A Dangerous Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 3)

by Debora Geary

  -o0o-

  Holy hell.

  Jamie didn’t need to ask if everyone had seen it. Safety lines were snapping into place as fast as four extremely competent fire witches could land them, trying to ground the volcano of power Mia had called—and apparently couldn’t see.

  Aervyn hovered at the top of the furnace on his broom, weaving a fast and wild tarp of power over the top. Nell and Jamie slammed down lines two at a time, nailing them into every available ley node they could find. Containing. Draining.

  Devin sat at the edge of the action on full alert, ready to throw half the ocean over them all.

  Rock-steady Govin never took his eyes off his student.

  Keeping her calm. Good. Jamie banged down another safety line. If Mia panicked now, it was going to be a mess.

  It’s not draining fast enough. Her channels are overloading, sent Govin quietly. I’m going to try something.

  Jamie picked up part of the idea from Aervyn’s mind. And froze. That was insane.

  Govin was already moving. He put his hands back in Mia’s palms, as if it were just another candle-lighting attempt. And gave her a gentle smile. “Now we’re going to try to put it out. Fire witches need to be able to do both.”

  His student nodded solemnly.

  “We’re just going to take this power and let it go down into this rock here.” The teacher demonstrated, Mia’s hands still on his. The inferno jumped at the new place to go.

  Jamie winced at the enormous power torrenting into Govin’s channels. Someone was going to have a freaking massive headache.

  We can all do what he’s doing, sent Nell, already reaching for a piece of the furnace.

  No. Aervyn’s mindvoice was intent—and very convinced. Mia can do this.

  Brotherly love didn’t always see clearly. Jamie had good reason to know. She’s just a baby witch, buddy. She can’t even see her power flows yet.

  That’s okay. Govin’s holding them, and he’s helping her drain them. Look.

  Jamie looked. It was bumpy, and ugly, and Mia had no idea the power she directed was her own—but in the hands of a teacher with nerves of steel, she was carefully pouring an inferno of energy into the magic-infused ground of Ocean’s Reach. Through the man holding her hands.

  Damn.

  Send it out this direction, if you can. Dev had moved, hovering on the ocean’s edge. The cliffs here get battered by the water all the time—they can handle it.

  Jamie tossed his own power into helping Nell redirect. He had no idea what superboy was up to, but it felt complicated.

  I’m making Mia’s magic less bumpy. So it fits better in Govin’s channels. Aervyn was almost grunting. It’s kinda hard—she doesn’t know about making it all go one way yet.

  That was the understatement of the year.

  Jamie knew better than to interrupt. He checked in on Govin and Mia instead. Channels holding. There’d be some headaches to go around, but they were somehow managing to use the flows of a candle-sized spell to drain a volcano.

  It wasn’t fast. And it wasn’t pretty. But it was working.

  Figures. Nell sounded almost amused. We all threw huge power at it, and Govin’s got it covered with beginner magic. Her love for her old college roommate was clear. And her mountain of respect.

  All power to the turtle.

  The man in question spared enough energy for a smile. The weather of the world can be altered by a butterfly’s wings.

  Jamie shook his head. That had never made any sense.

  You aren’t a family that is used to having only butterfly wings to use. The inferno was down to the size of a small elephant now. We all have our own special talents. Mine is in using small things to change the course of bigger ones.

  No shit. The man messed with the world’s weather patterns—and saved lives doing it. Jamie added his vote for turtle as MVP. Really glad you’re here today.

  Me too. A pause. She tires. Aervyn, can you handle what’s left?

  Superboy was already working, calling to the energy still pounding behind Mia. Yup. Can you move her away a bit? I can make this go down really deep, but it might make the rock you’re sitting on a little rumbly.

  Govin had his student in his arms and off the rock at a speed that looked nothing like a turtle.

  Nell slammed a training circle down around the two of them. Jamie looked at Aervyn long enough to make sure things were totally under control, and then joined Nell and pulled a second layer of protection down over all of them.

  Turtles suddenly seemed really smart.

  Aervyn held power for another moment, surrounding himself with a flaming column of fire twenty feet high. And then slowly sank it into the earth.

