An Unlikely Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 2)

by Debora Geary

  “Missy.”

  The teenager with the big eyes full of hero worship. Nat was pretty sure that whatever was coming next, she didn’t have it in her to say no. “How can I help?”

  Trinity’s shrug was a lot more diffident this time. “She wants to try that yoga stuff you do.”

  An odd burst of pleasure ran up Nat’s spine. “She’s totally welcome here.” She scrolled through the class schedule in her mind. “I have a beginner class on Wednesday nights with a couple of other girls from the high school. Funky music, a bit of dancing thrown in. She might like that one.”

  “Okay. I’ll let her know.”

  There was more, and it was making her visitor squirm. Nat kept talking and trusted it would arrive when it was ready. “Tell her to come in comfortable clothes. The studio has mats she can borrow.”

  “She can’t afford to pay. But we don’t take charity.” The castle’s number-one rule. “Can she clean up for you or something?”

  There were always odd jobs that could be done. Nat dug for one that would honor the girl who was seeking. “She can help sort through inventory in the store.” The small area where she sold yoga clothing was attractive and warm and full of pretty fabrics, all things the teenager would enjoy. And at this time of year, it could definitely use a little organizing.

  Suspicion blasted onto Trinity’s face and then left again, almost as quickly, replaced by something far less easy to read. “Thanks. That would be great. She’ll like that a lot.”

  The words sounded almost forced. Nat raised an eyebrow.

  “Damn. Sorry.” The younger woman shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants. “Lizard says I have to stop being so ornery when people are trying to help. But it’s hard, especially when you offer up something that nice.” She turned and glared at herself in the mirror. “I get in my own way, that’s one thing. I get in Missy’s way, that’s just stupid. She’ll love playing in your little store, and it will help her feel like part of what goes on here. So thank you. For real this time.”

  The words slid in, a sneaky right hook that made it under Nat’s ribs and hit somewhere tender. “It’s no problem. I’ve been feeling pretty ornery the last couple of days too.”

  Trinity’s lips quirked. “I bet your ornery’s not nearly as mean as mine.”

  “Maybe not.” Nat met dark eyes in the mirror. “But I haven’t gotten unstupid nearly as fast as you, either.”

  “We’re all works in progress on that one.” Boots, already beating a path to the door. “I’ll tell Missy to get her tail in here on Wednesday. She messes up, you let me know.”

  There was no point in saying anything—the brief tornado in her studio was already gone. But as Nat rolled up her mat, she knew that finding a gift for Trinity was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought.

  So far, stuff kept flowing entirely the other way.

  -o0o-

  Hell hath no fury like a young girl left on the sidelines.

  Moira looked on the visage of her newest arrival and tried not to wince. Temper stormed over Ginia’s face, hot and fierce and insistent. “Good afternoon, sweet girl.”

  “Were you going to leave me out?” Clear blue eyes snapped, making very clear what their owner thought of that. “Does Auntie Nat need our help?”

  It wasn’t the first time an old witch had faced down a trainee’s wrath—but it was a rare case when the fury was so tightly controlled.

  And possibly, so well deserved. Moira reached out to touch a rosy cheek and gave her student the honor of as much of the truth as she could. “We aren’t sure yet, lovey. And until we’ve done some looking, yes, we kept this from you, and from a dozen others who would also want to help.”

  Ginia’s eyes flamed even higher. “They’re not healers.”

  Indeed they weren’t. “No, but they are people who match your love for Natalia Sullivan.” Moira waited for the ears attached to the angry eyes to begin to listen. “What the patient needs comes first.”

  Hurt now, aching oceans of it, as a quick mind pieced together the clues. “Auntie Nat asked you to keep it a secret?” Ginia’s lip quivered. “From me?”

  Yes. And inadvertently set big hearts on a collision course. Moira wrapped an arm around tight shoulders and led her young fighter into the parlor. Time for cuddles and a heart-to-heart chat.

  Ginia fought the handling, arms crossed and face tangled in a wicked mess of feeling.

