by Debora Geary
Mia stared at the woman she had always known as a grandmother, young mind and heart trying to process the awful message in those green depths.
And then she stood, fury raging from every pore.
“I won’t be a weapon. I won’t!” Blue eyes blazed under fire-red curls. “I don’t care what all the books say. I won’t hurt people.”
Nell reached out a hand—and her daughter whirled, lashing out at the world in general. “If that’s all this magic can do, then I’ll never use it. Never!”
Lauren knew Mia was going to bolt before her feet started moving.
She watched her niece’s fleeing form and wanted so very desperately to take away her pain. Retha and Nell exchanged fast glances, and the older woman vanished from the room. She’d be at least one step ahead of her granddaughter as fast as Jamie could port her there.
Nell wouldn’t stay much longer, either. But warriors didn’t leave the battlefront early—and she had two girls still sitting here.
The enormity of that hit Lauren square between the eyes. Mia had run—and Ginia and Shay were still here.
Wearing full battle regalia.
More stormed in this room than fear and sorrow and grief. The warriors were rising, and she needed to join them. Lauren yanked down her mind barriers again and pulled her aching heart and head back into the game.
History might think it could predict Mia’s future.
History hadn’t met the Sullivans.
-o0o-
Jamie was damn sure he could have powered the entire city of Berkeley on the energy zapping out of Nell’s hands.
Mia wasn’t the only one who needed a target to aim at.
It was time for little brothers to do what they did best. Distract. And line up as a brick wall at her back. He turned to Govin. Loudly. “What’s the latest on the containment spell?” They were trying to come up with a reliable replica of what Aervyn and Nell had produced on the fly, using dragon cages and duct tape and every kind of magic they could think of.
The witch who monitored the planet’s weather took his time answering. “Marcus has a couple of very good ideas for layering some air and water streams into the shield.” He grimaced. “It would be easier to make progress if Mia could shoot at a couple of things for us.”
It was damn hard to build something you couldn’t test. “You might get that chance. The magic has gathered twice now when she didn’t mean to call it.”
Devin leaned forward, frowning. “So, what—we just keep her away from any magic tricks?”
“No.” Nell was still crackling, and her words nearly scorched her brother. “We can’t ignore this. Fire magics don’t just lie quietly. We know that.”
Dev threw a fastball at her nose.
Daniel caught it—and then kissed his wife.
It took a moment—and then the warrior stepped down. A little. “Sorry. I know the drill. There are no stupid ideas.” Her eyes flashed true apology Devin’s way. “Just ones from my brothers that I’m not allowed to call stupid.”
“Mama.” Simultaneous eye rolls from Ginia and Shay.
Jamie felt his ribs untwist a little. Good. They needed a lot of unstupid ideas right now, and in his family, those flowed a whole lot better when they weren’t all wound up like nuclear-charged springs. He held up his fingers, working through their very short checklist. “We’re working on a better shield. We’re keeping a very close eye on Mia, and for now, no fire magic of any kind by anyone unless we have the whole circus gathered.” And maybe not even then. Yesterday had been the scariest magical moment of his entire life, and he had a pretty wide array to choose from. “Daniel’s cracking the books.”
Which was a very odd job for his brother-in-law, but also a very smart one. He looked at the hacker holding the baseball. “If you need help, there are a lot of restless gamers in Realm right now. Maybe it’s time to scan some of those books.”
“Kevin’s already on it,” said Daniel, glancing at Moira.
She sniffed his direction, eyes fierce. “You thought I’d have a problem with that, did you?”
Yikes. Lots of people feeling feisty this morning.
Daniel stood up, walked over, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for telling my daughter the awful truth.” He knelt down and held both her hands. “I don’t think I could have gotten the words out.”
An old witch looked down at her lap. “I couldn’t say the rest.”
“Then I will.” He sat down, arm around her shoulders. “From what I’ve read so far, fire mages don’t control their magic. There are no gears, no controlling the flows. They just aim and fire.” He paused, teeth grinding. “It’s no safer than lighting a stick of dynamite in your hand.”
That much, even Jamie knew. Fire mages didn’t grow old. And damned if he was letting Daniel stew in that thought. “Pretty fast reading for a few hours’ work, old man.”
The baseball snapped sharply at his face.
Jamie grinned and ported it back to Daniel’s hand. “Slowpoke.”
“Uncle Jamie.” This time the girls’ eye rolls weren’t even staged.
He held up his fingers again. “Okay. So we’re doing all the right things to help Mia. Anything missing?”
There were murmurs. And a few ideas floated. Heads nodding and witches mobilizing.
Jamie held all the strings, navigated through the questions, organized the troops.
And resolutely ignored the small voice in his head who thought they were gnats throwing poop at Goliath.
-o0o-
Ever so slowly, they stepped back from the brink.
Moira sorrowed, knowing she’d had a part in leading them there. She’d tried to stand strong for Mia—but some weights, even tough old shoulders simply couldn’t bear for long.
Ginia reached out a hand, picking up Mia’s glittery red clay monster. “She feels all alone right now. But she isn’t.”