  No rumbles at all. Just one seven-year-old getting the job done.

  With a broomstick loop-de-loop finish.

  -o0o-

  Lauren handed her dripping-wet husband a bacon biscuit, still trying to catch up on what had gone down at Ocean’s Reach. She’d been paged, along with Ginia. And landed just in time to see Aervyn and Dev zooming their broomsticks out of the ocean.

  Her husband leaned in, grinning, and kissed her forehead, dripping salt water everywhere. “We had to go cool off. Mia pulled a boatload of power and it took some doing to ground it.”

  Given the exhaustion she was reading, it had taken more than that. She added a handful of cookies to the biscuit. “You guys deal with boatloads of power every day.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but not through baby-witch channels. It’s easy to drain your own stuff—a lot harder to drain someone else’s. And she still can’t see what she calls.”

  That sounded complicated. Lauren glanced at her niece, currently being thoroughly bossed around by her triplet-sister healer. “Mia looks okay.” Her mind wasn’t chewing on nearly as much as everyone else’s.

  “That’s because she didn’t see it,” said Nell quietly, coming over to raid the cookies. “She channeled a whole lot of power, but all she knows right now is that she lit a candle with a little more oomph than normal.”

  Lauren watched as Mia’s eyes started to study the people around her. “She’s catching up fast.” All of the triplets were stellar at reading a situation, and they’d lived through plenty of magical escapades. “She knows what emergency cookie deliveries and healer scans mean.”

  “Yeah.” Nell was steadily munching. “Hopefully Ginia doesn’t have to pull out the goo.”

  That much Lauren could pick up from their competent young healer. “For Mia, no. But she’s contemplating it for Govin and Jamie.” Both of whom were well aware of the possibility and doing their level best to chow down on biscuits and cookies fast enough to avoid looming green fate.

  “Jamie will be fine.” Dev turned to look at the quiet guy who had apparently been at the center of extreme candle lighting. “Govin took the brunt of it.”

  “He has more practice grounding energies than anyone else on the planet.” Nell’s eyes were fierce. “He’ll be fine.”

  And one mama was very grateful he’d been here. Lauren picked up another handful of cookies and headed Govin’s direction. His mind was full of holes at the moment, but it was always more polite to ask what she wanted to know. She smiled as a glass of lemonade materialized in her hand. Apparently Aervyn was recovering quickly.

  Govin looked up as she sat down. “Thanks for being the rescue squad.”

  Lauren held out a cookie and threw a few patches at his battered mind channels. Anything to help a guy avoid green goo. What happened?

  I don’t know. He choose his words carefully. Mia pulled a lot of power.

  That much she knew. She waited as patiently as she could for the rest.

  He grimaced. I don’t know. When TJ and I watch the weather, we talk about butterfly wings. A tiny thing that feels like it will grow into a big thing.

  Realtors had those feelings too, and Lauren respected them. Your gut feels something.

  Yeah. He sounded as frustrated as all hell. Something felt strange,
and I can’t tell what it was.

  That, too, Lauren knew well. She dropped half a dozen cookies into his hand. “Eat. Then go do something distracting. It’ll come to you.” And in the meantime, she’d fill in the others.

  Yellow alert. Keep a watch out. For butterfly wings.

  -o0o-

  It had begun.

  The orb sensed the unease from the one who listened. And the weariness from the others, including the man who loved her. He wasn’t often tired.

  He was water—magnificent oceans of it. And he would try to fight the fire.

  The orb had no special knowledge of what would come, no reason to feel fear. None of the mutterings from the forces of the universe that often presaged disaster.

  And yet, Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep worried.

  It had tasted many kinds of fire in its existence. Foretold of many more.

  Fire so often came with an excruciating price.

  And too many of those the orb had grown to care about would try to pay it.

  Chapter 6

  It wasn’t often Nell caught her mother knitting—Retha Sullivan rarely sat still long enough to do such things. This morning, however, she looked almost tired. And that was a concern, given her current task.

  Nell closed the last few steps and held out a cup of strong, hot tea. “Long night?”

