mom jobs, even when the aunts were very capable and loved deeply.  “Some talents aren’t very easy on the witches who have them—precog’s one of those.  We don’t know yet how much harm has happened to Hannah.  We might need Dr. Max’s help.”

Ginia struggled with that and then nodded slowly.  “Aunt Moira says it’s smart to make sure the good people are on your side.”

Moira was very wise in the ways of training headstrong witchlings.  Once again, Nell said a quick, heartfelt thanks for the deep community circled round her children.  Witch Central was full of good people.  “We need to learn more about Hannah so we can figure out how best to help her.”

“I can look in the old texts.  I’ll get Kevin to help me.  And Sophie.  There were more people with precog in the old days—maybe we can learn something.”

Nell’s heart squeezed.  “This could get really hard, love bug.  Hannah might be pretty sick.”

“I know that magic can hurt people.”  Suddenly Ginia looked like the child she still was.  “But I have to learn about this stuff.”

The thought unsaid pounded into every mind-witch head in the room. 
In case it ever hurts my brother.

Oh, God.  Nell pulled her fierce, loyal, brave girlchild into her lap and did her daughter the honor of not trying to take her sword away.  “I love you very much.”

“I know.”  Breezy preteen girl was back in an instant.  “And I’m a good healer, so you should let me help.  If I get sad, there are lots of people to cheer me up.”

Indeed there were.  But Nell still wasn’t putting her on the front lines.  “Why don’t you pack a sleepover bag and go to Fisher’s Cove.   See if Aunt Moira and Sophie have the chicken pox under control, and look at what the old books have to say.”  They needed to scan the texts and make them searchable—this wasn’t the first time in the last year they’d sent witches to scour the dusty pages.

Or the first time in the last year she’d been unable to keep her children out of harm’s way.

Chapter 7

Nell looked at the mostly packed suitcase on her bed and debated.  They were due in Fisher’s Cove in a couple of hours for some top-secret event Lizzie and Aaron were planning.

And people she loved were in trouble here.

“To go or not to go, that is the question.”  Retha leaned against the doorway, two pints of ice cream in her hands.

Nell smiled.  “Ben & Jerry’s and Shakespeare?”

“All smart guys.”  Her mother sat on the one mostly free corner of the bed.  “You’re sure that’s enough gear for five children for a week?”

Not hardly.  “Daniel already shipped most of it—this is just the last-minute stuff.” 

Retha laid her hand on the pile of pink and glittery on the top of the suitcase.  “Still trying to decide whether to leave?”

Thinking too loudly, apparently.  “There’s a lot of stuff going on here.”

“And there.”

Yes.  And pink-and-glittery celebration mattered, no matter how much they poked gentle fun at Marcus and pretended otherwise.  “I could wait a couple of days.  The wedding isn’t until Saturday.”

“Go.”  Retha closed the lid of the suitcase.

Nell blinked.  Sullivans always had strong opinions, but that had sounded perilously close to an order.

“I’m sorry.”  Her mother winced, followed rapidly by the mental apology to back up her words.  “You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about this.”

Nell waited, the unease in her gut growing.

“I was sitting at home just two days ago, watching the monkeys play on the back porch.”

The monkeys had been joined by a small boy the last time he’d gone to Costa Rica.  Getting him back had been no small feat.  “Missed us, did you?”

“Always.”  The smile was instant—and fleeting.  “And then this feeling hit.  A bit like nails on a chalkboard, but there was no sound.”

Just like Jamie.  Their two witches with precog.  “That’s eerie.  A warning Hannah was coming, maybe?”

“Perhaps.”  Retha sounded unconvinced. 

Something was up.  Nell sat down on the bed, inner warrior waking up.  “What’s going on, Mom?”

“I don’t know.”  Brown eyes met hers, full of worry.  “But the chalkboard hasn’t stopped.”

Crap.  Nell knew better than to doubt her mother’s spider senses.  “That’s not good.”

