by Debora Geary
Elorie debated a second scone as she ran through the trios one more time in her mind. “Aaron has a big breakfast planned, so I’ll let him know to give us time for that initial circle first. What did you have in mind for the other two, Gran?”
“One for Kevin and Sean to work as channeler and caster. Nell, if you’d act as Sean’s backup, and we can get Lauren to support Kevin.”
Elorie nodded. It was always smart to have experienced witches ready to step in and help if things got hairy. “We should be able to leave most everyone else in their same roles from the morning. Sean’s best at night, so perhaps his should be the final circle of the day.”
“We’ll need to make sure some witchlings get naps,” Nell said. “I have two that will get grumpy otherwise. That leaves your circle for the afternoon, Elorie.”
Her brain slid to a halt. “I’m going to be in a circle?”
Moira smiled. “Of course you are.”
And how exactly were they going to pull that off? Laptop cords didn’t extend to the beach.
Gran must have read her face. “I have an idea, my girl. But I need Lauren’s thinking. Does anyone know if she’s up yet?”
Lauren stumbled into the kitchen. “Just barely. Coffee. Begging.”
Elorie got up to pour a cup, her mind whirling. Forget the issue of Internet on the beach. Circles were at the core of witch tradition, and every circle began with a call to the four elements. Net power wasn’t one of them. What on earth did Gran have in mind?
She wasn’t the only one who was curious. “Why don’t you fill us in,” Nell said. “We can always run back over it when Lauren’s brain wakes up.”
“Well, I wouldn’t normally rush a new witch into a full circle this quickly, but I’d like to do it while we have so many Net witches present. It’s new ground we’ll be breaking, and more heads will make that lighter work.”
Gran was calling for change in one of the core traditions of witchcraft? Elorie frowned, feeling very unsettled.
Lauren grinned in sympathy. A little strange, isn’t it?
Elorie slapped her hand down onto her computer mouse. Not that Lauren was an impolite intruder, but jeebers, she was tired of having people breezily comment on the thoughts in her head.
She realized Nell and Gran were having a conversation, and she’d missed a good chunk of it. Sophie seemed to approve, whatever the idea was.
“My brain’s moving forward now,” Lauren said. “Can someone give me the short version?”
Moira set down her tea. Elorie hid a smile. Gran wasn’t particularly good at summaries—they went against her Irish instincts. “Well, just like we used mind witches in each trio for your first circle, Lauren, we’re going to use Net witches at each element for Elorie’s circle.”
Lauren nodded. “So they can blend elemental power with Net power, right? Makes sense, and it worked well for me.”
Elorie remembered that Lauren’s first full circle had been groundbreaking in its own right. Which should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. California witches were more… adventurous. Gran had always kept the Nova Scotia witching community firmly traditional. It was a heritage Elorie loved and was deeply committed to preserving.
She had no idea why Gran sat there nodding happily as the very foundations of circle work were undermined.
“So for Net witches, we’d have Ginia on earth, Moira on water, Kevin on fire, and that would leave Aervyn on air?” Sophie ground to a halt. “Wait, we need Kevin channeling. What am I missing?”
“Well,” Nell said, “we’re hoping it will work to include those of us who have the spellcoding variety of Net power. So you, Marcus, and I will play, too.”
Sophie nodded. “Makes sense. That’s a lot of computers we’re going to need.”
“Marcus and Ginia are on that.” Nell grinned. “There’s a shortage of modern laptops here, so expect yours and Mike’s to be commandeered.”
“No.” Elorie stood and spoke firmly. It was time to stop this madness.
Moira looked confused. “What’s wrong, my dear?”
Elorie struggled for the words. “Circles are tradition. They’re the core of who we are. This isn’t right. What am I going to do, sit in a trio and wave my mouse when we call to earth or water?”
Passion poured out of her. “I don’t deny this new power of mine, and we’ll figure out how to use it. But it doesn’t belong in a circle.” She appealed directly to Gran. Certainly, of everyone, it would be she who would understand. “Our traditions matter, our connection to generations of witches past. I won’t have it weakened because you love me, because you want me to belong.”
