by Debora Geary
A warm hand slid onto her shoulder. “Shut it down. Mia’s got lots of people watching over her, and you’ll be doing plenty of shifts once this power of hers makes up its mind what it’s going to be.”
Truth. For now, the water witches could handle the situation, but it would be their core cadre of strong fire witches taking duty if Mia’s magic was anything more than candle flames. And in this family, that was fairly likely. “You should have married an earth witch. Way less disruptive to your sleep.”
Daniel snorted, and then leaned over and kissed her. “If I’d wanted boring, I’d have married the cute girl with ponytails and ruffled dresses in third grade.” He swung his legs out of bed. “You want brownies or ice cream?”
He knew her way too well. “Both.” She sighed.
Daniel sat back down on the bed, eyes serious. “Worried about Shay too, huh?”
He never missed much. “Yeah. We’ll have four witchlings now. And one girl who plays the flute.” Brilliantly. But still. Four with magic, and one on the outside. One who had said absolutely nothing before bed—just cuddled quietly for nearly an hour.
He shrugged and settled back against the headboard, pulling her against his chest. “Maybe she’ll end up with magic too. Or maybe she’ll stay Auntie Nat’s sidekick and stand strong and proud in what she has.”
It occurred to Nell, way too late, that she was nestling up to a non-witch. Even in the Walker family, Shay wasn’t alone. “Nat’s not the only one who knows how to stand tall in the midst of magic.” She mindsent apology with the words. It was so damn easy to forget. Daniel was just… Daniel.
“This is the strongest witching family on earth,” said her husband quietly. “And not for one day, ever, have I been made to feel less because no magic flows in my veins.”
A big knot in Nell’s ribs loosened.
“We do what we’ve always done.” Daniel’s hands moved on her hair. Soothing. Connecting. “We’ll let each of our girls be who they are. And if one’s got music in her soul and one’s got healing and another’s got sparks and flames, then that’s who they are.” He smiled into the top of her head. “Jamie and Dev and Matt are as unalike as any three guys I know.”
And even with international borders between them, their unity was unstoppable. Nell breathed out. “Maybe I’m just being silly.” There were enough things to worry about without imagining trouble where none grew.
“Never.” Daniel stroked her hair one more time and then chuckled. “Wait, let me amend that statement.”
She contemplated beaning him with a pillow and decided it was too much effort. She was getting decidedly sleepy. “Silly is an art form in this family.”
“Yeah.” His hands were slowing. A man of many talents—and inducing sleep had always been one of his best. “And so are infallible mom instincts. If this bothers you, we’ll watch for it. Make sure our girls stay tight.”
What touched one of them touched all of them. Nell felt her mind starting to drift.
And let go. There were enough others watching. The warrior could sleep.
Chapter 4
Oh, good grief. Nell sat down at Command Central, her customized workstation, and glared at the flashing lights on her troubleshooting menu. It was 5 a.m. Everyone was supposed to still be sleeping. Either Jamie was testing functions again, or all hell was breaking loose in Realm, their online gaming world.
It wouldn’t be the first time their gamers had played all night.
She pinged her brother first. And grinned when his gaming face popped up in the corner of her screen, wide-eyed and covered in soot. “Chasing dragons again?” For a grown man, he had an oversized addiction to swinging swords at fire-breathing creatures.
While wearing gypsy skirts. Esmerelda, his favorite avatar, was one of the finest warriors in all the land—but she did it in flamboyant, silk-adorned style.
“Not really.” He stuck his sword into the ground at his feet and used the end of a silk sash to polish it up. “Just giving the new coding a little workout.”
Workouts were good—blending online coding with real magic made their error messages a little more exciting than most. “What are you making now?” They shared the running of Realm and the visioning for its future, but Jamie generally led the teams that built the new features.
“Smarter dragons.” The silk was cleaning up its owner’s face now. “Ones that fight smarter and do more damage to game points than they do to castle walls.”
Less work for the admin team, more fun for the players. Genius. “How’s it working out?” Dragons weren’t always amenable to coding adjustments.