“It isn’t.”  Retha zipped the suitcase closed.  “Go.  Nat’s leaving with Kenna.  Jamie can hop back and forth.  I want Aervyn and Kenna clear of this, whatever it is.”

Nell felt her panic igniting.  “You think they’re involved?  Or will be?”

“No.”  Retha gripped her arms, tight and real.  “This isn’t precog, sweetheart.  Only a nervous grandma talking.  Those two have so much power—I just don’t want them close.  Or Ginia, either, if we can manage that.”

Her healer daughter was already in Nova Scotia, reading dusty history books and honing her pirate sword-fighting skills.  “Moira will keep her busy.” 

“Good.”  Eyes lost in thought, Retha stared out the window for a minute.  “Has Aervyn said anything about his head hurting?”

“No.”  And now that she was finally catching up, Nell’s unease was blooming into full-fledged fear.  “You think he might have precog?”

“I don’t know what to think.”  Retha’s eyes held some of her daughter’s steel.  “But Hannah has precog far stronger than anything I’ve ever known.  And the only two witches who share her magic have sudden, screeching chalkboards.”

Oh, hell.  The final pieces slammed into place.  Being around strong magics was a well-known trigger for emergence.  And there were very few magics Aervyn didn’t have.  Nell grabbed the suitcase.  They were leaving. 
Now.

-o0o-

Moira set her bundle down inside the door of the inn.  She had some fresh herbs for Aaron, but those could wait.  There was an unhappy child sitting inside on a warm summer’s afternoon, and that was a far more pressing concern.

She found Ginia curled up in the parlor’s biggest armchair, a stack of books on the table to her right.  The one in her lap was massive, old, and entirely depressing.  Moira grimaced—any child who had picked that one up was on a very determined mission.  “Hello, sweet girl.”

Ginia looked up, her smile not making it entirely into her eyes.  “Hi.  I’m doing some research to help Hannah.”

Trying to make herself useful.  Moira sat down on the couch.  “Would you like some company?”  Young Kevin sitting by himself was never cause for concern, but Ginia had a heart that drew her to people.  “Or Lizzie’s about to head down to the water, if you’d like to get your toes wet.” 

The grin was real this time.  “She’s gonna get a lot wetter than that.”

More than likely.  “I remember playing on the beaches when I was her age.  My mother used to wring out my skirts when I got home and ask me if my knees had suddenly grown toes.”

Lines like that were supposed to get a giggle or two, not half an unhappy  smile.  Moira leaned over and touched the dusty pages of the book in Ginia’s lap.  “It’s making you sad, lovely girl.  Perhaps you’ll tell an old witch why.”

Still-small fingers traced some unknown image on the page.  “Why are there magics that are just awful?”

A big question, from a witchling who was never looking for easy answers.  “All magic carries risk, child.  It can all harm.  None know that better than healers.”

“I know that.”  Ginia studied her own hands.  “But I can make somebody feel better.  And Sophie fixed your brain so you could be here to love us some more and help us grow up right.”

Sometimes love hit the heart so fiercely that it was a wonder it kept beating.  Moira touched her chest and felt her eyes growing wet.  “You will grow up wonderfully, Ginia Walker.  And I’m blessed every single day that I get to be here to see it.”

“So what about the people who love Hannah?”  Their young healer’s eyes weren’t so dry anymore either.  “They don’t get to see her all grown up and happy.  Her magic doesn’t do any good.  It’s just mean and awful and terrible.”

There were some things ten-year-old girls just shouldn’t have to contemplate.  But when they did anyhow, they deserved the most honest answer you had.  “I don’t know, sweetheart, I truly don’t.  In our history, sometimes those with precog saved lives, or even whole countries.”  More often they had died cruelly for being the messenger. 

“It isn’t even always true.  How can that be useful?”  It was the deep rage of a child who had grown up in a generous and mostly just world.  “Nobody should have magic like that.  Or like Morgan or Evan or any of the other people who die just because they were born an awful kind of witch.”