  “Mmmm.” Retha’s first words got lost in a grateful sip. “Thank you. My purl stitches were starting to look like little taunting nooses, daring me to jab them with my pointy sticks.”

  That sounded more like her mother. “You should have woken me up.” Baby fire-witch duty came with lots of unspoken rules, and one was that you didn’t stay on duty if your eyes required toothpicks to stay open.

  I’m not going to fall over into my tea quite yet, came the amused, acerbic reply. I figured someone would be stirring soon enough.

  Probably. Mornings still started early in the Walker household, even after crazy days of magic. “Daniel’s downstairs mixing up waffle batter.” The beginnings of a six-hour breakfast affair—Saturdays brought lots of hungry visitors to their door.

  Retha chuckled. “The ones who live here consume plenty of waffles, too. I think Aervyn ate four helpings of spaghetti last night.”

  He had. And Nell planned to resolutely ignore the uncomfortable hitch in her belly on that one, at least until she’d had another cup of caffeine. The size of Mia’s magic had been scary enough—her lack of ability to see it had every last fire-witch nerve jangling. Loudly.

  “Mia had flying dreams last night.” Understanding and empathy from a mother and grandmother who never let anyone squirm away from things they needed to look at.

  Nell sighed and took a seat on the tattered couch that sat in the landing nook outside the girls’ room. “Sounds like she did more than imagine herself on a broomstick.”

  “All three of them were flying.” Retha’s eyes looked sad now. “In a strange, white world with filmy curtains hanging down everywhere, burning. Mia could see her sisters, but they couldn’t find her. And every time she flew closer to them, new fires started.”

  That was creepy, on a whole bunch of levels. Butterfly wings. “Govin felt something yesterday. He doesn’t know what.” But nobody with half a brain discounted the quiet mutterings of Govin Indirani’s gut.

  “I heard.” Fingers wandered idly over abandoned knitting. “It may mean nothing. You had really strange dreams when your power emerged, too.”

  And Mia had plenty of fuel for her dreams. “She knows this isn’t happening normally.” Or as close to “normal” as you got when it came to growing the ability to shoot fire out of your fingers. “Any more hot flashes?”

  “No.” Retha shook her head quietly. “Aervyn had one, though.”

  Yeesh. No wonder a certain grandmother looked tired. “He okay? Sympathy pains, you think?” It wasn’t all that uncommon, and wonder boy was deeply tuned to his big sister.

  “Probably.” A gentle smile now, and another sip of tea. “I sent him a snowman dream—cooled him right down.”

  Memory spilled over for Nell of the dancing, laughing ice fairies that had been the dream gift to a young girl so many decades ago. Ice fairies with gorgeous, ethereal rainbow dresses—and swords, so as not to embarrass the tough, hoyden dreamer overly much.

  Retha chuckled into her tea. “I didn’t know if you remembered. I had fun with that one.”

  A mom who had known the heart of her child—even the hidden, tucked-away parts. “I was very lucky. Mia is too.”

  A smile that held as much mama love as it ever had. And then dark eyes saddened. “She didn’t want a new dream.”

  Nell felt her worry spiking again. Dream gifts had to be accepted—no mind witch would ever push, not unless life, limb, or sanity was at stake. But rainbow-clad fairies and snowmen weren’t usually a hard sell. Whatever Gramma Retha had sent Mia, it would have been shaped to appeal to the heart it had been aimed at.

  Perhaps she just needed to work something through. Caffeine had sharpened dark eyes now—and the Sullivan clan matriarch was using it to turn on the deep resilience that had weathered far more than long nights and rejected dreams. We’ll just have to apply love in a different form this morning.

  Nell smiled, feeling her own everyday courage rising on her mother’s tide. Not a problem. Today was Saturday. And waffles.

  And they would be wielded by a man who knew the hidden parts of his children’s hearts very well.

  -o0o-

  Lauren sat at her tiny breakfast table, enjoying the promise of a morning full of waffles and contentment. It was always dangerous to think Witch Central might go through a calm few hours, but this morning, she could almost believe it.

