by Debora Geary
The orb’s reason protested. Tools didn’t enter the fabric of time. They lived outside of temporal realities, serving the forces that wove the cloth.
So Moe had believed since the moment of its birth.
And still. It could not look away from the little yellow string or the dancing green one at its side.
Today, Shay Walker was making her presence known in the fabric of time.
And somehow, so was her little yellow sidekick.
-o0o-
Nell walked over to the stove and gave her husband a kiss. “You’ve got quite the crowd this morning.” Usually the hordes arrived closer to lunchtime.
Daniel, manning four separate waffle irons, grinned. “Yup. Apparently they’re all here to check on Mia.”
Nell snorted. Her husband made his famous waffles every Saturday morning, without fail. And the denizens of Witch Central flocked to good food with the precision of lemmings and the appetite of small hippos. “Any chance I can get one before sundown?”
Retha came by and snagged a waffle for the plate in her hand. “Probably not. Aervyn wants another one.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been feeding that kid waffles since 6 a.m.”
Experienced eyes digested that information. Aervyn had taken the brunt of draining Mia’s power out at Ocean’s Reach. Retha pitched her voice low. “Govin’s had three.”
Nell frowned. Her old college roommate was a careful and steady witch. And not normally one who stuffed his face full of cookies or waffles. “It was a lot of power.” But not enough to be creating a prolonged run on food this long after the event.
Butterfly wings. The kind of amorphous threat that made a warrior mama want to growl.
The woman who had lived through the raising of four witches shrugged her shoulders. We watch. And we eat waffles. And we try not to worry.
That was excellent advice. And not easy to live by, especially when the eyes of the man cooking waffles had gone dark and thoughtful. Daniel was one of the world’s best hackers—he didn’t latch on to worrisome information lightly.
“We have one witch who’s not eating.” It was Jamie joining the stove gathering now, bearing an empty plate and more tightly channeled concern. “And unless my puny mind magic is misfiring, she’s growing a temper tantrum.”
Oh, hell. Those weren’t fun in kids of any kind, but baby fire witches and tempers were a bad mix.
Nell turned around just in time to catch her daughter’s voice rising in a shrill whine.
A surprised Helga sat beside Mia, fork frozen an inch above a mountain of whipped cream.
“Everyone thinks I did good yesterday, but it’s not true.” Mia stared down at her uneaten waffle, the picture of pure misery. “It was Govin’s magic. I just moved his hands a little. There are people sitting in the hall outside our room every night, and I can’t even light a stupid candle.” Her eyes spit fire. “Or knit.”
Nell met Jamie’s eyes as they both shifted toward the table as unobtrusively as possible. Mia had pulled enough power yesterday to light a candle for everyone in Berkeley. All without seeing it.
Jamie shrugged. She’ll see it soon enough. In the meantime, we get to rehearse fast training circles. He was practicing what he preached—two layers were in place already.
“Can I have the maple syrup, dear?” Helga did an admirable job of ignoring the temper tantrum, the witches moving in, and the fact that her waffle was already swimming in syrup.
Nell moved up to her shoulder. Nothing scared their crazy resident octogenarian, but Helga knew this wasn’t her battle to fight.
Not yours, either. Jamie grinned at his sister. Ginia’s on it.
Nell watched the whispered message passing from one blonde head to another—and Mia’s instant grin. Uh, oh.
Yup. Jamie was already standing down his training circle. One baby fire witch, neatly disarmed. She’s about to get revenge for your jewel poaching.
Nell rolled her eyes. You told the dragons how to find her stash. I had nothing to do with it. Realm, however, was waiting with baited breath for Warrior Girl’s response.
No one doubted there would be one. And Warrior Girl had apparently decided that if it would amuse her sister, now was a very good time.
Antics. Sullivan-Walker crisis management 101.
Nell smiled as Ginia leaned over to Moira next, and stuck a fork in her own waffle. The Wizard needed fortifying before going off to make sure her own jewels were well and truly buried.
