by Debora Geary
He loved how Romy’s face could express three different things at once. Right now curiosity warred with suspicion and just a touch of fear. Only the fear confused him.
“What’s a check-in?”
“As I told you before, sometimes Sentinel places young witches in safer homes. I rescued a sweet girl named Jolie a couple of months ago, and I need to stop in and see how she’s doing. I thought you might like to see the system working right for a change.”
She was wavering, he could tell. Time to play his ace. “I had Franco pack me some takeout.”
Romy laughed. “I should just run away with Franco and eliminate all the middle men. Fine, I’ll go, but we take my wheels. I don’t trust either of us on your bike for the time being.”
Ah, that’s why she’d looked a little scared. Fair enough. It was hard to eat on a motorbike anyhow. “That works. It’s not too far away. You want to drive, or eat?”
She rolled her eyes and tossed her keys in the air. “Women can multitask—I’ll drive and eat.”
She wasn’t kidding. Jake watched in appreciation as Romy drove and twirled fettuccine on a plastic fork without looking. “That’s impressive.”
“Community theater means a lot of driving to different gigs. I’m always eating in the car. It was either starve, eat nothing but burgers, or learn how to eat semi-civilized food on the run.”
Girls. What was wrong with eating burgers all the time? “So what exactly is community theater?”
Romy grinned. “It’s what happens when you cross amateurs who think they might like to act with a few bitter old professionals who are past their prime.”
“And which are you?”
She threatened to impale him with her plastic fork. “Be nice. I’d be somewhere in the middle, I guess. I did some professional gigs, but I never had the talent to be a star. They like me here because I’m adaptable—I can handle pretty much any role.”
“What role are you in right now?”
She spoke around a mouthful of food. “Annie.”
Well, the red hair matched, but other than that, Romy didn’t seem like great casting for a tap-dancing orphan girl. “Community theaters don’t use kids?”
She looked confused, and then laughed. “We use kids all the time, but I’m not that Annie; we’re doing Annie Get Your Gun.”
That was more like it, although he figured Romy was plenty armed and dangerous already without adding a gun to the mix. “How’d you end up an actress?”
“I was lucky. A theater in Albuquerque needed a redhead for a bit part right after I got out of juvie. Darlene hooked me up. I said my two lines and schlepped enough stuff backstage that they kept me around.”
Jake realized they were almost at the turn-off for Jolie’s house. “Take a right, here.”
Romy ate her last bite and tossed the carton in the back seat. “So can you tell me anything about this little girl?”
“Some. She set off a Sentinel alert a couple of months ago. When I went to find her, she was living with her father. He took her to Vegas a lot.”
“You took her away from a biological parent because he gambled?”
Jake tried to stick to the facts, and not let his temper out. “No. Jolie has precognition—she sees bits of the future. When she saw, and he won, he treated her like a princess. When she didn’t see, and he lost, he locked her in a closet. She’d been in there for two days when I found her.”
“I’ve heard worse, but I’m glad you got her out. How’s she doing now?”
“That’s what we’re here to see. She lives in the green house with the big black and white cat sitting on the fence.”
As they climbed out of the car, a girl with wild curls came running out of the house. “See Molly, I told you he was coming,” she shouted over her shoulder.
An older woman appeared at the door and waved at Jake. “So you did, Jolie. Invite our guests in, and we can feed them some of those cookies you worked so hard on.”
Jolie grabbed Romy’s hand. “I saw you were coming, so Molly let me make chocolate chip cookies. I did it almost all by myself, she just had to put them in the oven. I forgot about the egg, so they’re a little crumbly, but Molly says anything with chocolate in it must be good. I hope you like them.”
Jake grinned. Yup, Jolie was still the minor tornado he’d rescued two months ago. He could tell she was nothing like what Romy had been expecting. Not a surprise. Most abused kids were pretty withdrawn and suspicious, at least for a while. Jolie had grabbed onto the chance for a new life with both hands.
