Witches Under Way

by Geary, Debora

  Subject: Re: Nat’s decided to shake things up.

  ––––––––––––––

  Lovely Jennie,

  Singing will chase away whatever still ails Elsie’s head when she gets here, but I trust it will be unnecessary. Ginia’s green goo is becoming quite legendary.

  I must say, I wasn’t expecting our Natalia to be the one who turned things upside-down. Melvin suggests that any of us who are surprised haven’t been paying attention. He said to tell Nat he’s very proud—she’s a woman of rare courage. However, I don’t believe he wants her to know that he’s been sitting here with tears in his eyes most of the day. He grieves for her.

  My heart hurts. For my husband, for Nat, and for my singer who has just begun to find her first notes. It seems so very early to make her sing a cappella. Ah, well—this is why we live—to travel up and down life’s currents together, whether or not the timing is exactly right.

  Melvin thinks it’s sweet that a boy has found Lizard. I want pictures. And a second opinion—our Lizzie has a long history of being attracted to jerkwads. Melvin says the pendants would have registered a jerkwad, so perhaps it isn’t really a second opinion I seek—just idle gossip and candy for an old woman’s eyes. (Melvin is chuckling as I write this. He said to send a picture of Lizard—that will be far more informative.)

  He doesn’t know what it is to have an old woman’s eyes. And gazing on something pretty has always been balm when my heart hurts.

  If the boy isn’t a jerkwad, you know that will cause Lizard some trouble. She’s not at all ready to admit she deserves the attentions of a good man.

  Melvin, who is finally looking at me with something other than sad eyes, would like to know if there are any more water fights planned. He will polish his pistol.

  Love and light,

  Vero

  ~ ~ ~

  Elsie wandered the streets of downtown Berkeley and marveled. The night air was cool, with hints of the warm day still rising off the pavement beneath her feet. A full moon hung low in the sky, and she could almost hear the ocean waves over the voices humming from sidewalk cafes and streaming through open windows.

  The music of a summer night.

  She wondered if she’d ever been up this late in her entire life. How had she missed this? She’d woken less than an hour earlier to beams of moonlight streaming across her pillow and a bedside clock that had said just past midnight. Which was a truly strange hour to be wide awake and ravenously hungry.

  She had vague memories of Lizard shoveling her into bed after a plate of insanely yummy broccoli trees and chicken. The little green trees had made her giggle. Which was good, because she’d spent way too much time both before and after dinner crying over sad songs on the iPod.

  Even the one about the man who lost his horse and cowboy hat.

  Here in the breezes of a summer night, even lamentable country songs didn’t seem all that silly. The wine earlier had clearly gone to her head, but sleep appeared to have rejuvenated everything except for her very hungry stomach.

  She was out in search of food. A quick poke around in the kitchen hadn’t turned up any more broccoli trees or edible leftovers, and cooking required full daylight and a recipe book.

  Elsie laughed at herself and spun slowly around under the moonlight. It was the moon that had teased her outside. Walk this way, it had seemed to say. Everything you desire can be found if you just follow the light.

  “You’re a pretty sight tonight,” said a deep voice behind her.

  Elsie spun around—and goggled at the stranger standing there wearing a cowboy hat. She pinched herself, wondering if he’d lost his horse and his pickup truck, too. “I was just dancing with the moon.”

  The big man stretched out his hands. “Would you like a partner?”

  On a late summer’s night, anything was possible, even dancing with a sexy cowboy. Elsie stepped forward into strong, flannel-clad arms and moved to the music shimmering in the air around her. Her mysterious new partner never missed a beat, spinning her around on the sidewalk in a seductive moonlight waltz.

  She leaned back against his arm, face tilted at the night sky. “It calls to me, the moon.”

  Her cowboy chuckled, low and deep. It did funny things to her belly. “As it should. Cool light to balance out your fire.”

  Tonight she could feel that inner flame tickling happy inside her chest. Her witchy powers had always seemed more content in the summer heat. More full, more alive. She leaned back further, delighting in the forces pulling on her, body and soul.

  “Elsie Giannotto. What in heaven’s name are you doing outside in your bathrobe and slippers?”

