Jennie nodded slowly. “There’s invitation in that room. Interest, respect, shared passion.”
Damn. Lauren closed her eyes, well able to picture what was coming next. “What do we do?”
“What you do best.” Jennie squeezed Lauren’s hand. “I think I was only meant to come steer you in the right direction.”
Crap. What? “You’re leaving?” Lauren didn’t need her pendant vibrating any longer—she was plenty worked up without it.
“We both are.” Jennie smiled. “This was just a scouting mission. She’ll come to you soon enough. Send her to me later, when she’s ready to talk about the fierce demands of talent. She’ll need you first, though, doing what you do best.”
Lauren was totally clueless. And what’s that?
Jennie hooked Lauren’s elbow and dragged her down the hall. You treat her like an adult—one who can make smart choices. I want to protect her too much. You’ll demand that she look this in the eye. It’s one of your greatest gifts.
Lauren was far too smart a negotiator to fall for that kind of flattery, even if Jennie meant every word.
Chapter 16
Vero could hear the music before Elsie ever opened her mouth—it streamed from her every pore. Oh, goodness. “You look happy today, my dear.”
Elsie giggled and pulled up her jeans. “My socks don’t match.”
Indeed they didn’t. And neither of them looked like they’d been a part of Elsie’s pre-silliness wardrobe. “Went sock shopping, did you?”
“Mhmm.” Elsie looked up, eyes twinkling. “Do you know they even sell socks that don’t match on purpose? It was more fun to mix them up myself, though.”
Vero’s heart throbbed with hurt for the woman who was only discovering the joys of personally stamping your wardrobe at thirty-two years old. And delighted that she wouldn’t be waiting any longer. “You might be brave and move past socks next time.”
To her utter astonishment, Elsie turned twenty-five shades of red and crossed her arms protectively over her chest.
Oh. Oh, my. Vero’s laughter rolled, and she reached out, cupping Elsie’s face in her hands. “Got yourself some saucy new underwear, did you? How completely marvelous. Was that one of the ideas in your Silly Jar?” It should have been—she’d have sent it herself if the girl had even hinted at being ready for it.
Her student was still flaming red, but managed to get a few words out. And then an avalanche of them. “No. But I rode Caro’s bike down a hill with no hands, and then I went sock shopping because I was sad to say goodbye to Alfred, and the socks were cute, but there was this purple lace bra.” She ground to a halt, cheeks steaming. “It was the same color as Alfred.”
Vero had met Caro’s frog. And opera singers, even old, dried-up ones, just didn’t do a good job of hiding their emotions. Vero collapsed in a chair, overtaken with delicious giggles. The child had bought underwear to match a plastic frog. An act of perfect silliness.
And the woman who had created such a moment of perfection was embarrassed enough that she might stop breathing at any moment. Vero pushed up out of the chair, reaching for the deeper emotions she wanted Elsie to see. “Don’t, sweet girl—don’t lock up the utter beauty of what you’ve done.”
Elsie looked totally mystified. And wavered on the precipice between adoring her new underwear and hating it.
So Vero used what she knew best. She sang one of her favorite arias, full of sexy, playful daring. It was the kind of music she’d been most famous for—Veronica Liantro was daring down to her bones. And singing, she pushed the aria’s sensual notes deep into the heart of her audience of one. Be a woman, the music called. Dare to play. Dare to live.
For forty years, she’d watch audiences react—and Elsie was a delightfully responsive audience. Slowly, her arms unfolded from her chest, and the fierce red of her cheeks abated, replaced by curious eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” Elsie said softly, as the last notes trickled away. “Will you teach it to me?”
Ah, such bravery. “Of course, darling. What else are we here for?” Elsie’s voice would mangle the aria—she lacked the decade of training required to do it justice. And it wouldn’t matter a bit. “You’ll love singing in Italian. Such beautiful, round vowels.”
“I’m not sure I know that one.” Elsie’s head tilted. “What do the words mean?”
