by Debora Geary
Which had ended predictably—with broken cups and two very dismayed eight-year-old boys who had begged their big sister to teach them the delicate, time-consuming kitchen-witch spell to repair the damage. And then the three of them had sat on the kitchen floor for hours, mending cups well used to that particular spell until they’d literally fallen asleep on the floor.
She smiled at Jamie’s chagrined face. “Nell was the only one who woke up when I tiptoed up to my bed in the wee hours.” And Moira had never said a word about her very shiny cauldron—or the newly mismatched patterns of several of the cups.
“Damn.” Jamie shook his head ruefully and materialized a cake knife from somewhere. “I thought we’d managed to get away with that one.”
Not even close—half the village had taken a peek in the windows at some point in the night, smiling fondly at the small boys working so diligently, and the big sister who had taken pity on them.
“Aunt Moira knows everything.” Mia took the first piece of frosting-laden cake, amused at her uncle and clearly back on more solid ground. “And I bet that’s why one of those cups has a green flower instead of a yellow one, and one of the fairies has two heads.”
Now Jamie looked properly horrified.
And an old witch, who had cheered many a sorrow with the two-headed-faerie cup, reached out to touch his cheek. “Your heart was in the right place, my dear. And in my kitchen, that’s all that has ever mattered.”
Mia smiled. “Maybe I’ll come light a candle in your kitchen one day. And we can drink from the mended cups.”
Moira considered. More than one witchling had mastered a magic trick at her table, but this child wasn’t one who gravitated to comfort and safety. She had more than a little of her uncle Devin in her—and he had always found his magic best in the wild and free places.
This part of the world had one of the very best of those places. One where power flows were so big and bold that even an old and very weak witch could still see them.
Jamie’s fork paused in mid-air—and then he nodded, eyes rueful again. I should have thought of that.
Don’t be silly. Moira stuck a fork in her own plate of orange-chocolate goodness, well pleased, and copied Great-gran’s most acerbic tone. It’s good I have a reason to keep getting up in the morning.
He opened his mouth to protest—and let loose an enormous hiccup.
Moira managed to keep her giggling self in her chair, but it was a very close call.
Mia didn’t even try.
-o0o-
The orb contemplated fire.
These humans had only one word for a thing that could take so many forms, so many temperaments. Quiet gentle glows, more light than flame. Comfortable blazes, contained in hearths of stone. Conflagrations, contained by nothing. Or the pure destructive force that could blow the top off a mountain and wipe out civilizations—or begin them.
The fire that flowed in this child’s veins was not meant to light candles.
But the forces were very clear. That was a message that Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep was not permitted to deliver.
It grated. Deeply. Tools were supposed to be useful.
The response from the forces was instant. And dangerous.
Tools were supposed to SERVE.
Chapter 5
Jamie sat on top of the big flat rock at Ocean’s Reach and snorted as Dev and Aervyn buzzed by on broomsticks. They were supposed to be quiet backup, not massive magical distraction. He reached out a mind channel to the boy wonder leading broomstick tag. Move a little farther away, super dude. And make sure Govin doesn’t fall off, huh?
The latter wasn’t likely—Govin was the most careful witch in six states. His broomstick was currently four feet off the ground and moving at the speed of a geriatric turtle.
Hey. Don’t insult turtles. Govin sounded amused, which meant that Aervyn was not only flying at a hundred miles an hour, he was connecting them all in a mind web.
Nell smiled indulgently at her youngest child as he turned a corkscrew in the air and set a plate of cookies on the rock beside the single, lowly candle.
Mia snatched up two. Jamie debated. Broomstick corkscrews were a lot of fun, but unlike certain seven-year-olds, he needed to do them on an empty stomach.
“Don’t do it.” Mia grinned and pulled the plate into her lap. “If you puke all over Uncle Devin’s new broom, he’ll probably make you walk home.”
