by Debora Geary
The atoms of Nell’s world exploded and rearranged upside-down. What?
He hasn’t pulled power the whole time he’s been working here. He doesn’t recognize a spellcode variable call. Jamie’s eyes were busy, scanning his screen. And all the spells in his profile are pure code.
She didn’t bother to question—on this kind of stuff, Jamie’s word was gold. And the implication of his words had emptied her lungs of air.
Daniel Walker had breached the walls of Realm. Entered the witch-only levels. Held her fearsome magic to a draw in hand-to-hand combat.
And he wasn’t a witch.
Her brain skittered in a thousand directions, trying to find firm ground. Just like she’d done the first time they’d met, she yanked on fire power. Energy seared her skin, magical ozone ready to fly. Nell coated herself in a blazing layer of it, shaped it into a cone of leashed lightning, and aimed.
Not even the tiniest mental flinch. Which took balls of steel—or he really wasn’t a witch.
Holy hell.
Dark eyes watched her, confused, and demanding answers.
She didn’t have them.
How could he not be a witch?
The shredded bits of a once-normal morning clawed at her throat. She needed air, and space, and freedom from brown eyes that saw so much—and understood so little. So Nell Sullivan did the only thing she could do, faced with the impossible.
She fled.
-o0o-
Daniel gripped the keyboard in his lap, trying to cling to anything real. He stared blankly at the mysterious lines of code, and then looked back up at the staircase where a suddenly stricken Nell had vanished.
And felt like he’d fallen into the fifth dimension. One where code didn’t obey the laws of computing and sane people went crazy before his very eyes.
She’d been afraid. In the silent, tearing moment before she’d run, Nell’s eyes had held fear.
He needed answers. And since the lead-off batter had vanished, there was only one place to get them. Daniel swung his chair around and pinned Jamie with the look he’d always used to pin footloose runners to second base. “What the hell’s going on?”
To his credit, Jamie only blinked. “I’m not sure, honestly.”
That wasn’t even close to an answer. As a hacker, he was well aware code held secrets—but not this kind of secret. Not a kind he didn’t understand. “Care to explain these dead variables?” It wasn’t a request. He’d blipped through a wormhole and landed in quicksand—and the guy sitting in the chair holding half a honey-glazed donut knew the way out.
Jamie met his gaze, The Dungeon silent for a long, long moment. “Ask Nell.”
He would. Right after he found oxygen again. A good hacker knew how to get in to difficult places. A great one knew when to get the hell out.
He didn’t run for the back exit—but it was a close thing. A manly and very brisk walk. Time to find solid ground.
And get ready for round two.
-o0o-
Nell pelted up the stairs—straight into the solid chest of the woman waiting at the top. She resisted the warmth, the invitation, and the demand in her mother’s eyes. “Let me go.”
Retha stepped back, hands in the air, mind seeking. Asking. Offering the kind of empathy that usually turned her children to Jell-O.
Eventually.
Nell yanked down her mental barriers. “Stay out of my head.” She winced as soon as the words came out, well aware she’d been broadcasting shock loud enough for half of Berkeley to hear.
“Come.” The hand on her arm was firm—but still asked.
And as she done so many times in twenty-seven years, Nell wrapped herself in that comfortable, persistent love and brought her problems to the kitchen table.
She took a seat—and hoped the table could hold up. This was bigger than skinned knees and failed magic tricks. “Daniel’s not a witch.”
Shock flared in her mother’s eyes. “How is that possible?”
That was one of several dozen questions ricocheting through Nell’s brain. “I don’t know. But Jamie was sure.” She took a deep breath, sorting through the details pelting her head and settling on the one that had her gut most convinced. “I pulled power and he didn’t react. At all.”
They’d all inherited their poker face from the woman sitting across the table. “Exactly how much power did you draw?”
“Enough.” Nell listened to her breath shaking and hated it. Opted for a grin instead. “I aimed a lightning bolt at his waist.” A move guaranteed to have any of her brothers running for cover.
