.5 To Have and To Code

by Debora Geary

  “Out.” Which was as much as a twenty-seven-year-old should have to say about her plans for the evening.

  “Oh, really.” Devin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Anything we should know about in our role as keepers of your virtue?”

  Dammit, he could always make her giggle, even when she was ready to set his pants on fire. “Go wash laundry—I hear clean socks are very virtuous.”

  “Matt gets the girls even when his feet stink.” Devin sighed. “It’s so not fair.”

  Nell grinned. In theory, Matt liked men. In reality, he was oblivious to fluttering eyes from either sex. “What, the lineup outside your apartment has thinned lately?” Devin attracted female attention every time he breathed.

  “Huh? Oh, those are just friends.” Her brother shrugged, shifting the tricycle to a new carrying position that didn’t look any more comfortable than the first.

  Nell reached over and turned the handlebar away from his kidneys. “You have more ‘friends’ than Sammy does when she makes triple-chunk cookies.”

  Devin’s eyes lit up hopefully. “She made some?”

  “Not in the last twenty-four hours.” Nell shook her head—her powers of brotherly persuasion were going to tank when Sammy’s cookies left town.

  “Tell her we’re her willing, flour-schlepping slaves.”

  Sammy did not lack for slaves—half of Berkeley was willing to work for cookie wages. “She’s busy with scary wedding stuff. If you offered to cause a minor explosion to distract her mother from seating plans, she’d probably bake you a whole batch.”

  “Done. Just tell me where.” Devin hitched up the shopping bag and then eyed her with suspicion. “Wait. You’re not going out with Sammy, and Govin and TJ are at my kitchen table eating Jamie’s last jar of spaghetti sauce. Who are you going out with?”

  Her brother had water power, often considered the weakest of the elemental talents. Anyone who thought that had never dealt with the insistent torrent that was Devin Sullivan. Nell tried part of the truth. “I’m going to a baseball game.”

  “Cool—want some company? Lemme drop off this stuff with—” Her brother cut off abruptly, his brain finally getting in front of his mouth. And then shook his head, laughing. “Dammit. Matt wins again.”

  Nell seriously considered running Dev into the next available lamppost, on purpose this time. “You guys have been betting on my social life again? Did I not make clear that it’s entirely off limits?”

  “Hey, I was on your side.” Her brother managed to raise an innocent palm in the air. “I said you’d never give Mr. Hotshot Hacker the time of day.”

  Really. Nell glared. “What’d Jamie bet?” Matt was always the soft heart who wagered on romance.

  “He said you’d go out with the guy.” Devin snickered and dug a trike handlebar out of his ribs. “After you set his pants on fire.”

  Nell groaned. And wondered whose pants she should be sparking first. “Not a date. A baseball game, okay? I get to watch manly displays of prowess while consuming a hot dog with too much ketchup. That’s all.”

  “You’re not playing?” Dev raised an eyebrow. “Does he know you have the meanest arm on Bleeker Street?”

  No. There was plenty Daniel Walker didn’t know—and she planned to keep it that way.

  -o0o-

  “You’re what?” Daniel eyed Pedro, currently ensconced on the bleachers with his three-year-old nursemaids, with serious skepticism. He sensed a trap in the making.

  “Injured. Kaput.” His second baseman didn’t seem overly worried about his condition. “Stepped on a rock funny, twinged my ankle some.”

  “He hasta sit,” said Maddie, patting Pedro’s head. “Auntie Chloe said so. We’re supposed to stay right here and make sure he listens.” Carlie nodded, a united wall of female firmness.

  Right. This was the guy who had finished the last game of senior year in a cast and still made MVP. “So stand still and catch.”

  “Can’t.” Humor whisped into Pedro’s eyes. “I’m supposed to be setting a good example.”

  “I could play,” offered Carlie helpfully, sticking her hand into his baseball glove. “Auntie Chloe says I’m gonna be a force of nature one day.”

  Of that, Daniel had little doubt. “I don’t think we have a glove small enough to fit you, sweetheart.”

  “Okay.” Carlie nodded, suspiciously agreeable. “How about one to fit her?”