She watched in utter astonishment as Gran’s fury blazed. “Elorie Shaw, you listen, and you listen well. You have belonged to me, and to this community of witches, since the day you were born. I won’t have you cast that aside because of your doubts.”
Her spluttered protests died as Gran stormed on. “There is no one who values the traditions of witchcraft more than I do, no one who holds to the past with more joy. But fear is the wrong reason to resist change.”
Gran’s voice softened, and she reached for Elorie’s hand. “Your magic is one of connection and joining, sweetling. Can you think of a talent that is more suited to a full circle? You were born to this. We just need to figure out how to make it work.”
Irish temper fully blown, her smile was one of gentle compassion. “To join in community is the very oldest of witch traditions, my darling girl. It’s yours by right. Don’t push it away.”
Elorie stared in stupefied silence, her gut a churning mix of defiance, confusion, and yearning.
Witches gathered under the stars and repeated the words of centuries. How could a power that was ten minutes old be part of that? Everything she’d ever known, ever believed in, screamed “no.”
And yet Gran believed.
She jumped as Sophie touched her other hand, eyes laden with compassion. “It’s all too easy to walk away from what you want most, to hide in what’s comfortable.” She swallowed audibly. “I should know.”
Elorie shook her head, not understanding, but feeling her sister’s pain.
Sophie’s grin was a little wavery. “And Gran doesn’t raise scaredy-witches.”
She dug for something to say. Anything at all. And then pushed by love and the gentle dare of her oldest friend, grasped at hope. “Which trio will I be in, then?”
Gran smiled in approval. “You’ll be spellcasting, child. Where else would you be?”
Her brain absolutely ground to a halt again. Spellcasting? Leading the circle? Everyone had gone stark raving mad. She’d been a witch for all of a week.
Panic clawed its way up her ribs.
“Don’t worry so, darling girl. After that stunt you pulled on my nephew, you’re clearly ready.” Gran’s grin was as wide as the Bay of Fundy. “In fact, it was his idea.”
~ ~ ~
Elorie leaned against the doorway and fumed at the laptops and cables overrunning her living room. “Ginia, there’s a snack in the kitchen if you’re interested.”
Whether it was hunger or manners that drove Ginia out of the room, Elorie was grateful for the moment of privacy. Letting her simmering temper bubble to the surface, she glared at Marcus, who had yet to acknowledge her presence. “It’s an interesting form of revenge you chose.”
“And what would that be?” He continued to tinker with a laptop.
“Setting me up as spellcaster for a full circle.”
“Most would consider that an honor.”
“From anyone else, perhaps.”
He shrugged. “So don’t do it.”
Elorie snorted. “Fat chance. You’ve managed to convince Gran it’s a good idea.”
“She didn’t take much convincing, but feel free to blame me if you like.”
Elorie paused, and then asked what she’d truly come to find out. “Do you expect me to fail?”
Marcus finally looked up. “Certainly not. I expect you to uph
old the fine tradition of Nova Scotia witching and handle your circle competently and well.” He squinted at her. “Wait, you’re serious.”
She nodded mutely.
He sat there for several moments, saying nothing. “It took two hours and five witches to undo that spell you cast on me, niece. It was a very impressive piece of magic. You’re a witch of uncommon strength, and that kind of talent shouldn’t go wasted.”
He turned back to his laptop. “And if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll seriously reconsider my plan to turn you into a frog.”
She was pretty sure he couldn’t do that. Then again, he was cozy with a four-year-old who probably could.
However, they’d talked for two whole minutes without her temper boiling over, and much as it galled her to do it, she had a favor to ask. A really big one. Now might be as good a time as any.
“Will you teach me?” she blurted.
Marcus turned around, a pained look on his face. “Teach you what, exactly?”
Cripes. She was going to live to regret this. “To spellcode.”
He looked even more pained, if that was possible. “I thought Ginia was giving you and Kevin lessons.”