Amusement flittered across Retha’s face. “Daniel doesn’t strike me as an idiot.”
No, he didn’t—quite the opposite. “He must have insane coding skills.” Hers were some of the best in the business, and he’d breached them more than once.
Without magic.
Daniel Walker wasn’t a witch.
He’d hacked into her turf and deflected lightning with nothing more than his bare hands, and he had no idea what he’d done. He’d faced down magic—her magic!—with nothing more than sublime skill with a keyboard.
Daniel Walker wasn’t a witch.
Hands reached across the table to hold hers. “That’s only half the problem, sweetheart.” Retha’s voice overflowed with sympathy.
Nell hitched another breath and tried to fathom what awfulness could possibly be the other half. And blanched when it hit her. “He doesn’t know I’m a witch.”
The aching understanding in her mother’s eyes nearly undid her for a second time.
Daniel had stormed more than Realm. He’d sent her hormones racing to the moon and back. And she was beginning to like him. Really like him—a messy combination of respect and intrigue that was tugging on her hard.
He danced with a witch—and had no idea.
“You have to tell him.”
She knew. And she hated it. “Why? Because he has a right to know?” Her world was shaking in its boots—she didn’t much care about Daniel Sullivan’s rights.
“Yes,” said Retha, her moral compass as solid as always, even in the difficult world of witch ethics. “And because you have a right to be known as the woman you are.”
Sometimes her mother saw far too much. “So I should just pull fire out of the sky and see what happens?” Nell wasn’t an idiot. “I’m a spellcaster—something he’s only ever seen in video games. No way this works.”
Her mother’s voice was quiet, persistent rain. “You might let him decide that.”
“You really think he’s going to have room for me?” Something in her cracked. He’d been making room. For Nell Sullivan, non-witch.
“You don’t think he’ll handle it?” Retha touched her daughter’s hands gently. “Others have. Sammy. Your father.”
“Sammy’s different.” And quirky enough to think a friend who did magic tricks was totally cool. “And sorry, Mom, but you read minds and see things occasionally. I set fires in my sleep and undo tornadoes in my spare time.”
“Yes.” Retha’s smile held worlds of understanding—and didn’t entirely hide her worry. “And if he’s the man meant for you, he’ll wrap his head around that.” She paused. “Eventually.”
Nell flared at the flagrant matchmaking—and then caught the edge of something odd in her mother’s voice. “You’ve seen things?” Having a mother with occasional precog had mostly sucked growing up. Some things didn’t change.
The reply took far too long to come. “On this, no.”
That wasn’t an answer. Or at least, not all of it. “He’s interesting, but that’s as far as it’s gone.”
“Don’t lie to your mother, sweetheart.” The hand under her chin was firm, the mindtouch that came with it infinitely more gentle. “Or to yourself.”
It was hard to find the truth in a world that had just fractured into tiny bits.
Her mother sighed. And stared at a crack in the table for a very long time. “See what your Daniel does when you show him you
r truth. And then come see me again, and I’ll tell you what I saw on the day you were born.”
Nell stood up from the table, more wobbly than when she’d sat down. And hated every shudder of the ground beneath her feet.
-o0o-
Daniel emerged out the side entrance of the Sullivan basement kingdom and looked up, pathetically glad to see the same old yellow sun riding high in a familiar blue sky.
Gravity still worked and the sun still shone.
Pretty much everything else was up for grabs.
Nell was a woman who caught baseballs, coded like the wind, handled three-year-olds with savvy aplomb, and drop-kicked his hormones into the stratosphere. And she was shrouded in whatever mystery began in the bowels of Realm and permeated through the whole Sullivan family.
“You have it backwards,” said a quiet voice behind him.
He spun around, half expecting The Wizard—and barely caught the flash of pain in Nell’s eyes.
She stopped, hands fisted at her sides. “The mystery begins with us. We made Realm.”