That was entirely possible. His brother rode on the next generation of the red rocket they’d built for Aervyn. This one came complete with a bike seat, Velcro handles, and a padded bumper on the front end. Dev’s broomstick flying was wildly enthusiastic and somewhat lacking in finesse.
Their eleven-year-old student munched on a cookie and watched her brother play chicken with a big hunk of rock. “Think I could maybe fly once I learn how to control my magic?”
Nell and Jamie exchanged glances. Mia’s insides had settled a lot in the last sixteen hours. Hopefully they’d stay that way. “Dunno, munchkin.” Broomstick flying was a strange and weird magical art, one that very few witches could achieve. “If Uncle Dev can do it with water magic, you never know.”
Nobody had any clue how Devin pulled that off, including the guy on the broom.
Nell snorted. Sheer willpower.
Jamie grinned. If that was enough, his sister would be up there flying loops with her son.
Nell just shook her head and winked at her daughter. “Maybe you and I can get a lesson after you’re done playing with candles.”
That was about as close as Nell ever came to a bribe. And a gentle reminder. They had a job to do. They’d collected here, in their out-of-the-way magical valley by the ocean, for a reason. To see what had lit inside the girl with the quick smile and hellbent personality.
Nell’s eyes were dark and serious now. Jamie pulled his act together. Every fire witch currently present in the valley had been through emergence—those first days of fire magic were heady, awe-inspiring, and scary as hell. Walking someone toward that on purpose wasn’t something they did lightly, broomsticks or not.
However, it wasn’t something they did with pomp and circumstance, either. Jamie kicked his trainer brain into gear, touched a hand to the candle on the rock, and gave Mia a casual glance. “So, there are two ways we can do this. I can talk a lot and make your head numb again, or you can watch me do it a few times and then give it a try.”
She giggled, right on cue. “Talking’s boring.”
Govin chuckled as he putted by on his broom. “Boring is underrated.”
Jamie grinned at the eternally cautious witch—who risked his life to save others from severe weather on a very regular basis. If this doesn’t work, you can try the talking version. Nobody explained things better or more gently.
Nah. Govin was already moving away. She’s not that kind of witch. She’s like Devin—elemental.
Yeah. A witch of action. They all felt it. And it was why a simple candle-lighting lesson had moved to a place of great power and relatively few things that burned.
Time to get things moving. Jamie caught Mia’s gaze. “Close your eyes.” He pulled up a small fire orb on his hand. “Can you see what I’m doing?”
Mia’s head shook.
Jamie collapsed and remade the small ball of light that was the beginnings of a candle flame, working the spell in extremely large movements so they would be easy to see. Not so much as a flicker of interest from his niece, sitting quietly with her eyes closed.
He frowned and glanced at Nell, who was mindlinked with her daughter.
Nothing. Puzzlement—and concern. And to magic sight, you’re glowing like the Fourth of July over there.
“Whoa.” Mia’s eyes were open now, and startled. She stared at the ball of light. “I didn’t see you do that.”
A new witch she might be, but Mia had hung around magic lessons her whole life. She knew all about power flows and how witches who shared elemental magics could see them. Jamie leaned in. “Try
watching with your eyes open, then. Some people see power flows kind of like an imprint behind the normal stuff.”
Once again, he pulled a boatload of power and slowly worked the spell for a small ball of fire.
Mia shook her head slowly. “That doesn’t look any different than it ever has.”
Nell’s face was impassive—her mind anything but. She spiked a fever of 104F last night—how can she not see power flows?
He didn’t add the obvious next question, but he suspected she’d hear it anyhow. How the hell did they train a witch who couldn’t see what she held?
His sister snorted. That’s why you’re here, dummy. Most creative trainer in the past century, or so I’ve heard.
Support—and a good swift kick in the pants. The Sullivan family was full of power that didn’t follow the usual rules. They trained it anyhow.
And maybe another rule breaker could help. Jamie pinged Aervyn, who was happily flying upside down over the ocean waves. Hey, super dude. Come here for a moment and light a fire globe the way you taught Kenna, okay? It was an entirely different kind of spell—fast, intuitive, and entirely backwards to anything a classically trained fire witch did to call power. Maybe it would be easier to see. His daughter had surely found it easier to imitate.