Jamie chuckled onscreen. “Wanna help?”
She had a to-do list longer than the California coastline. “Can’t. Life as we know it will end if I don’t get about fifteen things done before any of my troublesome children wake up.”
Her brother grinned. “One of them is already in the back yard with my wife.”
Nell rolled her eyes. That must be Shay. “She’s not the troublesome one.” Or at least, not usually the kid at the top of the list.
“So come play with my shiny new dragons.” A knowing and devilish glint crept into her brother’s eyes. “I’m testing their reflexes against left-handed players.”
Dammit—that was a low blow. She loved leftie swordfighting. And it was a lot easier to troubleshoot stuff like that from in-game. Nell tapped two fingers to her track pad and felt the odd sucking sensation that was her consciousness being pulled into Realm.
She landed carefully, already reaching for her weapons cache—whatever had covered Jamie in soot might still be lurking behind a tree.
“They’re gone.” Jamie lolled on the grass now, leaning his head on a comfy rock. “All four of them.”
Maturity warred with a long history of swinging a sword at her brother’s side. “You got rid of four dragons?” In Realm, one dragon was a problem. Two were a full-blown crisis. “What, did you throw your admin override at them or something?”
“Nope.” Her brother grinned and ignored the insult. “I told them where Warrior Girl’s stash of jewels is.”
Amusement landed, hard. Warrior Girl, who walked in the real world as an eleven-year-old healer, had a deep affection for things shiny and sparkly. Her treasure trove was the stuff of Realm legend—and extremely well hidden. “So in a few minutes, we’re going to have four mad dragons back here, ready to turn you into charcoal for lying?”
Jamie’s eyebrows waggled. “You assume I lied.”
Whoa. Nell raised an eyebrow of her own. “You found it? Really?” Ginia would be on the warpath. As Realm’s newly anointed number-one player, she had a rep to protect. “You know she’s going to turn all of your weapons into pink slime, right?”
He snorted. “She can try.”
Ginia had tried. Very successfully on several occasions. There wasn’t a player in the top ten who hadn’t been greeted by armies wearing pink bunny slippers at least once. Nell grinned. The next couple of weeks were going to be epic. Time to dust off The Wizard’s robes—she hadn’t been active in Realm’s witch-only levels since the great Ides of March dustup.
She cast a quick glance around, just in case the dragons were returning. And finally tuned in to the crazy layers of spellwork surrounding them. Layers with four dragon-sized holes. “What the heck were you trying to do?” She parsed the layers as she spoke. Containment. Oxygen-voiding. And about five other things dragon-exit-schmucked enough that they were impossible to recognize. She frowned at Jamie. “What is this, a magic cage?”
“The remnants of one.” Jamie wiped soot off his face and looked at his palm ruefully. “It needs a little work.”
Clearly someone wasn’t getting enough sleep. Only a total idiot would try to cage a dragon.
Yeah. Wanna help? He grinned. The dragons will probably be back soon. I only found a small part of Ginia’s jewel stash.
Nell thought of the crazy-long list of things she had to do and the number of lights and sirens
currently blaring on her screen. And then flashed a lightning grin at her brother and reached for power. If The Wizard was going to make a run at deposing a certain eleven-year-old upstart, caging four dragons was a heck of a way to announce his return.
Even if she had to partner with a certain gypsy in skirts.
-o0o-
Nat smiled as young hands reached up for the sky in parallel with her own. Greeting the sun. Letting the energy of new mornings and sunny days dance into their hearts.
Shay’s face tipped up a little further, her spine arching into a graceful bend that would have made most of Spirit Yoga’s students weep.
Nat flowed into an arch of her own, reveling in the joys of a flexible body and a wide-awake soul. And then laughed as her niece kept going, floating her hands down to a bridge on the ground. Hands and feet planted, heart soaring up to the sky.
Sometimes intuitive yoga was the very best kind.
Listening to the needs of her own body, Nat opted for a kick into handstand instead, letting the early sun tickle the bottoms of her feet. And then tumbled over onto the grass in a tangle of undisciplined fun.
