by Debora Geary
She was leaving Lauren to stew alone with her mutant bow tie, however.
You’re not alone. Nell’s knitting had made it about four rows. I freaking hated knitting when I was the girls’ age. Moira’s getting her revenge now.
Someone has to make sure we don’t scorch the ceilings. And the knitting lesson hadn’t been Moira’s idea. It had been Jamie’s. Quiet, careful cover for determining exactly how far Mia’s latent talents had unmasked. With three of the world’s best fire witches in the room and Devin to dump an ocean on things if necessary.
However, a grumpy mind witch who clearly had no aptitude for knitting was totally redundant.
Nice try. Jamie sounded amused. If it gets exciting in here, your job is to make sure Dev only douses the fire witches who aren’t in control.
Lauren snorted. Controlling him wasn’t in my marriage vows. Anything from Mia yet?
Nope. Jamie sounded a little puzzled. Aervyn’s got her doing all the right things, but not so much as a sneeze of power.
Hmm. Moira weighed in on the group connection Lauren was holding open. Perhaps she’s very early on, then.
I don’t think so. Nell sounded skeptical. Ginia says she’s been waking up warm for three weeks now.
She’d know. Moira’s faith in her young apprentice was absolute. And she’d easily read the signs of active channels or power pooling.
Still. The easygoing tone of Jamie’s voice had shifted, replaced by the steady focus that made him Witch Central’s best trainer. Every other fire witchling I can think of could trickle power into yarn within a week of night hot flashes starting.
Nell was nodding. Mom had us in Caro’s shop about five minutes after we woke up warm.
Mia looked up from her knitting and rolled her eyes. “You guys can stop talking about us in your heads now.”
“They’re just talking about old-people stuff,” said Aervyn, tugging on a recalcitrant stitch and making another big hole in his square as he did so. “About how Mama and Auntie Lauren don’t like to knit, but they’re doing it anyhow because they want to keep an eye on us.”
“Duh.” Shay and Ginia giggled in unison.
Nell eyed her daughters. “If you guys are so smart, then how about we knit and you make the spaghetti for lunch?”
Aervyn looked vaguely interested. The girls, already spaghetti pros, knew a dumb offer when they heard one. Mia grinned at her mother. “We have to practice our knitting. You never know which one of us might end up being a fire witch. Maybe I’m just hot, and really it’s Shay or Ginia who’s gonna start making fireworks.”
Lauren’s mind clanged as four adult brains all ran into the suddenly obvious. And then Jamie reached a casual hand for Shay’s knitting.
Aervyn just shook his head. “Nope. I already checked.”
Great. They were being outrun by the under-four-foot crowd again. And then an errant thought hit Lauren’s radar, one that hadn’t sprung from the rueful adults.
Mia—wishing very hard for her sister to be the one with magic coming.
Carefully, Lauren pinged Nell. Did you catch that?
Yeah. Nell was watching her three girls closely. Reading each of them. Calling on mama instinct as much as mind magic. “It could be any of you. Or more than one of you.”
Hope flared in Mia’s mind. And Ginia’s too. And the adults in the room started putting the picture together.
It’s just like when Dev got his water power, sent Jamie quietly.
Lauren frowned. That was a bit of family history she didn’t know.
Jamie got his powers as a wee boy. Moira hooked into the conversation again. Nell was older, but hers came early too. When Devin’s magic emerged, it left Matt as the one without. She raised an eyebrow at Jamie. As I recall, it took me fishing young Devin out of the ocean at the crack of dawn before you boys came clean.
“It could be all of us.” Ginia’s chin poked out. “Or maybe Mia’s hot flashes will just go away. The old healer journals say it happens that way sometimes.”
Not to the Sullivans. Lauren heard that thought repeated in several minds as plain as day.
Jamie looked at his sister. And then he plunked down on the coffee table in front of the girls, holding out his nearly finished square. “Okay, so how do we put these together for Fuzzball? I say mine goes in the middle, since it’s the prettiest.”