  “Momma.” Elsie’s spinning stopped abruptly, her cowboy gone in a flash. Suddenly she was a girl on the edge of puberty, snuck out into the back yard on a warm summer’s night to dance under the moon.

  “What will the neighbors think, child?”

  Younger Elsie knew better than to laugh. “They’re all sleeping, Momma. I was awake.” Thinking of fairies and moon dust, but she wouldn’t say that either.

  Her mother glanced up at the sky. “Probably the moon keeping you awake. Come, we’ll pull your curtains shut.”

  Elsie squished the small, rebellious voice that wanted to sleep with moonlight on her face, just as she squished so many things that made her mother unhappy. Moonbeams were irresponsible, just like silly girls who danced in their bathrobes and fathers who left in the dark of night and never came back.

  She curled up in the stifling darkness of her bedroom, the curtains now firmly closed. And felt the pounding in her head. Maybe she’d had too much wine after all.

  Chapter 10

  Lizard walked into the kitchen, brain totally bedraggled on four hours of sleep and a really weird dream about cowboys and bathrobes. Her essay was done, though—and it totally kicked butt. A sampling of the best totally depressing poetry through the ages, from Lord Byron to Dylan Thomas. No wonder those guys were all dead.

  She pulled open the fridge, hoping some kind of food had magically materialized overnight. And saw two huge smoothie glasses and a note. Hey, Lizard. Give the green one to Elsie when she wakes up. It will help her head. You drink the other one—it’s just a basic energy drink. Tastes way better than the green goo. Promise. Ginia.

  She picked up both glasses—and then caught a whiff of the green one. Ugh. It smelled worse than two-hundred-day-old pee. Fetid repugnance in liquid form. If she were Elsie, she’d just stick with the hangover. This was the kind of remedy that gave witches everywhere a bad name. Not that most hangover fixes smelled all that good, but still.

  She put the vile one back in the fridge—if it stayed on the counter, it would probably make the whole kitchen stink. The other one she sniffed gingerly, but it smelled mostly like chocolate and bananas. That had to be better than facing raw chicken at 6 a.m., and she had to get to work early to finalize details on Josh’s deal. Lauren was currently giving her the “your client, your details” line. So much for the gentle-mentoring part of their deal.

  Okay, that was probably a little cranky. Lauren was by far and away her best boss ever. Not that the bar was all that high.

  Lizard took a cautious sip of the brown goo and decided it didn’t taste all that bad. Maybe she could ask Ginia what to put in one—it was a seriously fast way to get breakfast, and these days, fast was good. Then she decided she probably didn’t want an ingredients list.

  Couldn’t be as bad as the one for Elsie, though. That one smelled like it started with fermented eye of newt, and ended with… well, stuff that nobody eating breakfast should really be thinking about.

  She got about halfway done before getting hit by the waves of agony washing off Elsie’s awakening head. Crap. Hangover empathy was a bad side-effect of being a mind witch. She yanked down her mental barriers, realizing just how long it had been since she’d had to protect her head from someone else’s stupidity.

  Mentally plugging her nose, she snagged the glass
of green goo out of the refrigerator. Given the state of Elsie’s head, it just might be worth drinking.

  She nearly dropped it when Caro’s voice spoke in her mind. Stand well back when you give it to her. And don’t jump like that, girl—what, did you think I’d still be sleeping with the mental caterwauling she’s putting out?

  Elsie’s head was pretty loud. Lizard gave one more tug on her mental barriers and made her way up the stairs. She started to knock on her roommate’s door and thought the better of it. Hung-over people tended to way overreact to noises, even polite ones.

  She reached out a gentle tendril of mind power. Elsie? You okay in there? Ginia sent a potion for you to drink—said it’ll help your head.

  All she got in reply was a very quiet moan. Nuts. I’m coming in, okay? Put a blanket over your eyes or something.

  Screeches of protest as she opened the door, daylight streaming in from the skylight in the hall, suggested Elsie hadn’t followed her last instruction. “Here, drink this. It’s supposed to make you feel better.” Lizard wasn’t entirely sure she trusted a preteen to be making a good hangover cure—in her experience, the best ones came from people with the most experience overdosing themselves on alcohol—but it was the best she had to offer.