’Kay. Aervyn hung a U-turn sharp enough to make Jamie’s gut wobble and zoomed straight at them. He slid to a stop in front of Mia, hovering a foot off the ground. “Watch this, Mia Pia.” Pulling enough power to make a glow orb the size of Utah, he wove the simple spell that turned energy into magic.
And Mia, eyes closed, waited patiently for him to start.
Totally perplexed now, Jamie started throwing lines of fire power all over the valley. He even lobbed one an inch from Mia’s nose. And then stared at an equally puzzled seven-year-old, wondering what the heck the most creative trainer in the past century did now.
His student was as blind as a non-magical bat.
-o0o-
Oh, hell.
Nell watched as Jamie pulled his knees up under his chin, studying his niece. His grin was meant to be reassuring—but it was hard to fool the sister who had been onto his hijinks since birth. Her brother contemplated a moment longer, and then turned to the witch currently doing his best imitation of a turtle. “Hey, Gov. Let’s try talking her through a candle spell instead, huh?”
It was a good plan B. Govin had the patience of a saint, and an engineer’s way with the insides of a spell.
Mia wasn’t exactly the ideal student for that, however.
Jamie shrugged quietly. Got any better ideas?
She didn’t.
“Can I have a cookie first?” Govin landed beside the rock, face calm and voice full of quiet confidence. He smiled at Mia. “This flying thing is exhausting.”
She giggled. “You’re getting a lot better.”
“I totally suck.” Govin sat down and flashed a grin back. “But it’s the most fun thing ever. In another ten years, I bet I can do a corkscrew.”
More giggles. “When you’re ready to try, Ginia and Shay and I will bake you a really big pile of cookies.”
Eleven-year-old generosity. And one quiet, effective teacher, neatly in the door with an important message. Some magic didn’t come fast or easy.
Nell smiled. If he hadn’t decided to babysit the planet’s weather, Govin would have made one damn fine trainer.
“You know that new ogre dungeon in Realm?” Govin was already moving on his lesson. “The one where you have to take fifteen ropes and tie them in a knot that matches the one in the carving on the wall?”
“Yeah.” Mia, who had mastered Jamie’s latest weekly challenge level faster than anyone except her dad, grinned. “That one was easy.”
“Good.” Her teacher grinned back. “That’s exactly how we’re going to make a candle-lighting spell.”
It wasn’t a bad analogy—except this student couldn’t see the ropes. Nell settled back to listen—Govin never did anything he hadn’t thought through. And he thought far faster than most people gave him credit for. You didn’t stand in the path of tornados if your brain moved like a turtle.
The careful fire witch pulled two fine lines of power into his hands. “First, your mom is going to show you a picture of the knot we’re trying to make. You tell me how many ropes there are.”
Nell roused herself enough to pick up the spellshape he wanted to use and beamed it to her daughter. Mia took a hard, fast look and nodded. “Three. Got it.”
They could see the crystal-sharp image in her head. Aervyn, linking them all again. He and Jamie were flying closer now, listening in on the lesson.
“Great.” Govin glanced up at superboy. “Can you let Mia see the flows through your eyes so she can watch what I’m doing?”
Jamie mentally whacked the side of his head. Why didn’t I think of that?
Nell hadn’t either. And this was mind magic she could handle. “I’ll do it.” That way, Aervyn wouldn’t accidentally run his broom into a stray cliff.
Mama. Giggles, and a boy looping in the sky just because. I never hit the rocks. I’m a totally careful witch.
No one in her family had any idea what that word meant. Nell grinned and then shifted focus to her stationary child. Carefully, clearing out the distracting visuals, she pushed Mia the magical view of the two quiet lines of power sitting on Govin’s palms.
And then he started to move them. Very slowly, one rope sliding around the other in a bendy figure eight. The shaping for the candle flame. And then he called a third line and sent it up the middle. Fire.