It was the hint of pain that pulled him closer. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Her face stayed poker steady—but her arms hugged her ribs in tight sorrow. “I’m a witch.”
The sun was still in the sky. Daniel hung on to the last fact he knew for sure was true. And pleaded, wordless, for her to explain. His hands floated in the air in an odd, truncated attempt to touch—he didn’t trust his fingers right now.
“There has been power in my family for generations.” She shrugged, arms wrapping tighter as if to hold in something trying to flee. “Magic runs in my blood.”
He gave up trying to hold on to reality and clutched at random gaming lore. Magic came in systems. Had rules. “What powers do you have?”
“Fire. Air. A touch of a couple of other elements.” She shrugged. “Some mind magic. But primarily I’m a spellcaster.”
He knew what that was. A mage capable of spells of great complexity and power. The Wizard. “You’re a spellcaster in Realm.”
“Yes.” Her eyes dared him now. “And here, in Berkeley, in 1997.”
His heart ached, even as he tried to wrap his head around the unreal. Finally, he just went with the drilling need in his gut and threw a pitch. “Show me.”
The last thing he expected was a real one flying back at him. A baseball-sized, glowing ball of light, floating toward his hands. Part of him jibbered in terror. And part of him reached out in awe, entranced by the dancing light. His fingers cupped the impossible. “It doesn’t burn.” Just a soft warmth.
“It can.” Her voice held warning—and more dare.
He snapped his fingers back. And felt the sizzle of four-foot-high flames explode where light had danced.
The awestruck part vanished and left only jibbering terror.
One step back. Two.
Right into a damn bush.
The flames vanished, leaving only Nell’s eyes—fierce, dancing, and touched with disdain. “Two steps to the left and you can hide behind it. I promise not to shoot.”
She was laughing at him. Laughing. Fury grabbed terror by the throat and threw it out the back door. Daniel pushed himself away from the bush and grabbed her hands.
Her fingers. Always warm. He held tight to the second thing he knew to be true. And threw his next pitch. “What else can you do?”
He felt her fingers jerk. Surprise. And then saw respect bloom in her eyes.
She looked down at their joined hands. “You’ve already seen most of it. In Realm. Those dead variable calls you don’t understand? Those connect to our magic.”
He tried to follow. Really, really tried. “You’re all witches.”
“Yeah.” Sorrow had come back to her face now, along with confused, defiant anger. “You got into the witch-only levels. Past the guardian spells. We assumed you must belong there.”
He had no freaking clue what a guardian spell was. And for the first time in his life, the code didn’t matter. “Back up for me. Please.” He tugged her hand and headed to a nearby bench. They both needed to sit down. “You can make fire with your bare hands.” And little miraculous balls of light. Even now, he yearned to hold one again.
“Yeah.”
Hackers never forgot details. “And air and mind power, right?”
Her smile still tinged with sadness. “Yeah.”
“What’s the air power do?” Cataloging. He was acting like a freaking librarian.
This time, he got a laugh. “Mostly I undo tornadoes.”
He felt his face drain of blood. She what?
“In Realm.” Nell turned to look out over the garden. “Air magic is fairly common, and it takes more power to undo a spell than to create one in the first place.”
The urge to catalog—to name the impossible and give it little bullet points—was unstoppable. A sad, pathetic attempt to swim out of the black hole of confusion. “And mind power?”
Her fingers mashed a flower. That’s the one you’ll fear most, I think.
Oh, God. She was in his head.
She stood up, face blank. “In the gaming language you’ll understand, I’m a mindreader and an empath.”
She could hear his thoughts. Every last one of them.
“No.” Her arms were wrapped around her ribs again. “In the real world I live in, there are ethics. I hear what you allow me to hear. A few stray thoughts. The occasional thing you hurl my way.”
He had no idea what to say. No idea what to hold on to. And no idea how to reach the woman who stood before him, all fragile ice. He waited, hoping she would say the thing that would finally make some sense.