“She is. And Kevin is catching on faster than I can blink.”
Marcus shrugged. “The young ones are digital natives. For us, it’s a second language; we’ll always be slower.”
“I’m awfully tired of being slower.”
“I can’t help you with that. You’ve got a good brain, and you’d be a lot faster if you stopped hating that computer of yours.”
“I don’t hate it.” Elorie stopped. Lately, she pretty much did. “Well, I don’t entirely hate it. I’m hoping that if I learn to be halfway competent, I might hate it a little less.” Since it seemed like she was stuck with a permanent computer appendage, she was hoping to make peace with it.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “None of my students are permitted to be only halfway competent.”
She was definitely going to live to regret this. But it was clear that if she didn’t at least attempt to master this side of her power, the under-ten crowd was going to leave her in the miserable, technology-challenged dust. And darned if she hadn’t discovered a bit of her inner competitive witch. “You’ll teach me, then?”
Marcus grinned, an unusual and somewhat scary sight. “I will. All I require is that you keep it entirely secret.”
Elorie frowned. That was a really strange request, but considering the source, it could have been worse. She nodded in agreement.
“Excellent.” Marcus rubbed his hands together. “Warrior Girl won’t have any idea what hit her.”
Jeebers. Who was Warrior Girl, and what had she just agreed to?
~ ~ ~
A Fisher’s Cove lobster bake was an event. Add the greater Nova Scotia witching community to most of the population of the village, and there were more than three hundred people on the beach.
There were three bonfires, a cauldron-sized pot of baked beans, a cooking pit for the lobster, all the local fiddling talent, and a herd of kids playing chicken with the waves. So far, the ocean was winning.
Nell inhaled the tangled smells of smoke and salty air and settled into a chair beside Moira, who looked very content. “You love this, don’t you?”
“I surely do. It reminds me very much of the best of home. There were no beaches or lobsters at our Irish gatherings, but the feeling of it is the same.” She winked. “Not quite enough babies, though. If this group were truly Irish, there’d be a babe in every set of arms.”
Nell grinned. “Who are you pressuring for grandbabies at the moment?”
“It’s not pressure. Just encouragement. I think my sweet Elorie might be getting close, although she’s had a lot to distract her of late.”
“Babies come, whether you’re distracted or not. I should know.”
“Aye.” Moira snugged a blanket around her shoulders. “And we both know that sometimes magic opens more than one kind of channel in a woman.”
Oh, yeah. Her triplets had been conceived after a particularly stupendous full circle. Daniel still teased her about that. Aervyn, oddly enough, hadn’t been the result of magical aftershocks—just a particularly cuddly Friday night date.
They watched in companionable silence for a moment, the quiet roll of waves in the background providing the heartbeat for the evening.
Lizzie’s parents were taking care of the lobster bake part of the evening, with many willing assistants. They had uncovered the shallow, rock-lined pit long used for this purpose, and started a roaring fire that was now burning down to coals. Assistance from a couple of resident fire witches had sped the process up a fair amount.
Nell motioned toward the fire. “So what’s with all the garbage cans?” There were about twenty large aluminum containers lined up behind the fire.
“That’s the food. There will be corn on the cob soaking in salt water in a few. The rest will be mussels and lobster.”
Lizzie’s momma, who had been pushing around some of the fire’s coals, was now in deep conversation with her daughter and Aervyn. As Nell watched, the two witchlings held hands and faced an enormous pile of seaweed. Aervyn’s fingers wiggled slightly—whatever they were up to, it was clearly a fairly tricky spell.
Slowly the seaweed pile levitated, and then floated toward the pit. Nell looked around, a little surprised by such a visible display of magic with so many non-witches present.
“Relax, dear.” Moira patted her hand. “People around here are well used to magic. They’ll be thanking the young ones for saving them the trouble of shoveling all that seaweed, and we’ll be eating faster for it.”
Once the seaweed was layered in the bottom of the pit, willing hands opened the garbage cans and quickly added layers of mussels and corn on the cob. Lids clanged, steam hissed, and the iodine-laced odor of cooking seaweed caught a ride past Nell’s chair. She sniffed in appreciation.
