A Hidden Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 2)

by Debora Geary

  She logged in and headed to the pub, pretty sure she’d find him on his usual chair in the corner. She didn’t get that—Realm was a lot more fun with friends, but Gandalf always played alone. People had tried—the third-best player in Realm would make a powerful ally—but he was always his usual rude self, and they eventually went away.

  Today he was dressed like a monk. Generally, the simpler his disguise, the more dangerous he was. She set a couple of warding spells in place just to be safe.

  Warrior Girl: Good evening to ya, Gandalf.

  Gandalf: Merry meet, Warrior Girl. I see your friends aided in your escape. Can I buy you a drink?

  Warrior Girl: Some of us have friends. Cider, please.

  Gandalf: Get the girl a cuppa. Make it a small one, since she’s being rude today.

  Warrior Girl: I have a proposition to make.

  Gandalf: Big word for a little girl.

  Warrior Girl: I’m big enough.

  Gandalf: Really. And what big things have you done lately?

  Warrior Girl: I melted a computer this morning.

  Gandalf: On purpose?

  Warrior Girl: I’m a well-trained witch. I don’t do magic by accident.

  Gandalf: Ah. Trying to recreate the incident with Aunt Moira’s computer, were you?

  Warrior Girl: Yup.

  Gandalf: Learn anything?

  Warrior Girl: Well, it wasn’t just power overload. Even Aervyn couldn’t melt a hard drive that way, and he tried. Uncle Jamie thinks he could do it with the juice of a circle behind him, but—

  Gandalf: If the baddest witchling in the West couldn’t do it alone, then it’s unlikely that’s what happened.

  Warrior Girl: Exactly.

  Gandalf: So, if Aervyn couldn’t do it, then how’d you pull it off?

  Warrior Girl: I didn’t just use magic; I used coding, too.

  Gandalf: You spellcoded a computer melt? Remind me to keep you away from my electronics.

  Warrior Girl: It worked, but you’re the only spellcoder at Aunt Moira’s house.

  Gandalf: I didn’t cook her computer, little fighter.

  Warrior Girl: Could you?

  Gandalf: Good question. I don’t happen to have a spare one around to test on, however.

  Warrior Girl: Uncle Jamie doesn’t think Elorie could have spellcoded.

  Gandalf: Ha. The girl can hardly answer email.

  Warrior Girl: But what if she did it by accident? Not spellcoding, exactly, but something like that.

  Gandalf: Hmm. Different process, but same result?

  Warrior Girl: Huh?

  Gandalf: Never mind. You’ve got me thinking now, which I’m guessing was your intent.

  Warrior Girl: Yup. You might be a crusty old witch, but you’re pretty smart.

  Gandalf: Be gone with you, brat.

  Ginia logged out of Realm and giggled. Mission accomplished. Well, two missions, actually. It probably was a good idea for Gandalf to think about Elorie’s magic. Maybe he’d figure something out.

  More importantly, however, the conversation had distracted him long enough for her to plant her weaving spells. By this time tomorrow, his two most potent spells wouldn’t recognize him as caster. They’d belong to his two biggest challengers besides her. She hoped they got the hint and ganged up on him. And while they were doing that, she’d be going on a spell raid.

  Warrior Girl was going to rule Realm. It was just a matter of time.

  ~ ~ ~

  “It’s so you don’t forget about us while you’re gone,” Lizzie said.

  Jeebers, Elorie thought. You’d think she was going away for years instead of a week. Her three students had shown up with a care package of homemade snickerdoodles, some freshly picked blueberries, and a painstakingly drawn and lettered card—clearly Lizzie’s handiwork.

  “We picked the berries this afternoon,” Kevin said. “There were more, but it was hard to stop eating them.”

  Elorie looked at the gallon bucketful and tried not to giggle. It didn’t seem likely they would let her take those on the plane. Aaron would be serving blueberry pancakes to their guests for days. And the snickerdoodles wouldn’t make it as far as the plane—their cinnamon-y goodness was already teasing her nose.

  She hugged Lizzie. “I’m only going for a few days, so I won’t forget you, and I most definitely won’t be hungry. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone, okay?” She looked at Sean as she said the last.

