by Debora Geary
Jamie grinned and waved a pause command at all other magical activity on the field.
Nell laughed as everyone looked up at the flashing, exploding rainbow that activated above their heads. Sometimes, it was really good to be the people in charge.
-o0o-
Lauren winced and shielded as several hundred people all looked up at the sky and let loose raucous cheers of approval, inside their heads and out.
But none of the noise blocked the reaction of the three girls in the middle of the action. Ginia, Mia, and Shay still held the second part of their spell, but their minds shared a dance of glee under the first part’s impressive release—some sort of mutant rainbow that had taken a trip through a fireworks shop on its way up to the heavens.
Judging from the reactions of some pretty jaded gamers, it was hot stuff.
That’s because it would blow about a gazillion game points to do it the usual way, sent Retha, a few feet away from her granddaughters and grinning. Most of the people in here today aren’t used to using magic as currency.
Most of the people in here weren’t eleven-year-old girls who would happily use every game point they possessed just to make pretty lights in the sky. Lauren did a quick mindsurvey of the programmer types. I assume this won’t blow up Realm, since nobody seems concerned.
Retha snorted. Not unless the resident admins have gotten lazy in their old age.
Hey! Nell and Jamie protested in tandem.
Here comes part two. Nell’s pride rang out across the airwaves.
Lauren winced and shielded a second time—and then Aervyn snapped to attention at her side, eyes sharp, fingers waving wildly.
Oh, shit. Jamie’s mindvoice was ice cold. Her hands are tingling.
Every real fire witch in Realm turned, power streaming into their hands.
Oh, gods. Lauren checked—the bucket brigade was already mobilizing. Do I need to clear the field? They’d put a detailed emergency plan in place. Those who couldn’t run, port, or code out would get an assist from Daniel.
Nobody move. It was a single, laser-focused thought—and it came from the man standing six feet behind Mia. Govin moved his hands, doing something fast and complex. She can’t ignore her power this time—her sisters are tangled up in it. Jamie, Nell, get a training circle up. Fast. Lauren, keep everyone calm, please—we don’t want Mia distracted right now. Ginia and Shay, in particular, should not move. Aervyn, can you link power to me from anyone not needed to hold the circle?
Witches all over the field jumped into action.
Lauren, still confused, did exactly what she’d been told. Ginia and Shay were the least of their worries—they’d been in the center of magical chaos often enough to know exactly what to do. Communicating that to several hundred mystified gamers was a different challenge entirely.
Daniel’s voice punched through the melee. Tell them it’s an in-game glitch, and anyone who moves is going to lose half their game points.
She blessed his hacker soul as she broadcast the message and the rising panic on the field completely shut down.
Gamers, under control. Now the only ones riding the sharp edge of fear were the witches. Lauren ran a loop through all the gamer mind channels and tossed them to Kevin. Keep them calm, okay? He spoke their language—and she was needed elsewhere.
Fourteen-year-old shoulders squared. Done. Got them.
There were certain people you wanted in a crisis. And all over the meadow, they were slowly, steadily making their way into a physical circle around three curly heads. Nell was right in front of the girls. Coaching. Steadying.
Lauren mindzoomed around those gathering, trying to get a better read on what was going on.
Mia’s mostly holding it off, said Jamie succinctly. But her power wants what’s left of the fireball spell, and Ginia and Shay are woven into the spellshape. Aervyn’s working on getting them out.
Almost. There. Superboy sounded like he was trying to shove watermelons up his nose. Mia’s power is squirmy.
And clearly not a good squirmy. Lauren took a big breath—and felt the same inhale all over the field. A communal moment of iced fear.
And then Mia Walker, holder of one sparkly firework spell—started to glow.
Chapter 15
Nell ignored the pings as hundreds of people were force-ported out of Realm. They didn’t matter. All that mattered were the three girls in front of her, the Titanic of a spellshape in their hands, and the volcanic miasma rising at Mia’s back.
It was a nightmare beyond all imagining. The mage fire wanted Mia’s spell. And Mia’s sisters weren’t just holding part of her spell—she’d built them right into it. Sharing her moment of gaming glory, an act of sisterhood as natural as breathing.
One that had rendered a thousand precautions useless. Anything they did to Mia’s power would go straight through Ginia and Shay. Ginia, with magic and channels of her own, might survive. Shay wouldn’t have a hope.
With Govin’s help, and nerves of steel, Mia was holding the furnace away from her sisters.
Barely.
Nell kept both physical eyes glued to her daughters. Her magical ones were looking over her son’s shoulders. Aervyn was making progress with the impossible—but not nearly fast enough.
Devin stood right in front of Mia, water streams as thick as ropes in his hands, eyes and voice totally chill. Holding their fire mage’s gaze. “You’ve got this, hot stuff.” Offering Mia faith that she had all the control she needed. Promising to be there if it didn’t work.
And resolutely positioning himself between the mage fire and everyone else he loved.
“Can we get Ginia and Shay out?” Daniel’s voice was low and ferocious, pitched so his daughters couldn’t hear.
Nell scanned the spellshape’s intricate links for the thousandth time. There was just no way in hell it was a candidate for field surgery. “I don’t think so. Not fast enough.”