-o0o-
Lauren grinned. It was a weird morning when you could go from flute music to waffle coma to tracking down miscreants in an imaginary world. She looked over at Moira, resplendent in her favorite Realm get-up, walking up the path beside her into what looked like primeval forest. “How come the two of us got enlisted for this mission?”
Ginia giggled from two steps ahead of them. “Because Aunt Moira’s really devious and sneaky, and you can hear if there are any troublemakers lurking around.” She raised her voice a little higher. “Like ones named Mama or Uncle Jamie.”
Mia, far sunnier than she’d been over waffles, picked up a rock and threw it at a bush barely big enough to hide a guinea pig. “Or Kevin. He’s smart, and he’s almost as sneaky as Aunt Moira.”
Apparently an old Irish granny had a bit of a gaming reputation. Lauren accepted her sidekick status and prepared to enjoy a walk through a virtual forest. And then a flash of color caught her eye. She peered down at something on the ground that looked like a lost billiard ball. “What’s this?” If they were supposed to be detecting magical intrusions into Ginia’s territory, a shiny purple ball in the grass looked pretty suspicious.
Mia’s eyes danced with glee. “Go ahead. Pick it up.”
Moira snorted and pulled something yellow and gloopy out of her backpack and laid it beside the purple sphere. “No picking on players who only spend ten minutes a month in Realm, dears.”
Busted. Lauren leaned over, curiosity getting the better of her. “What is it?”
“Dragon bait.” Ginia grinned. “It’s full of every kind of spicy herb. They love it. It helps them make bigger dragon fire.”
Only in Realm could that possibly sound like a good idea. “Wait—aren’t we trying to hide your jewels from the dragons?”
“Yup.” This time Ginia’s grin was dangerous. “This isn’t near my cache—it’s The Wizard’s.”
“Mama should know better than to help Uncle Jamie with any of his dumb ideas.” Mia reached into the bag on her sister’s back and started pulling out more dragon-ball bait. “These ones must be an extra good batch, they’re making my hands tingle.”
“Really?” Ginia was busy doing something mysterious with a thing in her hands that looked like a steampunk spider. “Must be the Vietnamese cinnamon bark—I totally juiced it.”
“Carefully, I hope,” said Moira, smiling at the girls as she planted more of her yellow gloop.
Lauren reminded herself never to mess with these particular denizens of Witch Central. She reached for two of the purple spheres in Mia’s hands. “I’ll help—where are we supposed to be putting them?”
“Anywhere.” Mia’s voice was distant, her attention focused on the palm Lauren had just emptied. “It still tingles.” She looked up, eyes worried. “Ginia, is it supposed to do that?”
Her sister turned around—and dropped the spellcubes in her hands, eyes wide with fear. “Lauren, get Mama. Right now.”
Lauren threw a mind yell at Nell—and then realized she was in Realm. Mind magic only worked on people in-game.
“It’s getting stronger.” Mia’s head hammered with panic, and the temperature in their little corner of Realm had spiked a good ten degrees.
“I got it.” Ginia yanked out her game tablet and smashed her hand down on a huge red button. “Full admin alert—everybody will come.”
Lauren stepped toward Mia, trying to remember something useful from all of the magic lessons she’d sat in on over the last three years. Grou
nding. Centering. Anything.
And then she saw two things that turned her blood to pure ice.
Mia’s blonde curls were turning red.
And behind her shoulder stood Moira Doonan, face death white, the anvil of terror in her head pounding out two words.
FIRE MAGE.
Chapter 7
It was the wrong child.
As bone-melting fear raced up her spine, Nell couldn’t kick that one thought out of the way.
She had always thought it would be Aervyn who would take them to the brink. Had spent every day of his seven years slowly preparing herself for that possibility. Not this one.
Mia’s hair was flaming red—and she glowed as bright as the noonday sun.
Witches were landing in Realm as fast as porting spells could throw them. Moira stood, her arms wrapped around Mia’s shoulders, a crone goddess daring the universe to harm the child she loved.
Nell charged at the pair of them, straight for Mia’s wild terror and the hellfire raging at her back. She screamed to a halt as the fire turned her direction. Seeking.