As subtle as a carnival ride—and just as effective. Three jabbering blonde heads and the dark one of their younger brother leaned in, bent on the complex task of sorting random bits of knitting into the perfect cat bed.
Nell glanced at Lauren and asked the question she’d been holding in very tightly until the distraction was in place. Can you tell if Shay’s worried about being the only one without magic? Or is it just the other two?
In other words—was it love behind this, or insecurity? Lauren took a very quick look. How deep do you want me to go? The girls, long used to living with mind witches, had shifted gears hard to cat blankets. Their surface minds were entirely clear of trace worry.
Yup. Jamie tossed a pillow at his nephew. From here, too. But they’re letting my square go in the middle.
Not a good sign. No Sullivan ceded such things without an appropriate level of dueling, name calling, and hilarity.
Crap. Dev spoke for them all. Something’s brewing.
Yeah. And it poked at one of the tightest bonds Lauren had ever known.
There are always things brewing. Moira’s fingers knit briskly, her voice mild. And we’ll handle this just as we did with you three boys. Support each one, and support the three. Green eyes looked up, amused. “You’ve dropped another stitch, Lauren dear.”
Lauren hid a grin. “It’s a bow tie. They’re supposed to have holes.”
Dev nodded, poker faced. “I’m sure Fuzzball will wear it with pride.”
She could play that game. “I’m not making it for him.”
The girls were already giggling. Mia flashed a cheeky smile at her uncle. “We can use glitter to cover the holes if you want. Kind of like polka dots.”
Devin’s pillow was already on the way.
Lauren nodded in satisfaction and put down her needles, looking for a pillow. Anything to escape knitting. One aunt, into the breach.
-o0o-
“It’s a lovely start.” Moira gently touched some of the bright green shoots in Ginia’s new rare herbs patch. “You’ve a sure touch—some of these are very tricky to grow.”
The young healer’s pride was evident. “Sophie’s been helping me with a couple. The false unicorn keeps trying to crowd out all its neighbors, but it doesn’t want to flower.”
Even in the plant world, there were those who would rather be boisterous than do their jobs. “My great-gran set me to tending some gopher spurge once, and the leaves kept turning yellow and falling off. I was about ready to pull it up by its roots and feed it to Uncle Seamus’s goats.”
Ginia giggled. “That would have made the goats pretty sick.”
Precisely what Great-gran had said. “I had plans to feed them some slippery elm after. We often practiced healing remedies on the livestock, poor things. I didn’t have much of a hand with potion brewing back then.”
“You got better.” Blue eyes held affection—and honoring. “You still make comfort teas better than anyone.”
The sentiment warmed an old witch. “Those require only a dollop of love, sweet girl. And I’ve still that aplenty, even if my magic is taking a nap most of the time these days.” Just like a newborn babe—the great cycle of life. And as her magic waned, such richness was springing up in the maidens and mothers. Moira reached again for one of Ginia’s small growing plants. “We’ll need to send you to Ireland with Sophie one of these summers.”
Sharp interest—and then a preteen girl’s face set itself in stubborn loyalty. “Nobody teaches herbs better than you do.”
“Oh, lovey.” This time Moira chuckled and pulled in her young companion for a hug. “There are never too many teach
ers. None in Ireland can touch you or Sophie for pure magic, but plant wisdom runs deep there. And you might find some interesting specimens for your garden.”
A gaze turned crafty now. “You’d have to come with us. So we know what everything is, and so that all the Irish grannies know to take us seriously.”
Any healer with a whit of sense in their bones would take Ginia seriously after one whiff of her magic. And if they didn’t, one eleven-year-old was more than capable of setting them straight. But the idea of a summer in Ireland… “Perhaps one year soon, my girl. It would do all our souls good.”
Ginia touched a tiny shoot and it grew an inch under her finger. “Are there fire witches in Ireland?”
Now they were coming to the heart of things. “There are, sweetheart. But the Irish have a difficult relationship with the fiercer magics.” Once revered, and now largely hidden and ignored, or denied by those too far removed from their roots to know better. “You live in the family that best honors the powers of fire and flame.”