  Daniel turned in the direction she was pointing. And felt the trap slamming shut.

  Nell waved in greeting and caught the small, sticky girl who ran to meet her. “Hey, cutie. You must be just the person I’m looking for.”

  Carlie puffed up with importance. “I probably am. What kind of person do you need?”

  “Well, I came to watch a baseball game. Maybe you can show me where I should sit and stuff.” Nell sent him a look of casual happiness. “And where I can get a Popsicle.”

  Daniel felt himself pulled, moth to flame.

  Maddie tugged on Nell’s free hand. “We can save you a ’sicle, but you hafta play baseball first.”

  “I just came to watch, sweetie.”

  “Emergency.” Pedro gestured far too cheerfully at his injured leg. “Messed up my ankle some. If you can throw and catch halfway decently, we could really use a stand-in second baseman.”

  “She’s not a man.” Carlie’s disdain reached half the audience gathering in the bleachers.

  Daniel just shook his head and tried to offer Nell a graceful out. “Don’t worry about it. Between Truck and I, we can mostly cover the hole.”

  Fire lit in her eyes. It was beautiful—and scary as hell. “I can play.”

  “Do you know how?” The twins bounced in unison, babbling things that sounded vaguely like the rules of baseball. On Mars.

  “Don’t worry.” Nell bent over laughing and swung the two of them up into the stands. “I have six brothers. I’ll be fine.”

  She scooped up the slightly sticky glove and headed for the field.

  Daniel sent one last suspicious glare Pedro’s direction and followed her.

  There wasn’t a single person in the stands, on the bench, or in the field who didn’t watch Nell’s nonchalant walk to second base. He could feel the eyes, the questions, and the easy, knowing grins that had it half wrong—and exactly right.

  He veered off to first base, distracted, annoyed, and curious as all hell. Jesse lobbed Nell a soft throw from third, which she gloved and tossed easily back. Warm-up, newbie style. Nobody better than Jesse to get her in the groove.

  Daniel turned to face home—and nearly got brained by the ball.

  “Wake up.” Nell grinned from second. “Get a glove in front of that pretty face of yours.”

  The grins turned to snickers—and all at his expense. He scowled and hurled a scorcher at Truck. Clearly someone didn’t need a newbie warm-up. “Let’s get started.”

  The first two batters were routine. A line drive a foot past Jesse’s mitt put the lead-off batter on first, and a guy who couldn’t have hit anything smaller than the Goodyear Blimp collected a lucky walk.

  Daniel kept the runners on first honest, sent random baseball signals to the twins in the stands, and felt the gravitational pull from second base sneaking under his skin.

  She called to something inside him. The part that yearned for a team.

  The third guy who walked to the plate reeked of attitude—the kind Daniel would have addressed with a low inside pitch back in college days. Rec baseball had different rules.

  The batter adjusted his cap, stuck his butt out halfway to Kansas, and grinned Nell’s direction. “You might want to get out of the way, little lady. This one’s coming straight for you.”

  The runner on first groaned, clearly unimpressed by his teammate’s bravado. Nell just dropped her hands to her knees, waiting. Truck growled behind home plate, but the guy at bat was too stupid to care.

  He swung at the first two pitches, and Daniel relaxed. No way this doofus could dr
ill a pitch at Nell’s head. And then the third swing surprised him. Contact. The ball headed straight down the first base line. Instinct and years of practice had him scooping on the run. Double play. Always go for the double. Ball in glove, one foot down, pivot, hurl.

  Daniel released the ball—and froze in horror. It was a perfect throw, headed straight for second base. At eighty-five miles an hour.

  In his mind, he yelled a million things, all of them variations on get the hell out of the way.

  And then he watched in stupefied awe as she gloved it, tagged the two-hundred-pound player sliding straight for her legs, and sent a hard throw to Jesse to turn the triple play.

  Inning over. Holy hell.

  Truck hammered out from the infield, whooping, and yanked Nell three feet off the ground. “Please tell me you can swing a bat too.”

  She grinned. “Usually. Hit things more often with my feet on the ground, though.”