Bendy bodies sometimes needed time to play, too.
Shay collapsed beside her, giggling. “I thought we were doing sun salutations.”
The sun could be honored in so many different ways. “I’m going to do some with my toes.” Nat held up her bare feet and twisted them into a passable impression of downward dog.
More quiet snickers from her morning yoga companion. Sometimes Shay brought her sisters, sometimes she came alone—but most mornings since school had ended, Nat hadn’t been alone in her backyard sunrise yoga. It changed the flavor of the practice somewhat, especially when all three came. But Shay’s heart, especially, knew how to sink into the joy of the asanas. To find what she needed in breath and movement and focus.
Nat let the grass tickle the back of her palms.
There had been many emissaries the day before, hoping Auntie Nat could get a read on Shay’s soul. The most poignant had been Ginia, worried about her sister.
And they had all been unnecessary. It had taken only hours after Nat had first arrived in Berkeley, even caught in the tumult of love at first sight and a best friend in the throes of power emergence, for two old souls to find each other. One living in a small, blonde girl, the other in a serene yogini, both vibrating to a song most others never heard.
It was a connection, a resonance, that Nat cherished.
She had known Shay would come.
Already, the breathing beside her quieted. Nat let intention flow into the silence. A wish, a gentle nudge, and a promise of love unending. It wouldn’t take the energies long to work. Not with a heart as receptive as the one who lay beside her.
A hand shifted, rustling the grass. “They’re worried about me.”
“Yes.” Honoring truth. And then encouraging it to breathe a little. “Do they need to be?”
“No.” The smile of an old soul who knew her worth. “I don’t think I’m supposed to have power, even when I grow up. I’ll be just like you and Dad. We’re the people who help the magic work better.”
So much love in those words, and also, the edges of risk. A subtle danger—and one an aunt wanted to cover in neon warning paint. Just in case. “We don’t exist only for the magic, lovey.” No matter how strong its gravitational pull or how deep the love of the people who wielded it.
“I know.” Again, wisdom rang bell-bright in Shay’s words. “Dad keeps the world more fair, and you teach people to find the shape of their hearts.” More rustling as one eleven-year-old extracted herself from the grass. “I don’t know my special job yet. Music, maybe.”
Nat sat up, quietly overwhelmed by the glorious offhand compliment. Most people thought she simply taught yoga. “You already know pieces of it.” One aunt tried to return the compliment of being truly seen for who you were. “You’ve got a gift for knowing what matters and seeing how to make it possible.” An agile observer with a very big heart.
Shay’s head ducked, cheeks pink. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”
In so many families, this would be the child who went unnoticed. Nat fired off yet another burst of gratitude to whatever rightness in the universe had placed Shay in the heart of the Sullivans instead. She reached out to touch a pink cheek. “Thanks for coming to do yoga with me this morning.”
“I like it.” A head tipped back up, eyes shining. “It helps my heart dance.”
It had helped a teenaged Natalia discover that she had a heart left at all. “It can help with the hard stuff, too. If you ever need it to.”
Shay nodded. “I wish I knew something that could help Mia wait. That’s hard for her.”
It was hard for most of the planet.
Nat breathed. And shared one of her toughest-won lessons. “Sometimes we can help best just by being peaceful in our own hearts.”
“Mia’s not very peaceful.” Shay grinned. “I’m writing a song for her. It kind of sounds like a dragon who ate way too many cookies.”
Only an eleven-year-old would try to pull that off on a flute. Nat grinned back, adoring the unique soul that was this particular niece.
And pushed up into a backbend. This particular morning’s song wasn’t nearly done yet.
-o0o-
Moira breathed in the cool of early morning as the sun teased her face, hinting at the power it would have in a few hours. She so loved this time of day.
And apparently on this morning, she wasn’t the only one awake. Jamie had texted—one very grumpy niece had been trying to light candles for an hour.
Trainer, calling for backup.