Moira laughed. “If Aervyn’s not careful, a lobster’s going to catch his nose.”
Her son was leaning over one of the garbage cans in fascination. “How do they get the lobsters onto the fire?” Nell figured it wasn’t by sticking their hands in the cans, the way they’d done with the corn.
“Well, there’s the easy way, and the hard way.” Moira giggled. “Looks like they’re going to give the witchlings a go at the hard way first.”
By now, Ginia, Sean, and Kevin had arrived. Nell was pretty sure it wasn’t manners that had them volunteering Ginia to go first. Ginia, being no dummy, pointed at Aervyn. And Aervyn, being only four, grinned and got ready to do magic.
A lobster floated up out of the garbage can and headed toward the pit. Unfortunately for her son, the path to the pit floated right by his face. It was a hard call who was more surprised—the witchling who almost lost his nose, or the lobster who got teleported twenty feet up in the air.
The rest of the witchlings eventually got their giggles under control and began to help with the floating lobster parade. Aervyn kept a very respectful distance from their claws.
Nell turned to Moira. “So what’s the easy way to get the lobsters to the fire—teleporting?”
Moira chuckled. “Pitchfork.”
That figured.
Distracted by the antics at the lobster pit, Nell realized she had missed a lot of other activity on the beach. She pointed toward a large platform. “And what’s that?”
“Oh, it will take an hour or so for the food to be ready. There will be some dancing while we wait.”
Three hundred people were going to fit on that platform?
Moira got up from her chair. “The platform’s for the old ladies like me. The young ones will dance on the sand. Come, now—we’ve been sitting long enough.”
In California, dancing involved some swaying while jammed up against many other bodies in a very small space. Nell rapidly discovered that it meant something entirely different on a Nova Scotia beach.
She watched, jaw dropped in awe, as Moira
shed her blanket, climbed up on the platform, and began some kind of rapid-fire Irish step dance.
She danced on her own for a moment, matriarch and star of this little part of the world. Then she motioned, and several others joined her on the makeshift stage. Holding Elorie’s hand, she led a group of dancers through an age-old Irish celebration of life and the joy of having feet that could move on the earth.
The inner circle of the dance, the outer circle of witches and villagers clapping along with the music—it was its own kind of magic.
When they finished, Moira was escorted to a waiting chair like a triumphant queen. Elorie grabbed Ginia’s hands and began to walk her through some of the simpler steps.
Nell walked over to take a seat by Moira again. Moira just laughed. “You haven’t earned old-woman status just yet, my dear. Go on and dance. Anyone will be happy to teach you.”
Sophie spun by and grabbed her hand. “We’ll have you dancing all night long.”
Nell learned two things in the next few hours. One, the people of Nova Scotia had the stamina of Ironman triathletes. And two, nothing on earth tasted better than beach-baked lobsters in the moonlight. All five of them.
Chapter 15
It was a very bleary-eyed crew of witches who gathered at sunrise the next morning. The mists floating in from the ocean hid some of the yawns, but not all. Elorie handed out coffee and hoped for the best. The witchlings, many of whom had fallen asleep in the sand in the wee hours of the night, seemed relatively cheery. That was good—for many, it would be their first full circle.
Mike was huddled with a couple of their local fishermen who had done early reconnaissance on the current location of the algae bloom. The goal was to push it gently out to sea to be reclaimed by the ocean’s natural recycling systems. That was easiest to do if you knew exactly where the bloom was.
Each of the experienced point witches gathered up their trio. Moira cuddled Lizzie under her long wool cape; water witches got cold easily—something about their affinity with the chilly ocean waters. They chatted easily with Gwen, the third member of their trio.
Aervyn had somehow gotten Uncle Marcus laughing, which was a feat of magic unto itself. Air and water had the toughest jobs of the morning, so Elorie was happy to see a harmonious start. With Uncle Marcus, that couldn’t be taken for granted.