Aervyn’s and Jamie’s eyes glinted in grim agreement.
She could see the panic setting in on the faces of people who never panicked. And hear the thought all of them fiercely denied—and couldn’t make go away.
Maybe this was the time they were going to lose.
Witch Central’s best warrior shook as hard as she’d ever shaken. And then she raised her sword. They might lose. But not today. Not while Nell Sullivan Walker was still breathing. They had to work from Mia’s strengths. Fast and furious, before she lost the little control she had.
Nell stepped around Devin, hands already weaving. Casting. Building the spell that had worked last time—with the addition of every fire magic bell and whistle she could think of. If the furnace wanted a big, bad spell to come after, it was going to get one. Nell had to trust it would come for her first—and that Mia had enough control left to fire. “I’ll build the shield again, just like last time.”
“No.” Mia shook her head, eyes clear and fierce. “You were scared last time, Mama.”
The truth of that incinerated Nell’s soul. “It doesn’t matter. We do stuff even though we’re scared.” The warrior’s creed at its most basic.
Wait. Jamie’s voice was harsh with the same battle for oxygen. Don’t do this alone.
She would not risk him too. Defiant, Nell’s fingers kept weaving. She was the best damn spellcaster the world had ever seen. It was time to prove it.
And then somewhere, the tiny part of her not reaching for a fight to the death saw other fingers moving too. Those of a seven-year-old boy.
The only target mage fire might like better than a furious mama witch.
The furnace at Mia’s back flared. Seeking. Wanting to consume.
From the ashes of Nell’s soul rose terrible, slicing fear.
-o0o-
Moe watched, entirely horrified, as the warrior mama turned to face death. As the small boy with the kind heart moved to capture the fire of a thousand suns instead.
All the threads the orb knew and loved suddenly yanked together. One big, terribl
e, violent knot in the fabric of time.
A nexus.
One with a gaping void beyond.
No. NO! Desperately, it tried to call to the one who listened. They must not all join the battle. Or they would all die.
The forces screamed their displeasure.
Moe could see the pattern and the terrible emptiness after. And the vibrating, shimmering red thread of the child who held fire in her hands—and didn’t know enough of death to walk away from love.
She was so very precious.
And her trust could kill them all.
Glass shuddering, the orb reached for every molecule of energy it had, ready to try one last time to get the attention of anyone who could hear. Anyone who might keep the destiny of a fire mage at bay just a little while longer.
And knew it would fail. Already, Moe could see the pathetic yellow thread, quivering on the edges of the terrible knot. Outside it. Ignored.
Helpless.
Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep felt itself shattering in anguished, futile horror.
And then it felt something entirely different rising up instead.
Valor.
Conviction.
Sacrifice.
A way into the knot.
-o0o-
Lauren froze.
The world had gone silent, cold, and white.
And there were only four of them in it. One mind witch and three wide-eyed eleven-year-old girls.
Mia’s voice hissed out into the stillness. “Where are we?”
In. Me.
The two words were pushed through an ocean of pain and focus.
And they came with a touch Lauren recognized. Moe. Oh, holy God. What did you do?
I was born in fire. The words grew weaker. I hold the mage fire. For a while. Get them out. The boy—he can do it.
“Moe has my power?” Mia stared at her hands. “The tingle is gone.”
I learned. From Govin. I made myself the mage fire’s channel. Forever. Impossible pain, and with it, searing pride.
Somehow, Lauren understood the rest. Moe had made himself the trigger for Mia’s weapon.
Yes. The orb, much fainter now. You must go.
Comprehension exploded in Lauren’s mind, of exactly the trade her crystal ball had made. Moe had made himself one with Mia’s magic—and it would die when she left.
They would all die if they didn’t leave soon. All the magic in the world couldn’t hold back time.
Moe can. Aervyn’s voice, from somewhere far off in the ether. Here.
A torrent of power hit Lauren’s channels, the kind that only came from a full circle at peak power. She blasted it in the general direction of the orb’s ethereal presence. The world grew whiter. More solid.
We’ll help you hold. Nell’s voice was fierce—and her power glowed bright as the sun. Your oversized marble has given my girls a chance. We’ll help you hold while we figure out how to save all five of you.
Mia’s face was chalk white. “My power is hurting Moe.” She looked at her sisters, desperate—and then at Lauren. “What do I do?”
Three small warriors. Six fists clenched. A universe of power from the circle outside, waiting only for something to do.
The silent white world shook. Quaking.
Ginia whirled, hands yanking for magic. “Moe’s dying. I can feel it.”
Lauren, hanging on to a full circle’s power for dear life, could feel what the healer felt. Moe’s ghostly presence, ebbing.
Began in fire. Will die in fire. Pride, still. Go. It is time.
Lauren felt more power blasting in from the circle—and knew that very soon it wouldn’t be enough. They had to leave. She threw an order at the circle outside. Help me get them out. And then threw helpless fury at a glass ball. Come with us.
One bereft, very committed word. Can’t.
We’re ready to pull you out. Jamie sounded determined—and ineffably sad.
There was always a way to make the deal. Always. Lauren’s brain scrabbled for something. Anything.