  Gingerly she slid the green gluck into Elsie’s hands and oozed quietly backward out the door. No way she was going to try to make anyone actually drink something that putrid. Elsie would have to make her own choice there.

  Delivered, she sent to Caro. Don’t do anything loud over there today.

  Do I look like a fool? came the dry reply. For now, I’m going to try to get some sleep. That poetry of yours is quite lovely, by the way. Caught snippets during the night. Your barriers slide when you write.

  Lizard stared at the wall in horror. And thanked the gods it had only been dead-poet words on her brain. She’d been too busy to write any of her own lately. Sorry. I’ll keep my head shut next time.

  That would be a shame, girl. A real shame.

  Trying not to stomp, Lizard stormed down the stairs. Quietly. She’d be writing her essays at the office from now on.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jennie’s hands hung up dripping images on her drying lines, her mind noodling. Her damn pendant had vibrated half the night, and Melvin’s reply to her grumpy 6 a.m. text hadn’t been soothing. It vibrates when the chains on their souls are moving.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  She looked at the topsy-turvy row of pictures she’d just pinned up, and sighing, moved back to the beginning of the line. A jumbled mind was no excuse for a sloppy darkroom. Even retired photographers had to have some standards.

  It vibrates when the chains on their souls are moving.

  Generally Melvin chose his words with the same deft touch she used in framing a portrait. Jennie stepped back a moment, remembering a night of karaoke and his words then. What was it he had said to Lizard? Call this the point of being unlocked, but not yet unfettered.

  Indeed. You could unlock a heart—but the chains still carried weight.

  Hands moving meditatively again, Jennie contemplated her two students. Lizard seemed to have taken hold of her life with a vengeance. Success at work, success at school—she’d thrown herself into both with an energy that was close to frenetic.

  Jennie was no stranger to frenetic. Or to the demons inside that could drive such a pace. She chuckled as her pendant vibrated again. “Message received, Melvin.” Lizard might have flipped her chains over, and this side might be a little shinier than the last, but they still weighed heavy. Believing in yourself was no small task, and their tattooed fairy still had quite a journey ahead of her.

  One that might get gently prodded by a nice boy. Or if Lauren was to be believed, a sexy, driven, confident young man with a sweet appreciation for Lizard. Which was fascinating, and a bit worrisome. Lizard likely wasn’t ready to be appreciated, and Jennie knew all too well what a defiant young woman might do when handed such a gift.

  She shook her head, laughing. “Took your pessimist pills this morning, did you?” Talking to the walls in her darkroom was long habit—laughing at herself, slightly more recent. It took maturity to giggle at your own foibles. Both her students still took themselves far too seriously.

  Or not seriously enough.

  Elsie was definitely swinging between those two extremes, and Jennie wasn’t sure which way to push her. If her vibrating pendant meant shifting chains, then Elsie’s were definitely on the move—but unbalancing a heavy load might just make her student land on her face.

  Nat had tried to lift one of the heaviest chains off Elsie’s back. Jennie had an idea for how to lift another, one Elsie might appreciate even less than being fired. However, the timing wasn’t yet right for that. First, they needed to give her a chance to play on the swing by herself a little. Meddling was always the second choice—it was far better if a witch could be the force for change in her own life.

  She snorted, remembering all too well how badly she had needed Melvin’s meddling. Ah, well. It was worth a try, at least. She straightened one last photo on her drying wire. Tomorrow, she would meet with her students again—and try to help them frame a picture.

  ~ ~ ~

  Elsie landed in Vero’s living room, both hands holding her head. Maybe that way it wouldn’t fall off. She squinted at the light and moaned. Coming had been a mistake. She could barely whisper, much less sing. For the first time in her life, she was about to report in sick for an appointment.

  “Tsk, tsk.” Vero glided two steps into the room and halted. “Melvin dear, it looks like you were right.”

  Elsie jumped as Melvin chuckled behind her. “Of course I’m right—have you taken a whiff of that concoction?”