“Easy.” Mia sounded very sure of herself for a kiddo who had only seen this once.
Govin raised an eyebrow and banished the flame, and then set his physical hands on Mia’s palms. “Okay, you try it. You guide my power flows into the right shape.”
Nell blinked. The mind magic had just leveled up, hard. Real hands and magic hands were two separate things. Kinda.
I can do it. Aervyn’s broom hovered just behind Mia’s head. Nell didn’t even feel the clink as he took over the mind feed. Smooth as magical silk.
We do something a little bit similar with Kenna, sent Jamie quietly. Her magic, but same hand-over-hand idea.
Mia’s hands were already moving—and whatever superboy was doing, it was giving Govin enough to work with. Three seconds later, the entire candle melted. The student squealed, and the trainer chuckled. “That was very nice work. Fast, too. You have your mama’s touch with spellshapes.”
Mia turned pink and happy all the way up to her ears.
Nell relaxed. Whatever happened next, her girl had gotten a very nice boost to her flagging confidence. Which mattered, especially with a baby fire witch.
Yeah. Jamie beamed amused approval as Mia grinned and reached for Govin’s hands again. Not bad for the trainer off the bench.
Three more times, the patient man led his new student through the shaping of the flows. Three times, she snapped them into form with impressive speed, confidence building each time.
And then he smiled at her quietly. “Okay. Now try it without looking.”
Mia’s eyes opened wide.
Govin winked. “Pretend your uncle Jamie just added a blindfold to the Gordian knot level.”
Nell hid a snort. That was a dare issued—to more than one witch. Jamie was grinning up on his broom. The ogre dungeon would have a blindfold by nightfall.
Mia put her hands back under Govin’s. Nell cut off the mind channel to her daughter, but kept watching with her own eyes. It was the magical equivalent of handing a blind girl a pack of matches and a candlestick.
“Feel the flows, Mia.” Govin’s voice was as smooth as glass. “Imagine them as if they were there, just like you saw them the last three times. Witches can use a lot more than their eyes to find the magic.”
Not when they were messing with someone else’s flows.
Nell squinted—someone was gently coating the lesson with power, so subtle she could barely see it.
Aervyn, sent Jamie succinctly. Some kind of anti-burn spell. With an auto-trigger. So nobody’s eyebrows get singed if Mia misses.
Damn. Her boychild had always had big, impressive magic. Lately, he was showing off an entirely new set of skills. The kind that spoke of control and humility and weaving more threads of power than Nell could even begin to hold—and there wasn’t another witch alive who could match her skills with complex flows.
It wasn’t a complex flow they were watching now, though. Mia, very tentative, was moving Govin’s hands. And tying his gentle lines of power into a snarl that would light exactly nothing.
They all winced in unison. Fire witches couldn’t be tentative.
Govin turned his hands over, stopping her movements and neatly dissipating the snarl at the same time. “It’s just like riding a bike. Ever tried to ride really, really slowly?”
Mia shook her head. One girlchild who never did anything slowly.
Govin chuckled. “Well, take my word for it, then. It’s all wobbly and really hard to balance. If you go faster, everything smoothes out and it’s a lot easier.”
Jamie’s efforts to hold back his snickers weren’t all that effective.
Mia didn’t bother. Her eyes sparkled merrily, along with her giggles. “Maybe you should try that on your broomstick.”
Their most careful witch never had any problems laughing at himself. “Maybe I should. But first, you try it with the candle spell. See it in your head, and then pretend one of those headless zombie dogs in the dungeon is coming at you and snap it together, nice and fast.”
One more time, teacher and student closed their eyes. And this time, the girl well-used to speed didn’t waver. Three quick moves and the spell she couldn’t see snapped together.
Mia opened her eyes and squealed at the lit candle in front of her.
She celebrated alone.
The eyes of every other witch in the valley had snapped to something entirely different. The huge inferno of magic rising up at her back.