  Maybe it was the musical interlude accompanying her second cup of coffee. Shay had shown up as Devin was flipping the first pieces of French toast, bearing cinnamon whipped cream and her flute, and had proceeded to serenade the cups of coffee they both required before joining the hordes for waffles.

  It was beautiful music. And haunting. And several things in between that Lauren hadn’t put too much energy into parsing out just yet. A girl working out her thoughts in the notes she sent out into the early morning air.

  Devin wrapped both hands around his monster mug, eyes mellow. He had a deep fondness for both Shay and coffee topped with cinnamon whipped cream, so he was a happy man.

  And a patient one. Lauren wasn’t the only one hearing the song behind the notes. Together, they listened, appreciating the child who had come seeking an audience.

  And then, slowly, seeping in through the coffee haze, came the realization that they didn’t listen alone.

  Shay’s notes still slid, shimmering, into the coffee-spiced air—and behind her head, in the bay window overlooking the sea, the orb had begun to dance. Lovely, wispy tendrils of light, moving in time to the music.

  “Whoa,” said Devin softly.

  “Yeah.” Even Fuzzball watched the orb’s show without his usual suspicion. “Pretty sure Moe’s a fan of whatever Shay’s playing.”

  Their musician turned slowly, following the shifted gaze of her audience. And smiled as she saw the orb’s delicate lights. A quick trill, and she sped up whatever she was playing, grinning as the light show accelerated in response. Carefully, she moved her song around, watching as the lights followed.

  It was beautiful—ethereal and somehow deeply personal. A marble, dancing as if no one was watching.

  But it was the emotion emanating from Moe that moved Lauren most deeply. She’d grown used to the orb’s moods, but this one was entirely different. No haughty disdain or cranky discomfort, no tinges of an entity deeply unhappy with the lot it had been cast.

  Just happiness. A glass sphere entirely in this moment.

  The music had drifted back to gentle and slow again, but with an insistent resonance underneath. A song, morphing. Lauren frowned, feeling Moe’s mood shift but not able to read why. And then she realized it was far easier to read the intent of the m
usician.

  Eleven-year-old eyes watched the orb’s lights now, but not as a spectator. Notes, played for a purpose.

  The crystal ball’s lights dimmed. Spit and crackled and then turned off entirely.

  The musician never wavered. Out shimmered the notes again, the lilt of invitation blending with that quiet, baseline insistence.

  Devin watched, fascinated. What’s she doing?

  Not sure yet. Sending a message of some sort.

  Shay stepped closer to the clearly resistant orb. And trilled on a single, beautiful, implacably persistent note. An order, if Lauren had ever heard one.

  Something in Moe breathed out—and the lights began to dance again. Smaller this time. And a lot more self-conscious.

  But under them, a trickle of shocked conviction.

  Lauren directed a mindchannel at the orb, insanely curious. And then backed out again. Even cranky orbs deserved privacy.

  A shrug. And then an embarrassed reply to the question not quite asked. She says I’m beautiful when I dance.

  It was impossible not to smile. You are.

  Riptides of embarrassment now. Dancing isn’t useful. Tools aren’t meant for such silly things.

  And yet, the lights still wove in the air above the crystal ball.

  Lauren smiled at her niece’s bright eyes, playing for the joy of a hunk of glass and insisting that Moe’s pleasure had a right to exist in the world.

  Yup. It was going to be a very good day.

  -o0o-

  The orb often gazed on the fabric of time. A meditation, almost. A way to pass the time when it had eternity to spend and nowhere to go.

  Always, the weaving had fascinated. Thick threads and ephemeral ones. Ones no longer than a breath, and ones that stretched far off into the distance.

  But never, in all the years of its existence, had the orb been so very certain it gazed on the thread of Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep.

  It wasn’t a particularly noticeable bit of string. Certainly not an important one. But it touched three Moe knew well—the sparkly, simmering trio of threads that could be none other than the triplet girls.

  Today, it wasn’t the child of fire who shone brightest. It was the thread of green, undulating in time to celestial music. And tucked in just next to it—a humble, slightly awkward filament of yellow.