by Debora Geary
“No loyalty.” Jamie shook his head, and then cocked an eyebrow at Matt. “I can’t believe you armed Helga. Business at the clinic must be slow.”
Their quietest brother smiled. “I was more worried it might be Aunt Moira. Didn’t expect Nat, though. Should have.”
That had been a hell of a javelin throw. One she was now busy teaching Nathan and Téo. Nell chewed contemplatively, glad to be in the shade of a tree. Napping-kid duty was way less sweaty than the alternative pursuits. “You earned yourself some major uncle points.” She eyed Matt, putting weight behind her easy words. “Thanks.”
Mia romped over, barely managing to avoid sleeping Kenna as she peeled around the tree. “I smell chocolate.”
Nell happily threw her brothers under the bus. “I think they ate the last brownie.”
Jamie and Matt didn’t miss their cue. “Did not.”
A snicker popped out of Mia’s cheeks, aided by Jamie’s totally over-the-top look of innocent dismay.
Nell grinned at her daughter. “You should have tried growing up with them. They never left anything good to eat.”
Jamie rolled his eyes as Mia laughed. “You didn’t have to live with a big sister who tried to turn you into a trio of frogs every time your mom wasn’t looking.”
She’d only tried that once.
Mia’s giggles were legion now. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Jamie glared, aggrieved. “Pink frogs.”
“Did you ever make it work, Mama?”
“Nope.” Nell shook her head. “Moira told me it didn’t work because frogs are really smart and they all hid every time I started my magic.”
Jamie grinned. “Probably because they didn’t want to be pink.”
It was like being eight all over again. “Probably because they didn’t want to be you.”
“Children, children.” Retha stepped over to the tree and winked at Mia. “When they’re acting like this, you need to send them to their rooms with moldy socks for dinner.”
Mia’s hands wrapped around her ribs as more giggles squirted out. “I don’t think Nathan packed any of his socks.”
Nell hid a snort. Barely. Nathan’s feet had turned into pure teenage boy lately. Nobody went into his room anymore. Which might be the point. The kid had probably figured out a moldy-sock spell.
Jamie looked suspiciously amused. And guilty.
Nell grinned up at them, ruffians all. Summer was the very best. Especially if there were more brownies.
Lauren stared at her husband, not comprehending. The sun had barely crept into the morning sky. She clutched her coffee, hoping for cup-to-skin caffeine. “We need to do what?”
He swung at imaginary things in the air. “We need to find a field. Someplace to play baseball.”
Sure—those were plentiful in the rainforest. She struggled through the deep fog of not-quite-gone sleep. It had been a long, late night. Again. “We need to do this right now?”
“Yup.” Her husband’s eyes gleamed with overgrown-boy enthusiasm. “Daniel’s gone to chat with Téo and find equipment, and Aervyn’s porting whatever we can’t source here. Our job is to scout a location.”
She had no idea how she’d been nominated Sullivan most likely to find a baseball diamond in the middle of the jungle, but her brain was beginning to work out a couple of muddled details. This was no innocent ball game. “What’s going on?”
“We’re playing baseball.” Dev took a swing through the air again. “A game where everyone has teammates and sometimes things don’t go according to the rules. And some people who don’t know what their feathers mean yet might have a chance to figure it out.”
Aervyn had been a little quiet last night, watching his sisters fire dance with their feathers. And he hadn’t been the only one pondering the meaning of their little bit of parrot. Lauren slugged down more coffee. “You’re meddling.” A behavior the men of Witch Central firmly attributed to women and small children.
“Nope.” Twinkling eyes belied the word. “We’re playing baseball.”
Like hell they were. Lauren considered. “Isn’t a water fight easier?” There was lots of water nearby. And lots of witches who would have fun dumping it all over everyone. Baseball sounded hot. And sweaty.
“A baseball comes fast and hard. And there’s only one thing to do with it,” said Devin quietly, eyes never leaving hers. “Sometimes you miss when you swing. And sometimes you hit it over the fences.”