And no one would feel that pain more deeply than her two sisters. Moira laid a finger gently on the monster’s head. “She needs you to fiercely believe that. To hold the space open for when she’s ready to return.” A deeply important job—and one that would keep two very precious girls out of the line of fire.
Steady blue eyes met hers. “We will.” Ginia paused, eyes slowly traveling around the room. “But you can’t keep any of us safe forever.”
“We can sure as hell try.” It was Jamie who spoke for all of them. He turned to Daniel, eyes grim. “Anything in the books on how to train a fire mage?”
Daniel’s frustration with the long-ago authors of ballad and story was a palpable thing. “No. Not a word yet. We’ll keep looking.”
“Watch for things on healing, too.” Ginia’s tone could have come from a general on a battlefield. “Any hints on herbs or how to protect her channels or stuff to try when she’s sleeping.”
Daniel nodded, soldier to general. And then he looked around the room. “If there’s stuff in the books, I’ll find it. But remember this. Just because some dusty old books say Mia has to make fire bombs with her power doesn’t mean it’s true.”
Moira, keeper of the dusty old books, hid a smile. Daniel had spent the better part of the long night closeted in her parlor, reading until his eyes bled. Looking for clues. Respecting the history. But be damned if he was going to let the books win.
She felt her own spine firming. In all of history, the fighters had led the way into battle. But the healers had always been ready right behind them.
She, too, had a team to assemble.
Chapter 10
Lauren eyed her bay window, debating. Half the world had gone to Fisher’s Cove to try to help Mia, hiding out in Moira’s garden.
She had a different objective.
In real estate, you sometimes found allies in strange places, ones who knew things you didn’t, and a smart realtor left no stone unturned digging up those sources. It was part of why Berkeley Realty was screamingly successful—a certain delinquent poet was the best digger around. Lauren was fair
ly certain Lizard had half the little old ladies and yard maintenance people and corner-store cashiers in town on her payroll.
The air around the orb on the windowsill grew denser somehow.
Oops. One marble, no longer asleep.
Something almost like a sigh. I was focusing on happier times.
She laid a gentle hand on Moe’s surface, understanding what hadn’t been said. We’re all worried about her.
You fight. It has worked before.
Lauren blinked at the underlying currents flowing from her orb—both the skepticism it was trying to hide, and the awkward desire to encourage. To comfort. Maybe this ally was going to be willing. You helped. With Nat. You tried to let me know what needed to happen next. A clue she hadn’t figured out until way too late, but that didn’t change that Moe had tried to help. I need your help again.
I am not a fighter. A pause. I am only a tool.
The morose self-pity was familiar—and after the sweet and awkward offer of support, entirely grating. Lauren considered. She’d picked up something from Moira’s mind during the fray of the war council. Something about the warriors leading, and those who would line up behind them.
Perhaps more than healers needed to do that. Maybe diggers should too—and the objects of magic they’d somehow adopted.
Ballads and stories and history books told the outer story. Daniel and his crew would find anything there was to find. Lauren went with her gut and took aim at something more interior. Moe had lived through more history than any book. Did you ever know any of the fire mages?
The crystal ball twitched, resisting. As if tools weren’t supposed to remember such things.
Please.
More unease. I have been in the presence of two. One at the beginning of her powers. A light haze of pride. I foretold her coming.
That wasn’t comforting—it made it less likely that the vision of Mia in flames was a cosmic burp. And the other?
A boy. Nearly a man. On the eve of a great war. A long pause. He led his people into battle.
Lauren didn’t ask. The words had sounded far too final. Did you ever touch their minds? Any of the fire mages?
Now Moe’s resistance was a crawling, writhing thing. I am not meant to read minds. I don’t know why it happens so often now. A spurt of crankiness. It disrupts my sleep. They do, all the ones who come to this house and touch me with their thoughts. I seek only to be left alone.
It was so very tempting to call her oversized marble’s bluff and offer it a quiet padded closet. But that would lead them down the path of an entirely different conversation than the one she wanted to have. You have felt them. This time she didn’t phrase it as a question.
A long silence. And then a displeased huff. Yes. The boy, in particular. His mind was— Moe broke off, milky waters churning in turmoil.
His mind was something her orb didn’t want to remember. Lauren touched the glass sadly, regretting that she’d asked. I’m sorry. I thought it might help us understand Mia better. I didn’t mean to cause you pain.
He felt— The words choked out through shards of glass.
The last of Moe’s thought didn’t really come at all. But Lauren heard it, from deep inside the crystal ball’s core. And the aching, silent echo behind it. He felt helpless. Just like me.
Oh, gods.
She had no idea if Moe felt cuddles. Or tears. But she offered them both anyhow. For a boy, hundreds of years ago, facing unthinkable horror. And for a sphere of glass who had spent a thousand years watching humanity—and trying not to care.
-o0o-
Such torment.
Her flowers spoke as Moira made her way through their midst. Telling her something a simpleton could have figured out from five hundred paces.
It didn’t stop the flowers from their murmuring. Or their fear. Old magics remembered the fire mages.
“Hush now.” Moira touched and soothed as she rounded the last bend into the far corner of her garden. The hobbit’s hollow. So named in some long-past witchling game—and it had pleased an old witch to add some bendy willows and fanciful blooms to water the imagination of those passing by.