It took every ounce of Vero’s stage training to keep her face nonchalant. “The music tells you—just listen to the notes, my dear.” She was pretty sure even Elsie’s newfound bravery wasn’t ready for what was essentially a musical striptease, woman to her lover. But the passion in the music would speak to her soul anyhow.
It always did.
Sitting down at the piano, Vero began to pick out the first bars of the aria. “Just hum with me to start. Let the music catch you first—we can add the words later.”
They made it halfway through the first verse—and then Elsie’s demons kicked in. Vero had been waiting for them. Passion so hard won didn’t come without a cost. She reached out a hand to the quaking girl. “Talk to me, love. What is it that shakes you up so?”
Elsie gripped the edge of the piano. “It’s all so big. Sometimes it’s hard just to stand up.”
Still trying desperately to be brave. Vero took a breath—and decided to name one of the lesser demons haunting her student’s heart. “Go see Nat, sweetheart. There’s nobody better to help you through this.”
“She kicked me out.” Elsie’s face pinched with hurt.
“No.” Vero’s heart rattled in sympathy. “She invited you to come back when you’d found your need. I think you’ve found it.”
She was very pleased when Elsie finally nodded. Good. Perhaps Nat could get Elsie ready to face the much larger shadows darkening her soul. Even lacy purple underwear wouldn’t hold her aloft for long otherwise.
~ ~ ~
––––––––––––––
To: [email protected]
From: Vero Liantro
Subject: She’s sitting on the edge of the nest.
––––––––––––––
Jennie dear,
Elsie has just left, and I wanted to ask you to be especially watchful today. She’s shedding her old persona, and so very delicate. Such incredible bravery, wrapped in skin just finding daylight for the first time. I feel a little like I’ve sent a newborn babe out to play in traffic.
You should have heard her singing—it brought tears to my eyes, the passion that has rushed in and taken up residence in her heart.
Such bravery is rare. I think the last time I saw it, the young witch involved was holding a camera in her hand. I didn’t think Elsie had that in her—I really didn’t.
I was wrong. And I suspect my husband has known it all along.
As, perhaps, has the lovely Natalia. She lacks Melvin’s words yet—but she has his sight. I encouraged Elsie to go see Nat, and I believe she just might. I hope it brings healing for both of them.
And if I know anything, I know that witches tend not to journey alone, however solitary they might feel. Our Lizard and Elsie are hooked together, thanks to your marvelous instincts. Which makes me wonder if Elsie is the only witch who has been laid bare today.
We are building to the second act, I think. I’ll be singing the supporting notes under Elsie’s wings. Let us know what else we can do.
Walk in the light,
Vero
~ ~ ~
––––––––––––––
To: [email protected]
From: Jennie Adams
Subject: Re: She’s sitting on the edge of the nest.
––––––––––––––
Dear Vero,
It’s always fascinating to me that a blind accountant and an opera singer, both hundreds of miles away, know things we are just beginning to figure out.
Yes, Lizard is exposing
her heart today as well, letting some of those precious words of hers come out to play a little. Our blonde fairy danced through her advanced poetry seminar this morning, or maybe shadowboxed, if what we picked up from the outside is any indication. We’re waiting for the fallout now.
Caro reports her bike left this morning and didn’t come back for two hours. And half of Witch Central seems to have seen or heard Elsie out on the streets. Rumor has it that Alfred had a very good time.
I assume more than a plastic frog has stirred up the kind of passion that makes Veronica Liantro cry. If you’d care to give us a few more hints, that would be lovely. I’ve seen the mismatched socks, but I’m pretty sure you don’t cry over socks, either.
On full alert,
Jennie
~ ~ ~
It was a seriously weird grocery list. Weren’t pregnancy cravings supposed to go away after the baby was born? Lizard scanned the dairy case and wondered where the heck grocery stores hid something called belly butter. Because no way was she asking for help finding it. It was butter—how hard could it be?
She’d found the freaking loose-leaf raspberry tea and the nipple pads. She could do this. And fast would be good—she needed to review the list of assignments for her new class and figure out if she got to sleep in the next month.