  Moira let none of that stop her. She settled the child in a corner of her couch and covered her in the same green blanket that had soothed Lauren. And then lowered herself nearby and chose her words carefully. The truth wasn’t hers to tell—but Nat would not want harm done either. “Nat came to ask us a question. We don’t know yet if it’s something healers can help with.”

  “But why is it a secret?” asked Ginia, quiet, but persistent. “Nobody keeps secrets in Witch Central.”

  They did, far more than even the sharpest of their young minds knew. But never without good reason. “Perhaps a better way to think of it is that she’s not ready for it to be known just yet.”

  Something cleared on the young healer’s face. “Oh. So kind of like when Lizard really loved Josh and wanted to get all old and crinkly with him, but she didn’t want everyone to know about it.”

  Moira chuckled. That had been one of the most poorly kept secrets in the history of witching. “A little bit like that. Sometimes we have a need to hold something close to our hearts for a while before we share it.”

  “Lizard had to get brave enough to look.” Ginia squinted. “Auntie Nat’s awfully brave, though.”

  Wise words from a child who saw very well. “She is. But sometimes even our most courageous hearts need a little time, and maybe a little extra love to help them be strong and brave.”

  “We already have some ideas about that.” Blue eyes flashed, daring anyone to mess with that mission. “Maybe we can steal Kenna for the weekend so Auntie Nat and Uncle Jamie can have lots of naps.”

  Only by the narrowest of margins did Moira manage to avoid melting into a puddle of laughter. A childless weekend might be exactly what was needed to put this whole thing to rights.

  Especially if an old Irish healer sent over one of her fertility tea blends and a couple of Sophie’s bespelled candles. Sometimes it was the small magics that worked the very best.

  Moira hugged the child she adored. “You already have some plans underway, do you?” It wasn’t a surprise—this one and her sisters read the currents of community as well as anyone. They’d have seen the distress, even if they didn’t know the cause.

  Ginia cuddled in for a minute, the relaxed snuggle of a body feeling much better. And then looked up, face a mix of fierce and pleading. “When it’s time for the healing part—if Auntie Nat needs our help—tell her I love her really a lot, okay?”

  “She loves you so very much, sweet girl.” Moira leaned her face down into bouncy golden curls. And felt the uncanny certainty that those two big hearts were not done crashing into each other just yet.

  Chapter 10

  Moira had been expecting a visitor. She’d seen Nat’s moss-green form slip into Sophie’s cottage earlier in the day and then depart later, a basket of lotions in her arms.

  Two days of scanning. Sophie would know more now, and she was gracious enough to still come and chat about her patients of an evening. Unnecessary for the patients—but good for the soul of the old witch who got to keep plying her trade a little. Moira rippled the waters of her pool, glad as always for the richness of her waning years.

  A small splash and a lithe form slipped into warm waters. Sophie sighed in pleasure and in welcome. “This never grows old.”

  Indeed, it didn’t. “The best magics never do.”

  The younger witch leaned her head back against a handy smooth rock.

  Moira took a careful look. Lines of tiredness. “Your cottage has been smelling of the holidays.” Peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla—the villagers had been crossing t
he street for an extra whiff on their way about their business.

  “The last orders ship in the morning.” Sophie rolled her shoulders gently. “And I’ll be glad for it. I already had to dig out some joint compound for myself.”

  The joint remedy was a boon to half of Fisher’s Cove this time of year. “No one has your hand with potions, but you’ve only to ask if you need help.” They’d find more hands. Somewhere.

  Sophie smiled. “They’re more use in Aaron’s kitchen than in mine.”

  The inn was busy this time of year too. That was a new thing—Aaron’s cooking and Cassie’s fiddling were pulling them in a fine holiday audience. Moira reached behind her for a plate. “I saved some of his shortbread for us.” A goodly dose of fat and sugar might put a little color back in a potion-maker’s cheeks.

  And they smelled of butter and promises and little girls’ giggles.

  They sat in harmonious silence for a while, munching on the delicious buttery cookies and soaking in the quiet of the early evening. The wind crisped Moira’s cheeks a little, its bite only mild as it swirled over the pool’s waters.