She could hear the end he didn’t say. Lots of life lessons that might appeal to certain someones wanting to feel worthy of their feathers. Oh, hell. The dregs of her cup grated as they went down Lauren’s throat. She stood up, reaching for her husband’s hand. If baseball was the way Witch Central was watering itself today, she’d tromp all over Costa Rica looking for a field.
His smile pushed the caffeine fast and hard into her veins. And totally distracted her from the presence in front of her until she nearly ran him over.
“Yeesh—sorry, Téo.” Lauren pushed herself gently back from his chest, apologizing to both him and her jangled brain. Definitely not enough coffee.
He smiled, looking far too awake. “I hear you need a baseball diamond.”
He heard everything. “You got any of those here in the rainforest?”
The man with dark eyes and a new blue feather in his hair snorted. “This is Costa Rica. We have them tucked behind every tree.” He nodded his head. “Come, I’ll show you my favorite. It’s a bit of a trek, but worth it, I think.”
That figured. She picked up her coffee mug. All things would be better just as soon as she was fully caffeinated.
-o0o-
Nell surveyed her team. They were a pretty motley crew, and way too many of them had a very loose connection to the actual rules of baseball. Which she had about three minutes to fix.
Helga chortled from under a bright pink hat. “So we run that way after we hit the ball, right?”
“Yup.” Aervyn nodded helpfully. “But you gotta put your foot on that white thing. That’s the base, and if you don’t step on it, Gramma Retha gets to tickle you.”
Nell grinned. That rule probably didn’t apply to players over ten. Or maybe it did. Gramma Retha didn’t generally play fair, and Daniel, captaining the other team, would be sure to have her manning first base.
“You have to hit the ball first.” Lizzie was swinging a bat experimentally. “I’m not so good at it, though.”
She would be today. Daniel was pitching for the opposing team, and he had excellent aim. And if he couldn’t land the ball on Lizzie’s bat, there were ten witches in attendance who would quietly help.
Moira leaned over to Kevin, newly arrived from Fisher’s Cove with his brand-new baseball glove. “You’re sure that makes catching the wee ball easier, are you? Big lug of a thing it is.”
“Yup.” He grinned. “It can handle a freight train. So you can throw the ball at me as hard as you want.”
Nell chuckled. Moira had an impressive arm for a seventy-three-year-old, but she’d be hanging out in left field with Aervyn. It was far more likely superboy would be the one hurling badly aimed balls back at the shortstop.
And him, nobody would be helping. Aervyn insisted on playing baseball with no magic—he had ever since he’d been old enough to understand the quiet help generally given to their littlest players. He never seemed the least bit traumatized by his wild throws or even wilder turns at the plate. Nell was fairly convinced he enjoyed the chance to be an entirely normal boy for a few hours.
One with fairly hopeless baseball skills and a giggle that would get him picked to a team every time.
The other team was heading onto the field. Nell nodded at her eldest son. “You want lead-off or cleanup?”
“Cleanup.” He grinned. “I think Helga should bat first. Dad’s totally scared of her.”
Not a chance, but her son had come by his trash-talking skills honestly. And Helga didn’t seem the least bit cowed by the fact that she knew abso
lutely nothing about baseball. Carefully, she adjusted her hat to a closer approximation of Nathan’s and then swaggered up to the plate, holding the wrong end of the bat.
Nathan snickered and offered a pithy, whispered correction. The old lady grinned back at him and adjusted her hold.
And then she stepped up to the plate, eyed Daniel, and dropped into a picture-perfect batter’s stance.
Nell’s eyebrows flew up. And stayed up there as Helga calmly watched a couple of easy lobs go right through the strike zone.
Daniel was no idiot. The third throw was a real pitch. Not a fastball, but not what he lobbed at the under-four-foot crowd, either.
Helga’s bat made solid contact, right in the sweet spot.
The batter grinned as both the shortstop and second baseman dove and missed. And then she winked at Daniel and headed for first base, not at all confused about where it was or how to get there.