He looked over at Molly. “How’s she doing?”
She grinned. “Can’t you tell? I never get a word in edgewise, and my kitchen looks like the Flour Wars happened in there this morning.”
He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “You’re loving it, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“What’s not to love? She’s adorable, always entertaining, and she can warn me when I’m about to burn dinner or adopt a new cat.”
Jake laughed. “What’s the story with the cat? I saw him sitting on the fence outside.”
Molly shrugged. “He won’t come in yet, but he sits on that fence every afternoon and waits for Jolie to come home from school. She named him Tux because of his colors. I figure one stray or two, not much difference.”
Jolie had dragged Romy into the kitchen and presented her with a very homemade cookie. Jake grinned. She could be the poster child for why the Witch Sentinel System mattered.
She looked up at Romy. “He’s going to try to kiss you later. I think kissing is yucky.”
Jake walked over and plunked a big kiss on Jolie’s cheek. “My kisses are never yucky, Miss Troublemaker.”
“Do you remember what we talked about, sweetie?” Molly asked.
Jolie rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’m not supposed to tell somebody about their future unless they want to know.” She looked over at Romy. “So, do you want to know whether he kisses you, or not?”
Romy shook her head. “Nope. I already know the answer to that.”
Jolie looked interested. “Can you see the future, too?”
Romy shook her head again and finished off the last of her cookie.
Little girls could be persistent. “So what kind of witch are you?”
“How do you know I’m a witch?”
Jolie looked confused. “Well, you work with Jake, don’t you? Oh, wait.” She looked chastened. “Sorry, I think that’s a future something, not a now something. I get confused sometimes.”
“I don’t work with Jake,” said Romy. “I’m just his friend, and he wanted me to meet you. Can I have another cookie?”
Well now, thought Jake, putting his hand out for another cookie, too. That was an interesting tidbit to tuck into the back of his mind. Plenty of Sentinel monitors worked in pairs. He would be more than happy to spend a little more time with his redhead.
Chapter 9
Romy grumbled as she lurched up a sad excuse for a trail. No one had bothered to mention that there was a mile-long hike to get onto Tabletop Rock, and most of it was uphill.
Kids who spent their formative years in juvie tended to either love or hate being in the outdoors. Give her a good theater any day. She appreciated wide-open spaces, she just preferred to navigate them with motorized assistance.
Or a cute guy and his flying bike… She hushed her traitorous mind. Jake was a lot of the reason she was hiking up some forsaken rock in the wee hours of the morning to throw around fireballs.
The trail suddenly leveled, and she could see Carla waving. “Good morning, did you enjoy your hike?”
Romy tried to sound more cheerful than she felt. “Nice view. I didn’t see you on the trail; how long have you been up here?”
Carla laughed and handed her a bagel. “Oh, I didn’t hike up. Jake flew me in just a few minutes ago. I have coffee to go with these bagels; it should still be hot.”
“He flew you?” Romy spluttered. “How come I had to walk up—what is thi
s, witch boot camp?”
“I’m sorry, mia cara, but he said you weren’t comfortable on his bike right now.”
Romy tried not to whine, and then gave up. “If it was a choice between that and a crack-of-dawn hike, I might have chosen the flying.”
Carla looked up at the mid-morning sun and handed her a coffee. “Not a morning person, I’m guessing.”
True, but she wasn’t usually an uber-grump either. “Sorry, this whole magic thing has me nervy.”
“You’ve spent your entire life trying to make the magic go away. You’ll see how much easier it is to work with what’s inside you, instead of against it.”
Romy pictured weeks of early morning hikes and groaned. “And how long will that take?”
Carla shrugged and patted the rock beside her, motioning for Romy to sit. “Oh, an hour or two. No more than that unless you’re outrageously stubborn, but even then, we’ll be out of here in time for lunch.”