  Their team captain put her back down and dropped a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek. “You’re hired. Pay’s lousy, beer’s worse.” He nodded in the general direction of home base. “You take top of the batting order. The guy in left outfield thinks girls can’t play baseball.”

  Her laugh was pure summer fire. “We’ll see how he feels about a ball sailing over his head.”

  Daniel joined the herd heading to the bench. Watched his team tumble into love with the ball of life that was Nell Sullivan. And wondered how the hell he was going to keep his head above water.

  -o0o-

  He was a hacker. An arrogant, lone wolf. He wasn’t supposed to adore small girls and flub catches on purpose.

  Nell curled into the sweet spot of her couch, cuddled a pillow, and contemplated the mystery that was Daniel Walker.

  Maddie and Carlie had been the first surprise. Children moved easily through the witching world, and those two would have held their own anywhere in Witch Central. Two bundles of cute trouble—and they’d worked Daniel with the ease of long experience. And he’d let them, sticky fingers and all.

  Men like that ended up married with cute girls of their own.

  She sighed and stuck her spoon in a pint of Phish Food, willing the ice cream to do its usual magic.

  It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that the Dustkickers were a team whose grip on competitive baseball was marginal at best. Energetic, cheerful, and pretty much devoid of baseball talent. Except for Daniel and Truck, who very competently propped up their team with as little flash as they could manage.

  It hadn’t been at all what she’d expected.

  When two tiny girls had neatly cornered her into playing, she’d run out onto the field, ego blazing, ready to show a bunch of smart-ass guys exactly how good with a glove she was. And for half an inning, she’d done exactly that, to the very enjoyable background of stupefied looks, whistles, and wild cheering from her pint-sized fans in the stands.

  She had six brothers, a father who’d pitched in the minor leagues, and far too big a need to make Daniel Walker sit up and take notice.

  For about twenty minutes, he’d been duly impressed.

  And then she’d watched him flub a perfectly-thrown, sure-fire out so the skinny fourteen-year-old girl batting for the other team could make it to first.

  Ego-free generosity. Witch Central was drenched in it—and she’d still almost blown her part. The next batter up had hit the ball straight into Daniel’s glove, and the fourteen-year-old girl, loose on the rules of baseball, had run anyhow, beelining for second base and Nell’s waiting tag.

  In the quiet comfort of her own living room, she could admit that the throw smacking into her glove from first base had been a dare.

  She’d carefully missed the tag. Barely. And when the next batter up had sent one deep into the outfield, launched the quivering, excited teenager toward third with a mind-hissed “RUN!”

  When the girl slid into home in a squealing cloud of dirt, straight into Truck’s chest and safe by an inch, even the pint-sized fans cheered. And Daniel had slid his temporary second baseman a look that spoke of amusement, belonging, and respect.

  It had fanned more than one kind of flame inside her.

  Nell traced the crooked, random lines on the patchwork pillow her mother had painstakingly pieced together. An act of true sacrifice—Retha Sullivan had little affection for most of the domestic arts. But she knew of love and home, and so she’d made the pillow as a housewarming gift. It had bits and pieces of all the fabrics of Nell’s childhood. The yellow dress she’d been wearing when her power first flared, awestruck fingers shooting sparks of fireworks at the sky. She’d been three, and she’d been enchanted. The red overalls she’d worn to school every Monday of first grade. They’d made her feel brave, and Mom had washed them every Sunday night. The flaming orange skirt Caro had sewn for her, complete with shorts underneath. Just right for a girl who liked to climb trees.

  Small acts of love from people who’d understood the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become.

  Tonight, Daniel had bestowed the same kind of gift on one awkward fourteen-year-old girl.

  And two small, meddling cheerleaders in the stands.

  And the fiery, confused woman standing on second base.

  Nell hugged the pillow tighter. And wondered what to do with a man who handed out those kinds of gifts.

  Chapter 12

  She’d threatened, cajoled, and bribed Jamie to ensure his presence back in The Dungeon. And the moment he walked in and took a seat at his desk, Nell wished he’d just quietly disappear.