And then she heard three whispered words, touched with a hint of Ireland and deep, reverent belief. Bard. Healer. Mage.
She was none of those, dammit.
And then her eyes fell on three eleven-year-old girls.
The one who knew how to heal the things that hurt.
The one who knew how to make a marble feel important.
The one who knew the value of her steady hands and fierce heart.
Healer, bard, and mage.
And one feisty realtor who was going to get this deal done.
Hold on. Lauren snapped the two words at Jamie, and then the same two at Moe. And then she blasted the idea at the three standing in front of her. A picture worth a thousand words.
Ginia’s eyes got very big—and then she dropped to her knees, hands splayed against the white surface under their feet. Willing a marble to live.
Shay raised her flute and began to play, a searing, trilling, desperate melody. Insisting on a marble’s right to be.
The white light flickered. Fighting.
And then lightning flew out of Mia’s eyes. “No! You don’t get to die today, Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep.”
The last whiff of light that was the orb froze, stunned.
Lauren fed Moe every ounce of the power at her back—and added every speck of her own prodigious belief too. They were all leaving. Right now.
All five of them.
-o0o-
They had done it.
The orb saw the beautiful fabric of time, unknotted, dancing around three shiny, wriggling threads.
Bard, healer, and mage. They would be a power to be reckoned with.
The one who listened had traveled out with them—and simply refused to let go. Long enough for the small yellow thread to see that its sacrifice had not been in vain. Moe sent two quiet, heartfelt words her direction, and hoped she might be granted the chance to hear its last words. Thank you.
And then the orb cowered and turned to face its death, very certain it had not escaped the forces’ wrath. Human magic didn’t weigh on this scale. Tools were not supposed to act—it was one of the deepest unwritten laws of the universe.
Tools obeyed.
Tools served.
It could not regret its choice.
The girl who held the fire of a thousand suns would be safe, tucked in the heart of the three and the strength of the many. She could not use her magic without the crystal ball who had dared to defy the universe.
The orb held that memory tight to its center and waited for the shattering that would pull its energies out of time and lay the last fragments of the man who had served to final rest.
Wrath did not come.
The sound was quiet at first, and so ephemeral, the orb barely heard it. Barely felt it.
And then the gentle swell built to a tidal wave even puny human ears couldn’t have missed.
Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep froze, entirely unable to believe.
The forces were astonished.
The forces were laughing.
The forces were… PLEASED.
-o0o-
Moira wove her way carefully amongst the small gatherings in the Realm’s meadow, smiling at faces bright and giddy with relief. She trembled, even as fierce pride totally swamped her heart.
In the moment, she had only had the strength to feed the will of a hundred generations of Irish magic into the heartblood of a crystal ball who had made the ultimate sacrifice.
In the aftermath, fear marched through her soul all too bright.
“Yeah.” A shoulder touched quietly to hers. Lauren, eyes wet with tears yet unshed, Moe nestled in her arms.
Moira tipped her head in for a hug. There were so very many heroes on this day.
Bard, healer, and mage, hmmm? Lauren’s mind magic wavered, but her gratitude didn’t.
Moira only smiled. Now probably wasn’t the time to mention that the words hadn’t been hers. She exhaled, drawing in a breath of the simp
le joy that moved around them. The people involved in this day were already moving to find their balance.
There was one patient, however, who still worried her. Moira gently touched the glass sphere. “How is our lovely friend?”
“Still babbling.” The realtor shook her head—but her hands, holding Moe, were gentle and reverent. “Something about an island—Greece, I think. And a dude in sandals, and sand and choices. It’s a whole lot confused.”
Moira startled as the first image reached her mind. She knew that island. “That’s Crete.” A gorgeous land of rocks and sand and the twisted silhouettes of ancient cypress trees. An orb thinking of its roots. The healer approved.
Lauren raised an eyebrow. “I thought Moe’s name was Sanskrit.”
“It is.” Moira nodded, distracted. “Perhaps it traveled. Or perhaps its maker did.” Such history.
Her young companion was frowning again, hands restless. “It’s stuck now. Saying the same words over and over again. With this eerie laughter in the background.” Lauren looked up, eyes deeply anxious. “Can crystal balls go crazy?”
A modern witch, worried about her glass marble—and not at all used to magic’s irrational side. An old healer didn’t shake so easily. Moira leaned in and touched the orb gently again, utterly curious. “And what is it that Moe has to say?”
Lauren smiled, bemused. “Birth is not destiny.”
An old Irish witch felt the words land—and her heart nearly melt. Four words, said to a child in a moment of despair. Heard by ears she hadn’t even known were listening. And used to save a life. Or many of them.
Love was never helpless.
Moira let her hand rest in reverent awe. Moe would be fine. Today, a tool of magic had claimed the right of all living things.
To choose.
Epilogue
Nell cuddled the now-quiet orb in her arms, as carefully and possessively as if it were one of her newborn children. And then looked at Lauren, eyes beseeching. “Can it hear me?”
Moe still swam in the land of ghosts and white snow, but the warmth seemed to feel good. And something else. Lauren smiled. “It’s listening to your heartbeat.”