For the first time in her life, that whole jaw-dropping-to-the-floor thing made literal sense. “You can teach me how to control my magic in a couple of hours?”
“It’s not really teaching,” Carla said, looking sad. “It’s just helping you to access what you already know. That’s part of why Jake is so angry about what happened to you. It would have taken so little help to prevent it.”
“I know he’s angry so many kids were abandoned.” It was easier to think of Jake’s temper kicking on behalf of someone else. Lots of someone elses.
“Oh, they all make him mad. But Jake isn’t one of those people who tends to rail against the system on principle. This is personal for him. You made it personal.”
Romy opted for naked honesty. “I don’t really know how to feel about that.”
“I know, mia cara. And that’s just one of many things we need to fix. But first things first. I don’t want you sending my boy up in flames the next time he flies you in a loop or tries to kiss you.”
There had been far too many people talking about her kissing Jake lately. And her still traitorous head thought it sounded like a fine idea. Sure, let’s kiss the sexy witch—there were so many ways that could end badly.
Since they’d somehow drifted onto the one topic that made her more uncomfortable than magic, Romy headed back to safer ground. “So, where do I find my inner instruction manual that knows how to tame these fireballs?”
Carla tossed a ball of light from palm to palm. “That depends how much you trust me.”
“To feed me, entirely. Beyond that, you need to explain what you have in mind.”
“A skeptical witch, are you? Good.” Carla sent her ball of light upward and turned it into fireworks. “There are two ways we can do this. Kind of like teaching a child to tie their shoes. You can sit and talk them through it, but that’s confusing, and requires lots of trial and error. Or you can put your hands over the child’s hands, and guide. Faster, easier, but it requires some trust.”
Cute, but shoes weren’t fireballs. “That just seems like a good way to get us both scorched.”
Carla’s eyes flashed. “You don’t think I can handle your fire?” She stood up and backed away several steps. “Go ahead, hit me with whatever you have.”
Well there’s a shocker, thought Romy. The Italian fire witch has a temper. “I can’t handle my fire—is it really so shocking I don’t trust anyone else to, either?”
Carla stared for a second, and then sat back down. “See that rock over there, the one that’s standing on end?”
Romy saw it. The top of Tabletop was littered with smaller rocks. This one was covered in long, black lines.
“If things head out of control, you just fire away at that rock. It can take a few more scorch marks. I use it for target practice all the time.”
“Target practice?”
“I’m Italian. I have a temper and a husband who’s not perfect. When he pisses me off, I come beat up on the rock.” Carla’s voice gentled. “You’re not the only witch who has a hard time with her magic and strong emotions. You can borrow my rock any time you need to. For now, I’m asking you to trust that you can’t produce anything the rock and I can’t handle.”
Romy wasn’t sure during what part of bagels and conversation she’d decided to let Carla help, but apparently she had. “Okay. What do I do?”
“Close your eyes. I’ll cast a small spell to help our magic connect. Then we’ll make a little ball of light.”
Romy closed her eyes and hoped neither of them lived to regret this.
“I ask the power of fire and light,
Join we two in inner sight.
The magic inborn and its flows,
What her blood already knows,
Let willing heart and mind to see.
As I will, so mote it be.”
Romy felt a jerk inside, and then a gentle warmth she somehow knew was Carla’s guiding hands. There were no words, just a quiet murmur of sound.
And then there was a web glowing inside her body, streaming lines of starbright power. Romy didn’t have to be told she was seeing the magic that lived in her. Carla’s mental hands over hers, Romy followed the streaming lines that ran to her fingers.
A moment of fear—this is where the sparks lived. A touch to reassure. Slowly, ever so slowly, she let the streaming lines reach beyond her fingertips and asked them to curl around.
When Romy opened her eyes, a small ball of light sat in her palm.
“Your Gran would be proud,” Jake said.
Crap. Sparks flew in Romy’s hands, and she grabbed desperately for control.