Preparing to engulf anyone in its path.
Game players were landing in the forest meadow, attracted by the monster spike in game energy. Nell yanked her mind out of its gibbering panic. Lauren. Daniel. Clear Realm. NOW. No one was safe online. Not if they had a fire witch in meltdown.
Her husband’s hand landed on her shoulder—a very physical anchor in a world gone totally berserk. “Already happening. Ten seconds and they’ll all be gone.” His entire body vibrated. “How do we help Mia?”
Working on it. Jamie’s voice was clear, strong, and cold as ice water. We can contain the power flow, but if we do it too hard, we’ll just push it back at Mia.
Nell frantically traced the lines running between her girl and the inferno of churning energy blasting straight into her heart. Power fighting for release. Needing to be aimed. She choked back the engulfing mama terror.
Mage fire. Magic not seen in five hundred years.
Magic with just one use.
Her awesome, sassy, life-adoring girl had just become a weapon.
Minds all around her were catching up now. Building to a terrible, foaming miasma of horror. Ruthlessly, Nell shut them all out. Weapons had weaknesses. Triggers. Wires that could be cut.
“Weapons need to fire.” Daniel—steady as a rock, and clearly reading her thoughts. “Give her something to aim at. What do you need?”
The impossible. “Realm can’t contain this. It’s going to take magic.” The one thing the hero at her side didn’t have.
Sorrow—and diamond-hard resolve. “Then build her a target.”
Soon. Govin stood at Jamie’s side, his mind shaking, but his magic rock steady. All of them keeping a safe distance from the fire that seemed to sense kindred power. I can’t hold this back much longer.
Nell’s heart stuttered. Govin faced down volcanoes and tornadoes and destruction every damn day.
A target. They needed a target.
I can do it, Mama. She hadn’t even noticed her son arrive. Aervyn’s hands were already moving, a wild shielding spell building in front of him. Mia can shoot at me.
Molten lava exploded somewhere in Nell’s gut. Like hell. No. For the first time since he could walk, she yanked power away from her youngest child. This isn’t yours to do.
I’m the best witch. Said quietly, without a hint of bravado. Just a seven-year-old boy stating the truth.
Nell sent truth to the outer reaches of hell. I’m still the best damn spellcaster there is. And he would not stand in the way of this. Resolute, she reached for every ounce of power she had ever called and began adding to the shielding spell she’d unceremoniously hijacked from her son.
And felt his eyes behind hers. Watching. Guiding.
That’s all I’m letting him do. Jamie’s message was clear. There was a wall of witches standing in lockstep between wonderboy and any crazy heroics he might try. Take what help he can give you.
Nell sank into mindlink with her youngest son. Weaving. Reinforcing. Her skill, his uncanny intuition for what magic needed to be. Creating the best damn shield that ever was.
And something else. Slowing just a fraction, Nell followed her son’s amorphous, non-linear thoughts. And finally caught the edges of what his seven-year-old head could see, but not explain.
A shield. And a black hole. A place for energy to go—and never leave. That wasn’t even supposed to be possible.
Like lightning now, she wove, following the diagram as fast as his brain could write it.
That’s insane, sent Jamie quietly. And flawless.
She already knew that. Her hands could feel it. Nell didn’t waste breath on a reply. She just jammed an extra layer of magical padding at her back—and felt a dozen witches leaping to reinforce it. Protection for those behind her.
Aervyn’s mind fired in protest.
She ignored that, too. Mia’s glow was weakening.
Nell braced. Held up the shield, grounding with everything she had. And sent one pithy word Govin’s direction.
Ready.
-o0o-
Lauren knew, before almost anyone else, what was about to happen.
Felt Nell face her daughter, armed with a shield woven of threads most of them couldn’t see—and the fierce battle cry of mama love.
Mia shook, all alone in the ominous sphere of light, one very confused, terrified child at the bitter end of her rope.
Her sisters stood in mute, aching witness, wrapped in arms that would let them come no closer.