No one would ever have cause to doubt the size of Ginia’s heart.  Moira gathered her close, knowing that it wasn’t words that were needed now.  She let her own tears leak down into the blonde curls, two hearts hurting together.  For those with untenable magic now—and for a small boy they both loved who might one day walk that road.

Sometimes the price of magic was impossibly high.

-o0o-

Retha stepped out of her car, taking a moment to appreciate the salt-laden air and the sultry heat of the noonday sun.

A moment was all she had.  Her grandchildren weren’t the only Sullivans who needed tending to this day.

A door creaked to her left and Devin stepped out of the woodshed.

She crossed over to his side and hugged his broad shoulders, ignoring the axe in his hand.  The weight on his heart was a far more immediate concern.  “How is she?”

“Tired.  Shaky.”  Her son let out a blustery sigh.  “Lizard sent her home from the office about ten minutes after she arrived.”

“Good.”  Lizard was one of Retha’s favorite people.

“I shouldn’t have let her go in.”

Ah, the tangled knots of marriage—the path of loving unconditionally wasn’t always a well-lit one.  “I imagine you tried.”

Devin snorted.  “Everything short of duct tape.”

Then he’d done exactly right.  She slid an arm around his waist, guiding them both down the path to the gardens.  And trusted her son’s excellent instincts.  “How can I help?”

He stopped to pluck a dandelion growing in protected splendor down the side of the path.  “See if she’ll talk to you.”  When he looked up, his eyes were so very solemn.  “We spent hours cuddling on the couch last night and I think she said about two words.  Nat came by with breakfast and got about two more out of her.”

It was a lovely testament to a young marriage that not a whiff of self-doubt floated in Devin’s mind.  He worried only about his wife.  And something more angry than that.  She opened a mind channel. 
Do you need cuddles before you’re going to talk to me? 

His grin was lopsided, but real.  “No.  I’m okay.”

She only waited. 

He blew out a breath and shrugged.  “I’m not used to being the one on the sidelines.”

That was a masterful understatement.  “You’re discovering they’re not sidelines, my dear.  Welcome to the land of those of us who love someone insanely brave.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled.  “This is some kind of karmic payback, is it?”

Something like that.  She smiled, still seeing the little boy with the ever-bright eyes and so adoring the man he’d become.

“I don’t know how to help her.”  His forehead furrowed, angst arrived in a heartbeat.  “I’m not like this after I do something crazy.”

Retha touched his face and wished a kiss and a Superman Band-Aid could make it all better.  “When you were little, I would wait for you to crack afterwards, to get scared or to have a bad dream.  You rarely did—you just moved on and found the next thing.”

“Lauren’s not like that.” 

“No.  She is brave differently than you.”  She squeezed the arm under her hand.  “It costs her more, I think.  And she’ll need more time to work through the aftermath.”

His eyes held so much hurt.  “Then why does she do it?”

He knew the answer.  Gently, she held up a mirror so he could see it.  “Because she embraces the responsibility that comes with her very unique talents, because she loves deeply, and because you, my son, are as contagious as all hell.”

He was with her until the last point.  His eyes snapped up in surprise.  “This is my fault?”

Close enough.  “We shape those we love, and we share in who they become.” 

Devin grumbled.  “That’s not what all the self-help books say.”

Retha chuckled, delighted with the idea of her hurricane son reading one.  “Clearly they’ve never loved a witch.”

Her son moved down the walkway, mind working now, adding dandelions to the small collection in his fist.  She followed, content now to watch and listen. 

When he hit the corner of the cottage and caught glimpse of the sea, he halted, breathing deeply of salt air and the watery magic that flowed in his veins.  And when he turned back her direction, something in him had settled.  “She saw something in Hannah’s visions.  Something that’s hurting her.”

Precog had rendered Retha silent more than once—and it had never done so gently.  “Yes.  I imagine so.”  She touched her son’s bundle of dandelions.  He’d brought her exactly such a bouquet more than once.  “Do you think it’s the baby she saw?”

“Some.”  Devin’s eyes were hurting again too.  “Apparently we Sullivans don’t wait until our kids are born to fall in love with them.”