Carla turned around and sent a fireball blazing into the ground a foot from Jake’s toes. “Do you not know any better than to sneak up on a fire witch? Idiot man, have I taught you nothing?”
She turned back to Romy. “I take it back. Feel free to use him for target practice.”
Romy’s fingers clenched with the effort to hold in her fire. The ball of light was gone, and her heart ached from the one small moment of magic freed.
“Do it again,” Jake said, moving closer. “Do it while you’re angry and fighting for control.”
“I can’t.” And she couldn’t hold it much longer, either.
Jake crouched down and cradled her face in his hands. “You can. Magic lives in you. Be with it; make it yours.”
Romy wasn’t sure what she saw in his eyes, but it pushed on her to believe. Reaching her hands up over his, she closed her eyes and tried to see the web. All she saw were sparking ends, like someone had come and attacked her power lines with boxcutters.
She felt Jake’s hands on her face. Magic lived in them, just as it lived in her.
The magic was hers to embrace and command. He believed it, and for a heartbeat, she did too. That was just long enough.
Romy reached her hands to the sky and felt the sparking ends snap back into place. Power poured up through her arms and out her fingers. Just like before, she asked the magic to curl and form a ball. This time when she opened her eyes, an orb the size of a house hung over her head.
Her entire body vibrated with the zing of magic unleashed and unafraid.
“Holy shit,” said Jake. “The newspaper’s going to be printing stories about UFO sightings again.”
Romy went with her impulse. She leaned in and kissed him.
Chapter 10
Jake carried bowls of minestrone to the table. One of the serious perks of hanging out with Romy was that Carla seemed to think she was a starving orphan. He could handle a more regular supply of Franco’s cooking.
Romy followed with some hunks of fresh bread. “This smells like heaven. Everyone is bribing me with good food lately; I could get used to that.”
“Carla figured you’d be hungry after playing with fire up on the Rock, so she sent enough for you, me, and ten friends.”
Romy grinned. “Maybe I’ll sneak a loaf of bread into the kids later today. Center food is only a small step up from sawdust.”
Jake had been pondering how to qu
ietly help out with Romy’s kids. “Will they let outside food in if we make a formal request?”
“I doubt anyone’s ever asked.” She frowned. “What do you have in mind?”
He shrugged, not sure how to play this. “I figured some good food at rehearsals might be nice. Franco could make pizza or something.”
He had her entire attention now. “You want to feed my kids? Why?”
“You got something against Franco’s pizza?” She just looked at him. Damn. He’d hoped to just slide this in under the radar, but he needed her help navigating the Center’s paperwork monster.
“Why do you do Delinquent Drama?”
She scowled. “What’s that got to do with pizza?”
He swiped half her slice of bread, dunked it in olive oil, and fed it back to her. He was about to compliment her big time, and he wanted her mouth full enough she wouldn’t interrupt. “I think you do it for two reasons. One, to give them some reason to get through to the next day. I figure you know exactly what it’s like to be marking time in there.”
She just nodded and chewed.
“And two,” he continued, “I think you want them to get some practice pretending to be somebody different than a kid from the hood. Maybe some of it sticks, and they have a chance to step into a different life when they get back outside.”
Now she just stared, cheeks full of bread.
He went in with his final blow. “I think you’re a secret optimist. You mean for some of those kids to make it.”
“It’s just drama.”
Like hell it was. “Yeah, and it’s just pizza.”
Whatever Romy was about to say got interrupted by his computer ringing. That could only mean one thing. Everyone else in his life called his cell. His mother used Skype—she liked to see his face while they talked.
Then the phone in his pocket started to vibrate. Damn. That meant Mom was serious.
“Sorry,” he said, walking over to his laptop. “I’m being paged.”
“Sentinel alert?” Romy asked.
“No. Mom alert.” He held up his vibrating phone. “And a fairly insistent one if she’s using multiple channels.”