Nell laughed. They’d been had by a pro. She waved at Shay, who was already choosing her bat. “Get her onto second, girlchild. We’re going to win this game in the first inning.”
When Shay sent the first throw winging hard up the third baseline, it seemed like the universe was listening. With half her brain, Nell kept her lineup moving, sprinkling the skilled players in often enough to keep runners on base and the people in the outfield awake. The other half of her brain and all of her heart sank into the pleasure of a game of baseball on a hot and muggy day.
The sharp thwack of ball in glove. The good-natured taunts at the pitcher. The whispered instructions from players on both teams as their littlest ones ran the bases or fielded a ball. The cheers for a good catch or a brave swing, even if it missed.
And then, somehow, they were at the bottom of the batting order. Just two players left. Nell nodded at her youngest son. He held her eyes for what seemed like a very long time—and then headed off to do his job.
His father watched from the pitcher’s mound, assessing. Measuring.
Aervyn crouched down over the plate, his face screwed up in an excellent imitation of his older brother. Daniel lobbed an easy curve in the air.
The swing was big enough to have knocked one into the trees—and missed the ball by about three feet. Jamie, on catcher duty, managed to come up with the ball without getting conked on the head.
The cheering section, still wildly exuberant, did their best imitation of the local monkeys.
Aervyn giggled, picked himself up out of the dust, and set up at the plate again.
Jamie leaned over and whispered something in his ear.
Aervyn listened seriously and then crouched into his batter’s stance again. This time, his hands clutched the bat about halfway up. Daniel, who knew better than to aim at his son’s bat, tossed another easy curveball.
Again, the bat swung and missed. But this time, only by a couple of inches.
Nell held her breath.
“Damn.” Nathan watched intently from a couple of feet away. “He might actually hit one.”
They’d been waiting for three years. Ever since Aervyn issued the edict that nobody gave him little-kid help anymore.
One more time, Aervyn set his feet just behind home plate. The sounds of the jungle slowed, as if the day itself was watching. Daniel moved through a long, exaggerated windup, gluing his son’s eyes to the ball.
And let it loose.
The baseball came into home plate, smooth and steady and chest high. Aervyn’s face was a study in focus.
And this time, when he swung his bat, he caught a piece of the ball.
There was no crack. No home-run ball flying gracefully into the air toward the trees. Just one that stuttered about three feet and then rolled in the dust in the general direction of center field.
But nobody saw it.
They were all watching one seven-year-old boy, charging to first base as fast as his legs could run. Beaming million-watt glee.
Gramma Retha was dancing long before he hit her base with two exuberant feet.
It surprised no one at all when the radiant kid covered in dust joined her, one hand wrapped around the feather in his hair. And then he headed for second, since nobody had bothered to find his ball yet.
Nell grinned, fierce and proud and vision more than a little blurry. And then picked up his bat out of the dust.
No way she was leaving this runner on base.
-o0o-
Moira sat in the shade of a lovely tree, enjoying the hint of a breeze moving the air over her cheeks. Such a hot and muggy place, especially when you’d spent the morning chasing a wee ball in the dirt.
Aervyn still sat out in the sun, eating a sandwich as big as his head and reaching out every so often to touch the bat at his side.
She’d been around for a lot of her special boy’s successes—but this one felt particularly sweet. He was a child to whom much came easily. And even though he worked hard, his talents often put him at the head of the class before he even wiggled his fingers.
Such things had warped the hearts of more than one witch.
But this child was wise enough to seek experiences that made him humble. And his parents were smart enough to let him play in entirely non-magical dirt, even when he wasn’t very good at it.
She would savor the image of his hellbent slide into Devin’s waiting knees for a long time. Their big water witch had made an impressive picture, crouched over second base, yelling at Daniel to hurry up and find the ball in the dirt already.
Daniel had been too busy cheering his son’s run to even try, but that hadn’t diminished Aervyn’s sense of accomplishment one little bit.