Mia wasn’t the first troubled child to find her haven there—and she likely wouldn’t be the last.
The heat as Moira approached was palpable. Waves of it, leaking between the branches of the willows.
“Stay away.” Harsh words, from a voice almost sobbing. “I can’t make it stop, and I don’t care anymore.”
It took more than that to scare an Irish healer away. “I can’t make it stop either, lovey.” And neither could Govin, sitting quietly in Moira’s kitchen drinking tea and acting as guardian. But she could sit beside the wretched child and offer up a cuddle and a glass of lemonade. Or a bit of backbone stiffening. Whatever was needed.
Mia looked up as her shady haven was invaded, eyes full of something rarely seen there. A child feeling entirely sorry for herself. “My magic’s horrible and I just want it to go away and leave me alone.”
“Oh, sweet girl.” Moira lowered herself to the ground, mindful of the few brave flowers growing inside the hobbit den. “There are so many who love you who are working hard to help you with this. We’ll find a way.” No one was allowing for any other possibility.
“I know.” Mia’s voice shook. “Mama, and Uncle Jamie, and Govin, and Aervyn—they’re the best fire witches anyone has ever seen.”
They were. When an old witch stopped long enough to ponder why this generation had been gifted with so much power, it terrified her. Warriors rarely rose in a time of peace.
But that was the kind of thinking that would have them all scrabbling into dark corners. On this day, it didn’t serve. Moira reached out for a pretty bloom and bid the fear to leave her now.
A chin quavered on already shaking knees as the temperature in the hollow went up another several degrees. “Maybe they should all just stay away.” Mia looked around at her solitary hideaway. “Maybe they won’t want to be with me any more.”
Such blackness. Even flowers planted in the richest of soils sometimes forgot their roots. Moira dug for her stern voice—it was desperately needed. “You’re old enough and smart enough not to insult your family that way, my dear.”
Blue eyes shot up, full of shock. “What?”
Moira held strong a moment, letting a battered heart catch up. “I want you to tell me what Ginia could do that would make you stay away from her. Or Shay.”
Mia’s eyes shifted to vehement blue fire. “Nothing. They’re my sisters.”
Loyal to her bones, just like her mama. And just like Nell, it took this sweet fiery soul a little while to be able to look in the mirror. Ever so gently, an old witch helped. “And you think their love is any different than yours?”
Shoulders curled up, weighed down with things painful and heavy. “Fire mages were sent away. Or locked up.” Deep, aching hurt. “Ginia told me. They were taken away from their families and sent to armies and stuff. Just to kill people.”
Moira loved history as much as anyone alive—and at this moment, she’d have gladly wished it all to the depths of Hades. “It was a terrible job they were given, sweetheart. That will never happen to you.”
A small face scrunched in anger and pain. “Why didn’t their parents say no?”
Ah. Now they’d found it—the horrible seed that was threatening the very foundations of an eleven-year-old soul. The idea that families gave up.
That the thing she carried in her veins was so terrible that hers might too.
“Not everyone knows how to love well.” Moira stroked a cheek tangling with the very hardest of fears—and fought the urge to simply brush the awfulness away. “And sometimes even people who love get scared. Mage fire is about as scary as it gets.”
Tears were running now—and evaporating off hot cheeks.
Ginia and Sophie were working furiously on a cooling potion. The healers, activating behind the warrior front lines. But until they had snowballs to throw, an old w
itch would use the tools she had.
Patience. And truth.
Moira let her fingers caress the small bloom at her side and waited for the child she loved to find her way to both.
Mia watched old fingers tracing young petals. And took a wavery breath. “You’re here. Why aren’t you scared?”
She was. To her bones. “I am. And so are all the people over at Aaron’s inn fighting for the next turn to come and try to cheer you up.”
The words were barely loud enough to hear. “I’m dangerous.”
“You are. So is any witch. Or any person in a car, or a candle tipping over in the night.” She waited for blue eyes to tilt up. “Life isn’t safe, beautiful girl. None of us expect it to be.” And the bravery gathering in this village had moved an old witch to tears.
“But I could blast all of Fisher’s Cove.” Mia stared at her shaking hands. “I could kill people.”
“So could Aervyn. Or your mama, if she gave it a decent try.” Moira kept her voice brisk. “Auntie Lauren, for sure, although she’d use different magics. Or me, if I picked the wrong herb out of my garden.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “Ginia too?”
Not on her watch, but an old witch was smart enough not to say that. Her far more important point had grabbed a foothold. “With great power comes great responsibility, child. You’ve heard me say that a thousand times or more.”
Mia nodded slowly.
Moira leaned in to kiss a flaming-hot cheek. “Now it’s time for you to think about what it really means.”
A long, hot silence as an eleven-year-old grappled with those words.
An old witch waited, heart aching with pride and fear and so many things in between.
“Mama says,” Mia finally spoke, looking up from the journey of her fingers through a thousand blades of grass. “Mama says the very best part of being a person is that we get to make our own choices.”
Words of power—from a mother who knew exactly how much history and responsibility would lean on her children.