All he got was a sad, slow smile, from a face almost as white as the daisies beside her. And then she turned and walked inside.
And he knew real thing number three. Something important had just broken.
Chapter 13
Daniel hurled balls at the backstop mesh, one after the other, the rhythm as natural to him as breathing. And tried not to think.
Windup, release, thunk. Windup, release, thunk. The laws of physics and gravity, doing what they’d always done. The universe had rules. The kind that kept Earth on its axis, humanity’s feet on the ground, and his brain cells between his ears.
Windup, release, thunk.
“Maybe you should have called Truck.”
Daniel turned, eyeing Pedro as he walked in from the outfield gate. “Why?”
The fastest pair of hands in baseball eyed the littered backstop. “Because I’m not man enough to catch a hundred of your fastballs. I like my fingers in functioning order.”
Daniel tossed him a hard one, just to be pissy. And then settled in to the more relaxed rhythms of toss-and-catch. They’d warmed up that way for years. And it was Pedro’s brain he wanted, not his hands. “Nell’s a witch.”
The soft toss nearly landed in his friend’s nose. “What?”
“She’s a witch. The hocus-pocus, toil-and-trouble kind. She does magic.” Crazy, mind-blowing magic.
There was silence for a while, just the easy, repetitive thud of ball in glove. Finally Pedro studied the ball for longer than usual. “My great-aunt had a half-sister they called a witch. Had ‘the sight.’ Did stuff with herbs and things.”
Daniel sent the ball back with more force. There had been no herbs in Nell’s apartment. “She’s not that kind of witch.”
“Okay.” Pedro had on his psychologist face now. “What kind is she?”
“The kind that hurls lightning bolts and reads minds.” The former freaked him out. The latter made him want to slap tinfoil over his head and run home to Mommy.
“Holy shit.” All traces of professional shrink fled. “Are you sure?”
“Of the lightning bolts—yeah.” And he had no reason to doubt her words on the rest. “She casts spells, too. Apparently she’s really good at it.”
The rhythmic thudding of the ball went on for a long time before his friend spoke again. “Okay. So why are you out here abus
ing a backstop?”
Damn Pedro and his ability to adapt to every freaking thing. But it was a reasonable question. And when Daniel found the answer, it surprised him. “Because I flubbed the catch. Big time.”
“Ran screaming for the hills like a girl, did you?” Pedro grinned and started tossing a little harder.
Probably some shrink technique to keep him from thinking too much. “Not exactly. She thought I was going to, though.” That much had been plastered all over her face.
His buddy snorted. “She doesn’t know you very well yet.”
He’d walked away from a few fights. “She’s the kind of person who hurls herself into battle. All of them.”
“And you pick yours.” Pedro raised an eyebrow. “Are you picking this one?”
That’s what a hundred fastballs were supposed to be telling him.
More silence. More thunks. Pedro finally drilled one straight at his nose. “This is where you tell me what happened, oh silent one. Spill.”
So much for a gentle session on the psychologist’s couch. Daniel threw harder, enjoying the well-oiled feel of his wrists. “She did this cool thing with a ball of light. And then she made some flames. Big ones. Scared the crap out of me.”
“No doubt.” Pedro shrugged and pocketed the ball. “You’ll get over it. Edith makes big flames and you hang out with her all the time.”
Edith was a freaking grill. “That’s different. Grills are supposed to make flames.”
His friend started meandering lazily down the field. “Okay, but imagine you lived in a world without grills. And then one day you met Edith and she did her flames-to-the sky thing. You’d freak, right? But it wouldn’t last.”
Two weird conversations in one day was going to kill him. “You think I should just get used to a woman who can make lightning fly from her fingers?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think.” Pedro looked over his shoulder at the backstop. “But isn’t that why you were out here? Trying to get used to it?”
Daniel stopped, the afternoon sun beating down on his sweaty shoulders. And felt the truth of his friend’s words leak in, one slow drip at a time. “Maybe. Don’t know if I can.”