And then an old Irish witch stepped into the glow, her face entirely unafraid, and gently touched Mia’s hand. “Just breathe, sweet girl. Your mama’s got this.”
It was only a moment. Only a tiny fraction of time before Moira was back out of the way and Govin let go of the trigger he’d been clinging to for what seemed like eternity.
But in that moment—the future changed.
Lauren felt it in every atom of the child in the terrible glow—and in the warrior who faced her.
And then Nell disappeared in a furnace of hellfire and flame.
-o0o-
It wasn’t the flames that scared Jamie shitless.
Or rather, as he yanked at the triangle connecting him with Aervyn and Govin, not only the flames. It was the echoes of Nell’s mind, somewhere inside the fiery pit of hell. Furious. And waging war.
And somewhere, lurking behind that—his big sister was scared.
It’s the fire. Govin wheezed out the words. It’s wrong. Ugly.
It wants to eat Mama. Aervyn’s voice was wasn’t scared at all. Nell wasn’t the only one at war. I won’t let it.
Jamie felt his insides congeal.
And then fury blew them wide open again. Nell wasn’t the only fighter this family had. It’s only fire. We know how to do this. Sometimes you just had to assume you could win, even if you didn’t know how yet. Containing it isn’t working—where do we put it?
It doesn’t want to split. Govin sounded hoarser now. More tired. I can’t siphon off pieces.
It’s a weapon. A new voice—and a surging tide of power that most definitely wasn’t fire. It’s not going to dissipate quietly.
Marcus. World’s grumpiest gamer—and a very smart, very focused witch. Jamie held still for a minute, watching the flows. Weapon. Explosion. Got any ideas?
Yeah. Their newest arrival was already building something. We need a storm. Sleet, hail, snow, small tornado.
One weapon against another. Somehow, in the midst of hell, Jamie found a laugh. Realm was going to be a mess. He felt Devin and Sierra connecting in. Weather witches, riding to the rescue.
Give us thirty seconds. Marcus yanked on the powers of his instant trio, hands moving at the speed of light.
Jamie and his two dudes just hung on to the fire for dear life.
And then the cavalry landed. Driving, frozen wind. Golf balls of sleet, pelting into his face. The skin-shattering cold of outer
space.
And for good measure, about a thousand tons of ice-cold, salty water.
Chapter 8
“Idiot.” Jamie scowled over the edge of the cliffs and then ported himself down to the edge of Devin’s hot pool.
Lauren laughed. It had taken a good ten minutes in the aftermath of Realm’s inferno for the insults to start flying—and her husband had nearly passed out with relief when they had. “I think you’ve used that one already.”
“Yup.” Dev grinned, king of his hot tub, his cliff, and everything beyond. A nice recovery from the exhausted water witch she’d tossed in an hour ago. “He’s starting to recycle them now. All the water must have short-circuited his brain.”
“That’s what happens when you drown,” retorted Jamie, sliding into the bioluminescent waters. “Some of us don’t have gills.”
Lauren grinned, still giddy with relief. Devin had dumped approximately half the Pacific Ocean into Realm. Which had caused a whole lot of things to short-circuit, including all the fire witches and pretty much every server the Sullivan family owned.
But between that, a fierce storm, and the snowball offensive launched by a defiant seven-year-old, they had reduced magefire to spluttering sparks.
“You look funny enough already.” Dev was studying his brother carefully under the cover of friendly insult. “How’s the fire brigade doing?”
“Sleeping.” Jamie’s mind was relaxing into the water. “Govin fell asleep on Nell’s couch, and Aervyn crawled in beside him. Daniel’s on duty for when they wake up.”
Lauren caught hints of secondhand worry. Daniel had seen two of his kids and his wife in harm’s way today—he wouldn’t shake that off lightly.
“Nell?” Devin’s single word carried a planet-sized load of brotherly love and concern.
Lauren reached for his hand under the water. Half the Pacific Ocean had been overkill, and she knew exactly why.
“She’s okay.” Jamie’s voice was quiet now. “Mom’s with her. And Aunt Moira.”