  “It’s so hard to find patience on this one.” Sophie brushed a few crumbs neatly into the sleeping flowers. “Jamie and Nat have waited so very long for their little boy, and no matter how much I mutter the usual healer mantras about patience and things out of our reach, I feel like it should be in the power of my hands to fix this for them.”

  It was the ghost that haunted all their best healers. “You may have that joy yet. Infertility is a tricky beast.” Messy and complicated, with dozens of things that could be wrong, and they often tangled together worse than a yarn basket full of kittens.

  “Yes, but there’s usually some sign of where to start. Hormone levels, blood flow, energy blockages—I checked them all.” Sophie sighed. “I even looked for magical trauma.”

  Moira frowned. That last one would be standard fare—if the woman in question were a witch. “You think she’s been hurt by magic somehow?”

  “Just casting at straws, mostly. Kenna’s birth was pretty wild.”

  And strong magics could leave strange echoes behind. “It’s a fine thought.”

  Sophie shrugged and shook her head. “Nothing there, either.”

  Moira didn’t question—the younger healer’s scanning skills were a marvel. “Well then, you’d be left with following her through a cycle or two.” A woman’s body wasn’t a stationary thing. “Perhaps you’ll see something in the coming weeks.”

  “Maybe.” Not the sound of a convinced witch.

  Something gathering, and not just for two of their favorite people to the west. “What troubles you, sweetheart?”

  Sophie reached for another shortbread, eyes pensive. “With most cases of infertility, there are things I can do. Maybe not the most important things, but I can smooth energies. Help channels to relax, calm the stress hormones.”

  There were few failures more deeply personal than not being able to grow a little one in your own womb. Often getting the negative emotions and energies out of the way helped greatly. “I saw you sent her home with some lotions.”

  “I had to do something.” Sophie shrugged, shaking her head. “But she doesn’t need them, not really. She’s got the most disciplined aura I’ve ever seen in a patient, and she handles uncertainty with more grace and steadiness than anyone I know.”

  It wasn’t the words that mattered now. Their best healer’s instincts were humming. And worried. “Natalia is an amazing soul.” Moira reached out her hands, trying to figure out what lay at the heart of the younger woman’s worry. “But still a very human one. What is it you don’t know how to say?”

  Frustration now, and deep helplessness. “She felt different today. It isn’t serenity riding at her core anymore. There’s something bubbling underneath it—a lot of somethings.”

  Not unexpected, even for the likes of their gorgeous yogini. “Aye. And part of your job will be to help her let that out.” It wasn’t only bodies they healed.

  Sophie looked down into the waters, quiet for a long time. “That might be the one thing Nat Sullivan can’t do well. Her discipline’s there for a reason. She’s needed it.”

  Now they were in the land of pure instinct. “You don’t think she knows how to let it go?”

  “No, that’s not quite what I mean.” The younger woman paused a moment, eyes intent. Thinking. “Imagine yourself without your flowers.”

  Moira frowned—the mere thought of it sent shivers up her spine. “Don’t you be wishing ill to my blooms, now. They’re just having a wee rest.”

  Sophie managed a wry smile. “Exactly. If someone asked who Moira Doonan was, what would you tell them?”

  Ah. Now she was getting the sense of it. Flowers were the thing closest to her heart. “I’m a gardener.” Of flowers and of souls. Grandmother to all that bloomed.

  “You never take it off,” said Sophie quietly. “It isn’t what you do—it’s who you are. I think that being mama to this little boy is part of who Nat is.”

  Moira watched the ripples on the surface of the water, imagining her gardens suddenly under fire. And could imagine only one thing that would hold fast against the breaking. “Perhaps it’s time for one of us to go have noodles with a certain realtor.” Not a hardship—Romano’s linguine was almost enough to convince a person that Ireland wasn’t the only country that truly understood living. “Although I suspect she already knows.”

  “There’s power in knowing together.” A smile from the other side of the pool at last. “If you leave now, I think you can make it in time for dinner.”

  -o0o-

  The Inquisition had arrived.