“We don’t have much choice.” Ginia’s voice was wry, and far older than her years. “We keep having babies that are born in the middle of lightning. Kenna scorched her ceiling before she learned how to roll over.”
Much to the chagrin of her father, who had only awoken when his wife had politely asked him to put out the fire above their heads. They still teased Jamie about that. Gently—they all knew the total exhaustion that could set in with a newborn, especially a magical one. And Aervyn had landed on the bed moments later with his fire truck, a grin, and a redundant extinguishing spell.
In Witch Central, nobody got left holding the hard jobs alone.
Moira pulled her mind back to the current conversation. She was just one of many who would help the girls walk their new journey—but she could do her part. “Mia’s magic might not come easily—you know that.” Ginia had read enough of the old journals. “It’s not always as gentle as it was for Aervyn and Kenna.” Especially when mixed with the already volatile gasses of puberty.
“I know.” Ginia was still helping the tiniest seedlings grow. “She’s kind of scared.”
Aye. Deep down, they always were. “And a wee bit excited too, I’d imagine.” Moira let the sun warm her face and went deeper. “And it will change some things between the three of you.”
A quiet, diffident nod. “It changed things when I got my magic, too. But Mia and Shay still had each other.”
And the three had stayed strong because Ginia was incredibly good at including her sisters in every way possible. “We have always honored the non-witches amongst us. Shay will never be anything less than either of you. Just different.”
The young healer’s breath whiffed out softly. “Do you think she knows that? Really truly, deep down?”
It was an excellent question—and Moira knew she wasn’t the one to answer it. “I know the right person to ask.” She paused, waiting for her young student to connect the next dot.
“Auntie Nat.” Ginia grinned, and the tiny plant under her fingers grew a foot. “She’ll find out. She’s the best digger there is.”
Yes. Natalia Sullivan was as fine a gardener of young souls as Moira had ever known. And an old witch would be entirely astonished if their yogini wasn’t already reaching out a finger to a certain special seedling. But it would do no harm for another voice to ask, especially one motivated by sisterly love and a nice dollop of wisdom. Moira reached out and gently touched a small, competent hand. “Go and talk to your aunt, sweetling. I’ll sit here and sing to your herbs a while.”
She’d hum a wee Irish lullaby—and offer an old witch’s blessing. For seedlings of all sorts.
-o0o-
Jamie carried a bowl of Doritos up the stairs, two root beers balanced in his other hand. Standard uncle fare for earning entry into the bedrooms of unhappy nieces.
Moira was in the back yard with Ginia, and Nell had cuddled up with Shay downstairs. That left him the kiddo who was waking up hot at night. He shook his head as he knocked on her door. He didn’t remember his own emergence—he’d been too little. But he remembered Dev’s. The shock of waking up in a puddle of cold and wet, and the panic in the mind of the brother who wasn’t scared of anything.
Mia was as solid as eleven-year-olds came. And he’d bet his last Dorito she wasn’t feeling any better than Devin had way back then. He juggled the things in his hands and knocked.
The door slid open, and suspicious eyes peered out. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
Bull’s-eye. “How about crunching?” He held out the bowl of chips. “I figured you might be hungry.”
Her eyes glimmered with something that might be amusement. “You just don’t want Dad to know that you stole his last bag of Doritos.”
Truth in one. “You gonna tell?”
“Maybe.” The door opened wider. “Depends how much you bug me.”
Gauntlet thrown. Jamie grinned, enjoying the teenager-in-training attitude. “I always bug you—you know that. It’s on page three of the uncle handbook.”
“There’s no such thing.” Mia took one of the root beers and headed to the mess of pillows at the end of the room by the bay window. “Gramma Retha says you guys totally made it up so you have an excuse to keep acting like eight-year-olds.”
Jamie avoided snorting root beer up his nose. Barely. His mom was far too close to the truth for comfort. “Is so. On page nine, it says that all difficult nieces should be tickled, captured, and duct taped to a tree.” He tipped his head, pretending to think. “Or maybe that’s page eleven.”