  The smirk on her brother’s face suggested she’d been thinking far too loudly. That can be arranged, sister mine. Just give me the secret signal, and I’ll retreat. Got an engine that needs rebuilding.

  Jamie broke motorcycles almost as fast as he built them. We have work to do. Pretty sure yours requires actually having your butt in front of a computer.

  Aye, aye, sir.

  Nell rolled her eyes and ignored his mental send of Captain Bligh, complete with comic-book boobs. She could blow an entire morning teaching him some respect, and they really did have work to do. Realm was reporting a flurry of unmanned tornadoes.

  She turned as Daniel appeared at the bottom of the stairs, hoping today was the day she found the magic sauce that would keep her hormones level. Given the buzz skittering over her skin, probably not. “Want to help out with the morning crisis list?”

  He grinned. “Do I need one keyboard or two?”

  “It’s your brain we could use, not your mobile fingers.” A sentiment the dancing embers in her gut vehemently disagreed with.

  Dammit, she was not thinking about his fingers. They had tornadoes to de-power. “We’ve got some ugly weather running around in Realm, and it’s breeding like rabbits.” She scanned the emergency list. “Jamie, you want to clear out the southern kingdom? Looks like we’ve got a dragon who doesn’t like being pelted with uprooted trees.” Her brother was very good at sweet-talking dragons.

  “On it.”

  She glanced at Daniel and debated which task to assign him. He’d been awfully quiet about his magic so far, and disarming tornados required decent air power. Maybe best to leave him coding, where she knew his skills were hot. “I’ll handle the northern kingdom. How about you go find the spell that caused everything to go haywire in the first place?”

  “Any idea what it was?” His fingers were already flying over the keys.

  Dammit, typing was not sexy. Nell sped through her inbox, trying to ignore the way he changed the air she breathed. She scanned subject lines—usually the culprits confessed as soon as they knew they’d loosed out-of-control code. “Yeah. Looks like someone rigged a tropical storm and forgot to set a failsafe.” It was amazing what basic rules of magic witches forgot in the heat of online battle. Any idiot who did that in real life would be one sizzled witch.

  “Some spell controls would prevent that kind of mess,” said Daniel, reaching for a donut.

  “Sure.” Jamie teleported a
honey glazed, one hand still working the keyboard. “But it would also slow down game innovation. The players who cause the biggest messes are also some of our most creative spellcoders.”

  “That’s a good hook, mixing coding and magic like that. You guys should market that better.”

  Nell shook her head and sent a quick de-twist spell down her mouse. One tornado down, three to go. “You want to play with the marketing geeks, head downtown.”

  Their newest hire just snorted.

  “Not much point in marketing anyhow.” Her brother shrugged absently and threw a magical blanket over the last forest fire in the southern kingdom. “Who’s left to tell? Most witches already know about us.”

  Daniel looked puzzled for a moment, and then squinted at his screen, distracted. “Found it. Some guy with the screen name Gandalf. No, wait. Someone borrowed his storm spell and spliced in some code.”

  Darn. Nell would have enjoyed giving one Marcus Buchanan grief about sloppy spellwork.

  “Weird.” Their resident hacker scowled at his monitor. “More of those dead variable calls. That’s where all the trouble happened—someone spliced into one of them. Split the tags. How come you guys don’t screen for that?”

  Nell frowned—it sounded like geek speak, but she wasn’t following him at all. Rolling over to Daniel’s desk, she peered over his shoulder. “Come again?”

  “Here, here, and here.” Daniel highlighted lines of code on-screen. “Same thing, over and over. Variable calls where nothing happens. This one down here is where the problem happened.”

  Nell looked where he pointed, confused. “Sure. That’s where the spellcoding activates.” It was where magic hooked in to the code, and a logical place for things to go wrong.

  “But it dead-ends.” Daniel threw the spell into his own profile and tried to activate. “Nothing, see? Goes nowhere.”

  What was this, Monday-morning amnesia? Nell rolled her eyes. “Try using a little magic there, Mr. Hacker Coding Genius Dude.”

  She waited for him to pull power.

  Read the total confusion on his face.

  And then heard her brother’s quiet voice in the back of her head. I don’t think he can.