  Nell sat down on the couch beside her husband, Daniel, hiding a grin. The man looked entirely like he needed reinforcements.

  Helga leaned forward and surveyed the tray of treats, eyes gleaming. “Looks like you’ve had some baking help.”

  Nell laughed. “Aervyn’s declared himself cookie sous-chef for the holidays. And where he goes these days, Kenna comes too.” It was a seriously motley collection of treats.

  “They’re adorable together.” Helga helped herself to a misshapen shortbread covered in pink sprinkles. “Aervyn makes friends so widely. He’s been joining Edric in his man cave lately—I think they’re working on Shay’s Solstice gift.”

  No one had been more surprised than Edric when he’d been assigned an eleven-year-old girl in the triplets’ holiday dreams extravaganza. Nell had initially wondered if they’d just given themselves the leftovers that had been hard to match. Until she’d seen the crusty old man studying her daughter. One quiet soul, understanding another.

  Eighty-year-old Helga was apparently taking a different approach to her target for wish fulfillment. She looked up from her cookie, clearly back on track. “Everyone expects me to give him something involving a baseball, you know.”

  Daniel nodded carefully—it was the obvious choice for their baseball-mad teenage son. “Nathan would love that.”

  Helga blew him off with a wave of her hand. “Too easy.” She pinned her gaze on Nell. “What else makes his heart go pitter-pat?”

  A girl named Chloe in his chemistry class, but Nell would take a sixty-day tour in hell before she’d mention that to this particular audience. Or any audience—Nathan was firmly convinced they all believed Chloe was a somewhat annoying geek he had to sit next to while they played with Bunsen burners.

  Unfortunately for Nathan, he had two gamer parents who knew exactly what it meant when a fifteen-year-old boy leveled down so he could play with someone. Especially when that someone promptly kicked his butt and spent the next week leveling up.

  Nell jumped at Daniel’s elbow in her ribs. Check. Stop woolgathering—Helga had way too good a nose to miss that scent for long. “He doesn’t do much besides gaming and baseball these days.” She hoped—he’d gone fairly nocturnal.

  Gamer parents understood that, too.

  “Ah, so I’m seeking the dream
he maybe doesn’t know about just yet.” Helga’s eyes reflected the glimmer from the strings of white lights the triplets had draped everywhere. “And maybe that you don’t know about, either.”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “No hacking.”

  Their guest chuckled. “I don’t have any skill with computers and you know it.”

  “Wasn’t the kind of hacking I meant,” said the sole guy in the room calmly, reaching for a brownie. “Nathan’s a private kid, and he’s already hiding himself away from his prying sisters.”

  That was news to Nell. She frowned her husband’s direction. He shook his head fractionally. Not now.

  Helga hadn’t missed any of it. She eyed Daniel, not at all put off. “Thank you. Anything else I need to know to be careful with?” She winked at Nell. “I won’t touch Chloe, I promise. They’re adorable together, by the way.”

  Nell stared at the cheerful octogenarian. “You’ve seen her?”

  “I did.” Eyes twinkled far brighter than the lights now. “Saw them sitting in the park over by our little love nest.”

  Only Helga could buy a cottage in Berkeley, call it her Parisian garret, and have every guy in town looking at Edric with envy.

  The woman in question got up, kissed Daniel’s cheek, and snagged another cookie. “Don’t worry—other than a little spying, I won’t interfere. That kind of sweetness doesn’t need any help from a creaky old lady.” She looked meaningfully at the two of them. “Or creaky old parents.”

  Daniel just rolled his eyes.

  Nell grinned—they’d already had to talk themselves out of building a spy post in Nathan and Chloe’s current game. After fifteen years of close-in parenting, giving their son space didn’t come naturally.

  Heck, giving anyone in Witch Central space didn’t come naturally.

  “Mission accomplished.” Helga brushed off her hands and reached for her bag. “We’ve got plenty more distractions planned, but if you need an extra helping, just yell out the window.”

  Wait, what? Nell stopped making gooey eyes at her husband and focused on the troublemaker in the room. “What are you planning?”