  He rolled his eyes. “We don’t try to get into trouble. It just kind of finds us.”

  “Find a better hiding place.” She kissed the top of his head, sure to annoy him. “I don’t want Gran having to do a lot of spellwork while I’m gone. Remember, she tires more easily than she thinks.”

  “She won’t have to,” Kevin said. “Uncle Marcus is staying here while you’re gone. He says we need better supervision.”

  Uncle Marcus? Wow. He only came out of his cave a couple of times a year, and never for more than a day or two.

  “He likes people more than you think,” Kevin said, and then blushed. “Oops, sorry. I’m not too good at mind-witch manners yet. Uncle Marcus says I need to practice harder, but your mind is really leaky.”

  Lovely. Just what she needed to hear as she headed off to Witch Central, where there were mind witches practically wall-to-wall. “You can practice while I’m gone. Or maybe if you’re hearing things you shouldn’t, you could at least help keep Sean out of trouble.”

  Kevin shook his head. “Nope. His mind isn’t leaky at all.”

  Lizzie talked with her mouth full of blueberries. “Is my brain leaky?”

  Sean grinned. “It’s gonna be leaking blueberries soon if you don’t stop eating them. You’re gonna have purple poop, too.”

  “Eeeewwww, I will not,” Lizzie said. She looked at Elorie. “Can poop really turn purple?”

  “How many of those have you eaten?”

  Lizzie contemplated the blueberry container. “Maybe one whole bucket. Granny Moira said I could eat as many as I wanted. She said blueberries are good for witchlings.”

  Elorie gave her a hug. “They’re very good for you—and that many blueberries will definitely give you purple poop. Did Gran want any blueberries for herself?”

  “We left her a bucketful,” Kevin said.

  “Maybe she’ll have purple poop, too.” Lizzie seemed to think that was a pretty cool possibility. “And the blueberries made her stop crying.”

  Elorie’s purple-poop induced giggles shut off abruptly. “Gran was crying?”

  “Just a little,” Sean said. “She wouldn’t tell us why. She said that sometimes old witches just get a little teary.”

  “She was sitting with her scrying bowl,” Lizzie said. “I think she was sad because it wouldn’t answer her question.”

  Kevin gave Lizzie a strange look, the kind that triggered Elorie’s “uh, oh” radar. “What’s going on, Kev?”

  He shook his head. “Uncle Marcus said I shouldn’t talk about things I pick up accidentally from other people’s minds.”

  Tricky territory. “Mostly you shouldn’t, but sometimes it’s important to share things about somebody you love. Is Lizzie right about why Gran was sad?”

  Kevin nodded. “Yeah, but how did Lizzie hear that? Gran only said it inside her head.”

  Lizzie grabbed another handful of blueberries. “Maybe I’m a mind witch, too. Or maybe I’m just a good guesser.” She seemed entirely unconcerned about a possible new magical power.

  Just what we need, Elorie thought—a whole flock of mind witches with questionable manners. It took a moment to recognize the spurt of jealousy in her belly. Why couldn’t she have been the child with a growing collection of nice, normal magical talents?

  Crazy thoughts like that were a sure sign of just how ridiculous she was getting about what some computer scan said. It was time for nice, normal Elorie Shaw, non-witch, to go to bed.

  Chapter 5

  Nell sat down at her computer and prepared to g
et some serious grocery shopping done. Not only did she have her hordes to feed, but poor morning-sick Nat couldn’t stand the sight of even online food, so she had two grocery orders to fill.

  Aervyn said there was only one baby in Nat’s tummy, but Nell had to wonder. Her nausea had been far worse with the triplets.

  She’d only made it as far as the virtual cheese aisle when a Witches’ Chat alert popped up on her screen.

  Nell: Good morning, Moira.

  Moira: It’s not, actually—it’s Marcus. Hang on a minute while I change my user name.

  Marcus: There, that’s better.

  Nell: We can do video chat, if you like.

  Marcus: No, I’d prefer this conversation stay private for the time being.

  Nell: What can I do for you? How is Elorie doing?

  Marcus: You’ll know that before I will. She’s on a plane heading your direction.