Moira shifted the age-old remedy for frustrated witchlings into one hand and knocked on Nell’s front door. She’d ported in a couple of blocks away to enjoy the sunshine. Now it was time to get to work.
Aervyn pulled open the door, took one look at the chocolate cake, and pointed down the hall. “She’s in The Dungeon with Uncle Jamie, and she’s kinda mad.”
Moira hid a smile. “There’s a second cake cooling on my counter back home if you want to fetch it. With raspberry frosting.” And two more that had already gone to visit Aaron over at the inn.
His eyes gleamed bright. “That’s my favorite.”
Aye. And the one in her hands, with orange frosting, was the kind Mia loved best. Morning came earlier on the East Coast, and an old witch had wakened with visions of Great-gran’s best cake recipe dancing in her head. “I know it, sweet boy. And if you eat very quietly, maybe you’ll get the whole thing to yourself.”
“No way.” His giggles still carried the delight of small boys and sunshine. “Not unless I go hide on the moon.”
She’d always tried the green hills behind the village. That hadn’t generally worked either. Moira ruffled his hair. “It’s a very big cake. Lots to share.”
“’Kay.” He made it two steps down the hallway, and then turned, eyes shifting gears for one last moment. “I think Mia needs a hug. And her head hurts, but she doesn’t want Uncle Jamie to know.”
Witchling heads could hurt for a lot of reasons—but most of them could be fixed with orange frosting or a hug. An old witch had both in sturdy measures. Moira smiled at the final glimpse of Aervyn making a beeline for the fork drawer. He would make sure everyone within fetching distance got some. A child raised in generosity, paying it forward with every breath.
Time to go visit the one who wasn’t having such an easy time of it today. Carefully, Moira made her way down the stairs to the command center for Realm—and judged from the growls that she had arrived just in time.
I’ll say. Jamie sounded more than a little relieved. She has no idea how to quit.
Moira snorted. Quietly. Family trait.
Sometimes it’s useful. Jamie kept a peripheral eye on his trainee. But not today. We haven’t made it past step one yet—she still can’t see the flows.
One trainer sounded a mite frustrated too. It’s early days yet. Sometimes p
ower emerges oddly. Something an old witch knew better than most. It will come.
“It’s useless.” Mia glared at the squat, homely candle sitting on the table in front of her. “This thing’s never going to light.”
“Perhaps not.” An old witch took a seat and set her cake carefully off to the side. This witchling wasn’t ready for it quite yet—and maybe her trainer wasn’t either. “I’ve stared at many a candle in my day, and not one of them has burst into flame.”
A hint of a smile. “That’s because you’re a water witch, silly.”
Ah, good. Where a smile could be found, common sense wasn’t all that far behind. “I imagined myself a fine fire witch when I was a girl.”
Mia’s forehead furrowed. “You think maybe I don’t have fire power?”
Moira thought no such thing, but at least now the child was using her brain. “I know that you’ve been staring at that candle for an hour now with the help of a very good teacher.”
Resistance—and then a rueful grin. “Time to take a break, huh?”
“Only if you want to.” Moira slid the cake over and winked. “If you’d rather, Jamie and I can just have a taste while we wait for you to finish.”
Now came the full-on giggles that cured many a witchling hurt. Mia reached possessively for the plate. “No way. He’ll eat it all and then he’ll get smelly chocolate hiccups and Gramma Retha will know you brought cake and she didn’t get any.”
Moira smiled. That particular incident was over two decades old—and as fresh in the story banks of Witch Central as it had been on that cold February morning.
Jamie leaned forward and stuck a finger in the icing. “I still say someone must have put a hiccup spell on that cake when you weren’t watching.”
There was no such thing, and he well knew it. “Nothing happens in my kitchen that I don’t know about, Jamie Sullivan.”
His eyes danced merrily as he licked orange frosting off his finger. “So you say.”
Ah, the Irish could never resist a dare. Moira leaned over and whispered in Mia’s ear just loud enough for him to hear. “He thinks I don’t know about the time that he and Devin used all my very best china cups to wage a great battle of the high seas in my cauldron.”