And Moira was pretty sure the pitcher who had once had a shot at the big leagues had given the next batter up at the plate something she could hit in her sleep. Which Nell had, so far off into the trees that the monkeys were still looking for the ball.
Officially, even with the dozen runs scored, Moira was quite certain they’d lost.
Witch Central had never kept score the usual way, however.
Daniel took a seat in the grass at her feet and offered up a glass of lemonade. “Maybe there’s hope for him yet.”
Moira smiled. Some fathers would be dreaming of future baseball glory. This one was just happy his son’s morning was full of sunshine. “You let him swing wildly at things for three years. That was very well done.”
“He asked.” Daniel shrugged. “There’s power in knowing how to get things the hard way.”
Aye. “Still. It takes a wise parent to sit back and let him struggle.”
He shrugged, face giving away nothing.
Oh, she knew him too well for that. She waited another beat, and then let her eyes twinkle. “How easy was that pitch you threw to Nell?”
He chugged his glass of lemonade, eyes amused. “A better question is, how many witches helped it land in a foreign country?”
Moira smiled. Probably a dozen. Done so that the outfielders could give up with dignity and join the general celebration dance on the field. So that a small boy could run slowly enough to appreciate every second of his victory lap to home plate. And so that Witch Central could do what it did best—blow great gusts of air under the wings of happiness.
So many feathers shining just a little brighter, for so many reasons.
This was insane.
Lauren glared down at the man lazily treading in the pooling water below, grinning up at her in the moonlight, and sent him a pithy mind message. I could just get in the way sane people do. The less-sane crew had invented fifteen dumb ways to get into this swimming hole over the last couple of days.
Devin just laughed. Not that she could hear him over the noise of the waterfall.
Thirty-something-year-old realtors didn’t slide down waterfalls. That had to be in the rulebook somewhere.
That rulebook should be burned. Along with bras and to-do lists and my mom’s cooking.
Yup. He was definitely laughing at her now.
She closed her eyes. Looking down was definitely
not helping. When she swam in the pool during the day, working on her water-survival skills and watching the munchkin crowd slide down with wild abandon, it looked fun. And not all that steep.
The perspective from the top of the slippery rocks was entirely different.
Next they’d be trying to convince her that jumping off the top of the Ferris wheel at the Chicago Pier was fun.
Nah. Devin was patiently amused. Concrete’s not a fun landing. Jamie and Téo are scouting fun places for cliff diving, though. We’re trying to get Mom to try it.
Retha wasn’t at the head of the sane-people line. She’d happily hurl herself off a cliff for the pure fun factor.
Probably. With Helga hot on her heels.
Lauren hoped Jamie was scouting cliffs safe for octogenarians. If Helga got wind, she’d totally be there with bells and swimsuit on.
And one pathetic realtor would still be sitting at the top of a little waterfall slide with her knees knocking. Time to screw up her courage. She squinted one eye open, still glaring at her husband. Stupid feathers. I’m probably going to puke on the way down.
No. His mind reflected nothing but deep love. You’ll feel like Aervyn did halfway to first base today.
Damn. She opened both eyes. Low blow. The man was a human tornado—he shouldn’t understand, either her fear or what would help her get her butt moving. And yet he did. The joy of the baseball miracle on grass had been contagious. Anyone still breathing would want their own ride on that.
One finger at a time, Lauren peeled her death grip off the rocks. Poised for a moment, suspended above the moonlit eyes of the man who would catch her, no matter what. And gave herself the tiniest of pushes.
It was probably the water-sliding equivalent of Aervyn’s hit—three sad little feet of flight and then a dive to the dust.
But Lauren, who had lost her stomach to the stars and her fear to the magic of the night, didn’t care.
She only soared.
-o0o-
Jamie grinned at his wife. “So. What do you think those two are up to?”
Nat, picking up on the same blast of unabashed joy that everyone within ten miles was hearing, chuckled quietly. She had two heads asleep in her lap, and even Auntie Lauren’s really leaky mind barriers hadn’t woken them up. “No idea, but it’s exactly what she needs, whatever it is.”