  Nell: Yeah, we’ll pick her up in a few hours. I don’t think we’ll be able to entirely avoid talking about what happened, but we’ll try to keep it out of the way of her art show.

  Marcus: Isn’t being a witch more important than any hobby?

  Nell: Spoken like an old-school witch. Elorie is a deeply talented artist, and if what I hear is true, she’ll likely earn more in the four days of the Art Fair than most people in Nova Scotia earn in six months.

  Marcus: I stand corrected. Her bobbles are attractive enough, but they’re just beach glass. Decoration.

  Nell: This from the guy who has the biggest costume collection in Realm?

  Marcus: Those are necessary for my game strategy.

  Nell: Dammit, warn me when you’re going to be funny. I just spit coffee all over my monitor.

  Marcus: Try a simple kitchen spell, dear.

  Nell: I’m not a kitchen witch, and only Moira gets to call me dear. If you’re not careful, Gandalf, I’ll be helping my daughter take you down a notch.

  Marcus: She doesn’t need your help.

  Nell: Oh, really.

  Marcus: I’m the biggest challenge she has left, and it’s not going to take her much longer to leave me in the dust. She took a good run at it earlier today. The little punk sent a sneaker to try to infiltrate one of my spells. I’m not entirely convinced there was only one. She’s a very tricky little witchling.

  Nell: Well, I guess you’re not a total loss.

  Marcus: What I am is the only witch in Nova Scotia who believes your computer scans. Which means, like it or not, I’m in a position to help.

  Nell: I don’t know that there’s much of anything to do until we can figure out what kind of power source Elorie’s accessing. The girls and Jamie are huddling over code, trying to figure it out.

  Marcus: Warrior Girl got me to thinking this morning, and I have an idea about that.

  Nell: All ears.

  Marcus: Her power might be connected to the online world in some way. A kind of power we haven’t seen before.

  Nell: It seems a little hard to believe she has some kind of completely unique magical talent.

  Marcus: Exactly. Perhaps she’s not unique.

  Nell: Now you’ve lost me.

  Marcus: Pay better attention, then.

  Nell: Careful, or I’ll have Moira drag out her cauldron for you to scrub.

  Marcus: I’m in possession of an excellent scrubbing spell. Let me try to explain more simply. Elorie’s not the first witch to combine technology and magic.

  Nell: Well, there’s spellcoding, but that’s different.

  Marcus: How?

  Nell: It’s a blend of magical power sources with online code. But the power sources are the traditional ones.

  Marcus: Correct. Can every witch spellcode?

  Nell: Hell, no.

  Marcus: Why not?

  Nell: What is this, a test? Because most of them are crappy coders, for one.

  Marcus: Agreed. But think about Realm. There are plenty of players in the witch-only levels who are pathetic spellcoders, and it’s not always well-correlated to either their coding capabilities or their strength as a witch.

  Nell: True… Wait—are you suggesting that spellcoding is a separate talent?

  Marcus: Something like that.

  Nell: Keep talking.

  Marcus: If spellcoding was simply about adding good code together with decent magical strength, then I think the rankings in Realm would be very different. Look at your daughter. She’s an innovative little witchling, and a smart coder, but she can’t come close to matching my magical power yet. She’s been a witch for what, a few months now?

  Nell: Huh. Yeah, she’s leapfrogged some pretty skilled witches recently. You don’t think it’s just her coding skills?

  Marcus: Your husband Daniel has reason to respect my coding abilities. I’m not quite at his level, but not all that far behind, either. Your daughter would find me more difficult to beat code-to-code.

  Nell: That’s not the impression you gave her.

  Marcus: Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t eat young girls for breakfast.

  Nell: That’s still open for debate. So, you think she has some separate dose of spellcoding talent.

  Marcus: I’m wondering if perhaps there is a magical ability we’ve never really isolated and identified because it tends to come along with other powers.

  Nell: Ah. And you think Elorie might possess this talent.

  Marcus: Yes. And only that talent.

  Nell: But any known talent leaves power traces. Why wouldn’t this one?

  Marcus: It does. It simply leaves them in a different place.

  Nell: ??