She was full-on grinning at him now. “Aervyn took all the duct tape for a secret project.”
He leaned in and snagged a handful of Doritos. “I know where Uncle Devin keeps his secret stash.”
Mia giggled. “So does Aervyn.”
Sad, but probably true. He wiggled his fingers. “I can probably come up with a good never-ending rope spell.” In his dreams, but she might go for it.
Giggles vanished. And one niece sat staring at her own fingers. Wondering. Fearing. And on the edges—hoping.
Damn. “Sucks, huh?”
She looked up, confused. “What does?”
“Thinking stuff’s about to happen, but not knowing what it is, or when it’s going to get here. Or whether you’re going to like it.”
Diffident shrug. “Aervyn does cool things with his fire magic.”
Wonderboy did things with his fire magic that no witch for five hundred years past or future would ever match. “Yeah, he does. Kenna too.” Maybe it was time to gentle some expectations some. “Most witches just get a little magic.”
Her nod was automatic. “Like Moira or Uncle Matt.”
Two witches who did more with a little than anyone on the planet. “Exactly like them.”
“I’d like to be able to make fireworks.” Her eyes brightened. “Fancy red ones.”
That was a fairly simple spell. One worth aiming for. He rolled his eyes and collapsed back on the bean bag pillows, gagging. “I suppose you want them all glittery and pretty, too.”
She snorted and crunched a couple of Doritos. “Duh.”
More mock histrionics. “They’ll be the most embarrassed fireworks in the history of Witch Central.”
He got an actual giggle this time. “No way. Gramma Retha says there aren’t any dumb things left for our generation to do. You guys did them all.”
Gramma Retha knew how to issue a proper dare. One he and his brothers might have to tackle soon. And clearly she’d been sticking close to Mia lately. Both good things.
His niece was looking at her hands again. “Will you help me try to light a candle?”
The very first spell every fire witch learned. And he knew she wasn’t ready.
He also knew that wasn’t the answer she needed to hear. Leaning in, he stole a sip of her root beer. “I’ll be hanging out in The Dungeon in the morning. Bring a candle down and we’ll see what happens.” Sometimes failure mattered—and sometimes
trainees surprised you.
He could feel the hope more strongly now. And the uncertainty. Mia Walker, bright and shiny force of nature, was as tentative as he’d ever felt her.
He pulled her in for a hug. And said nothing. With this trainee, words weren’t going to be the way forward.
Action was. Even if it wasn’t always a raging success.
-o0o-
Nell slid into bed next to her husband, glad as always for his warm presence.
Daniel closed his laptop and set it on the side table. “Sierra settled in with the girls?”
“Yup. It’s close quarters in there.” Not that the girls minded. Some of the water and fire witches taking emergence duty would sleep on the bed they’d set up on the second-floor landing. But Sierra had piled into the triplets’ room with her sleeping bag, a smile, and the world’s biggest bowl of caramel popcorn.
Daniel grinned. “Hopefully they’re not all wet and soggy in the morning.”
If Mia flamed in the night, any fire witch on duty would step in and manage her power flows. Water witches like Sierra would just douse the situation. Which always worked, and never left the newbie fire witches very happy. Or any siblings within range.
However, Sierra was willing, extremely powerful, and had the Energizer-bunny status of youth. She’d volunteered for three overnight shifts a week, just like she’d done with Kenna. “She’s saving us all a lot of sleepless nights.”
Amused chuckles from the guy sliding down into his pillow. “She does it for the taste of girlhood she never had. And for the breakfasts.”
He probably had a point. Sierra was a barely passable cook—and they generally sent her home with dinner leftovers too. “You making pancakes tomorrow?”
“Yup.” He got sleepy faster than any of their kids. “Nat dropped off sausages from the farmers’ market. Remind me to cook them.”
If people dropped off any more food, they were going to need a third refrigerator. Nell snuggled down into her own pillow, envious of her husband’s lazy eyes. Her mama brain was still firing on way too many cylinders.