  Vero’s laugh rolled as she headed back down the hall. She returned a minute later with a glass that struck terror in Elsie’s heart—a twin to the one Lizard had shoved in her hands two hours prior. “I can’t drink that. I tried. It tastes like raw frogs.”

  “An apt description, child.” Vero looked amused, but also oddly sympathetic. “Sometimes we must suffer for our art. I’m sure it tastes absolutely vile, but I can promise it will make that head of yours feel much better. Ginia is a talented healer.”

  Elsie stared at the glass, stomach roiling in fierce protest.

  Melvin smiled. “Try holding your nose. I hear that can help.”

  Vero snorted. “Try plotting revenge on Ginia the next time you see her. I speak from experience, unlike my accountant husband who never does anything silly enough to earn him a hangover.” She wrapped an arm around Elsie’s shoulders. “We singers are more prone to excess, aren’t we, love? Go on now. Drink it down.”

  Vero’s strong arm and Melvin’s sympathetic smile helped Elsie find the bravery she hadn’t been able to muster standing in her bedroom alone. With one hand, she plugged her nose. With the other, she tipped back the glass of raw frogs.

  It was utterly, outrageously, flamboyantly vile. And it only took seconds to start making her head feel better.

  Melvin held out a cup of tea. “Here, try this for a chaser. It’ll get rid of some of that taste.”

  Vero snorted again. “Not unless you’ve spiked it with a little whiskey, dear—and that’s probably not what Elsie needs right now.” She moved to the door, her bearing a royal summons. “Come now. Let’s go sing, shall we?”

  Elsie leaned down to kiss Melvin’s cheek, greatly relieved that her head seemed more prone to staying on her shoulders now. “Thank you.”

  He raised his hands to her face. “You have some rough mornings ahead of you yet, my girl. Learn from my wife. She is magnificent in moments of joy, and suffering, and everything in between.”

  As she walked down the hall to the music room, Elsie pondered his words. And wished she had a small fraction of Vero’s bold style. Or even her beautifully colorful dress.

  Elsie entered the room and walked over to stand by the grand piano. Vero looked up from a sheaf of music, eyes twinkli
ng. “Is my husband telling you nonsense about me again?”

  “He really loves you.” Elsie had no idea where those words had come from, but she felt their power. “You’re not at all alike, but he knows exactly who you are.”

  “Yes.” Vero laid her hands on the piano keys. “He is the greatest gift of my life—and I’m finally old enough and wise enough to appreciate him.” She smiled softly. “I didn’t always—and I will be eternally grateful he had the patience to wait for me to figure it out.”

  There was a story behind those words. Elsie tilted her head, curious. Seeking.

  “Ah, my dear.” Vero stood and moved over to a window, her gaze somewhere far, far away. “I was such a restless soul. A woman of extremes and large passions. I wanted to feel everything, do everything. I found love in an artist’s garret in Paris and wept in the streets of Prague when he broke my heart. I tasted all of the grapes of Tuscany and sang out my pain with some of Italy’s greatest tenors.” She smiled. “If you had told me then that true happiness would come sitting over a cup of tea with a blind accountant…”

  Elsie’s heart ached, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. “Do you not need those things now?”

  “Oh, I’ll always need them.” Vero returned to the piano, smiling. “I was born with big feelings. And without my Paris artist or my Tuscan grapes, I wouldn’t know tea and happiness for what it is.”

  “And the music.”

  “Always.” Vero patted Elsie’s hand. “You have some of my passion in you—I see it when you sing. Don’t be afraid to be bold, darling girl, even if it causes the occasional headache.”

  Elsie looked down at her hands, clutching the piano. “I mostly just feel silly.”

  Vero laughed, coating the room in rich melody. “Part of the package. You can’t live a bold life and not feel silly at least once a day. In fact, I suggest plenty of practice.” Her hands ran briskly over the keys. “Let’s get our voices moving, shall we? I have a small aria we could try today—it’s always felt to me like a celebration of silliness.”

  Already Elsie felt the music tugging at her heart. And an odd desire to be a little outrageous. Perhaps, even silly.