  Marcus: Online, Nell. That would be why Moira and I can’t read it, but your scanner did.

  Nell: It leaves virtual power traces?

  Marcus: A fascinating thought, no? And one I leave with you to pursue. There are very few computer-competent witches on this coast, but you have access to two groups with deep coding skills and witch power. A good test population, I would think.

  Nell: Yeah, the witch-level Realm players would go nuts to help with this. What’s the second group?

  Marcus: Your family, my dear. If this is a talent that runs in family trees, I’d predict it runs straight through you.

  Nell stared at her suddenly blank monitor. Dammit, he’d just called her “dear” again. The man had no social skills and some seriously outdated ideas about women, but he’d jumped to a plausible theory faster than any of the spellcoding geniuses in her household.

  She looked at her hands ruefully. Spellcoding came so naturally she’d never really tried to break down how it worked. Leave it to some crusty old hermit witch to ask the obvious.

  Time to page the troops. She’d set them loose on Marcus’s brainstorm before heading to the airport to fetch Elorie.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nell had a strange moment of déjà vu as she waited with Aervyn in the always-bustling San Francisco airport. Why was it that her fetching spell kept finding these women who were unhappy to be witches? Maybe next time around they could grab some nice person who would say “thank you” and show up for the occasional solstice circle.

  Lauren’s first days as a witch had been more than a little rocky, and Elorie’s didn’t look to be any easier—hell, they couldn’t even reach consensus that she was a witch.

  “Mama, do you need a snack?” Aervyn asked. “You feel grumpy.”

  Nell grinned. He was probably right. He was also angling for one of the cookies she had stashed in her bag. She pulled out the cookie container and handed it to her permanently hungry son.

  Aervyn opened the tin and studied the contents for a moment. Then he handed Nell two of the three cookies inside. “Here. I think you need more cookies than I do. I’m only a teeny, tiny bit grumpy.”

  Punk witchling. She rubbed his head and took the two cookies. Passengers started flooding out the arrivals gate, and Nell tried to spot Elorie.

  “I see her, Mama!”

  Elorie waved and walked over to meet them, carrying the world’s
biggest backpack.

  “That’s a huge bag, girl,” Nell said. “How’d you get that on the plane?”

  Elorie sighed. “I’m not sure, exactly, but it has most of my work for the show, and I wasn’t about to let it out of my sight. Customs was a small hassle, but I’m here now, and grateful.”

  Aervyn held out half his cookie. “Here, have some of my cookie. It’s good for making the grumpies go away.”

  Elorie smiled, clearly used to questionable witchling manners. “I’m not really grumpy, just tired, but thank you. I feel like I ate breakfast three days ago.”

  “You didn’t eat for three days?” Aervyn’s eyes got big. He wiggled his fingers just a little and held out the much larger cookie canister he’d obviously just teleported from the kitchen at home. “Here, have lots of cookies. Mama can make more if we run out.”

  Nell shook her head and laughed. “Welcome to Witch Central, where life is always a bit crazy. Aervyn, send the cookies back home, please. Elorie already has enough to carry.” And the smell of Nutella cookies might cause an airport stampede.

  Aervyn contemplated Elorie for a moment, and then wiggled his fingers again. Nell didn’t have to wonder what he was up to for long. Elorie squealed and spun around. “My backpack!”

  Nell tried to reassure her with a look. “It’s okay. Aervyn just ported your bag to our house.” The look she gave her son was more pointed. “That bag has some things in it that are really important to Elorie. You scared her when you made it disappear without asking.”

  She could see his brain twisting that around for a minute. “I’m really sorry, Elorie. I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you want me to bring your bag back?”

  Elorie shrugged her shoulders. “No, actually. Thanks, it’s a lot lighter this way.” She reached for the cookie tin Aervyn was still holding and grinned. “Besides, now I have two hands free for cookies.”

  Phew, thought Nell. Thank God for visitors who could roll with witchling antics. That would make the next few days a lot easier. Normal life at the Walker house tended to register pretty high on the chaos scale.

  Aervyn reached for Elorie’s hand to lead her out of the airport. “So, how come you don’t want to be a witch?”