“What crime did the chickens commit?”
Josh’s voice made her practically land in the butter. “What?” What the hell was he doing here, anyhow?
“You’re scowling at the eggs like they just killed a whole village of Ewoks or something.” He handed her a can of whipping cream, laughter written all over his face. “May the force be with you.”
The temptation to squirt was strong—and the hapless eggs wouldn’t have been her target. However, food fights with clients probably weren’t on the list of good realtor behavior. Lizard tried to rearrange her face in less of a scowl. “I’m grocery shopping for a friend of mine who just had a baby. She wants some weird stuff.”
“Eggs and milk?” His voice sounded entirely normal, but his eyes were still dancing. “Those are pretty standard.”
“Nothing she wants is normal.” Lizard waved the list in his face, done with the stupid good behavior thing. “I found the tea and the meatballs with no onions and the special kind of applesauce. What grown woman eats applesauce, anyhow?”
“If she’s nursing, raw apples might bother the baby.” Josh lounged, hands in his pockets. “Same deal with the onions—they make babies gassy.” His eyes furrowed. “Hey, wait—is this for Thea? How are she and Bean doing?”
Josh knew Thea? “She’s coming home from the hospital today, so we’re getting stuff ready. She’s doing good, though.” Good enough to be writing seriously weird grocery lists. Lizard frowned as his earlier words finally registered. “And how come you know all that stuff about apples and onions?” And breastfeeding. Okay, she wasn’t going to think about that part.
“Three older sisters.” He shrugged, reaching for a gallon of milk. “Want help with the rest of her list? I can drop it off if you want.”
He knew where Thea lived? Lizard’s radar went on high alert, for reasons she was going to totally ignore. “How do you guys know each other?”
“The neighborhood welcoming committee pushed us into a room alone together as soon as they found out I was moving in.” His cheeks crinkled as he loaded enough cheese for three months into his cart. “I think they were matchmaking.”
Thea and Josh? Well, he did seem to know a lot about babies and stuff. Maybe the neighbors weren’t totally dumb, although the vibe Josh was giving off said it hadn’t worked. If it had, he’d be the person looking for belly butter.
Or maybe he just moved really slowly. Her radar still jangling, Lizard tried to do a friend a favor. “She’s really sweet, and Bean’s totally adorable.” Or he probably would be, once he wasn’t so red and wrinkly.
“Don’t go there.” Josh rolled his eyes, laughing. “The neighbors don’t need any more help.”
He wasn’t interested. And now Lizard was mad on Thea’s behalf. “Did you even give her a chance?”
“No.” His eyes had gone all dark and intent, standing there with eggs in one hand and sour cream in the other. “She didn’t want one. She’s awesome, and so is Bean. I already have my uncle button, and that’s going to have to be good enough for everyone.”
Her radar finally got the hint and shut up. Which was good, because her insides were starting to do all kinds of other weird things, none of which were on the realtor good-behavior list either. Damn. She held out Thea’s list like a weapon. Maybe a guy who knew about onions could be useful. “Where’s the belly butter?”
His eyes clouded in confusion.
She waved at the dairy case. “They’ve got twenty-five kinds of butter here, but none of them says anything about bellies.”
He stared at her, still perplexed. And then he started laughing. The kind of big, shoulder-jerking laughs that had half the store looking at them.
“What is so damn funny?” She fought off the urge to stomp her feet or kick his shins. Barely. He wasn’t laughing at her, that much she could read—he just couldn’t contain his amusement.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, still chuckling—and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Belly butter’s just a fancy kind of lotion for pregnant bellies.” He steered her away from the dairy aisle, body still shaking with mirth. “It works well on babies too—sometimes they have dry skin when they first come out.”
A big cave in the middle of the grocery store was probably too much to hope for. Lizard tried to cling to her last shreds of dignity, and finally gave up. It was hopeless. Other realtors just didn’t end up in these kinds of messes. Just the stupid ones.
Josh glanced down, frowned, and pulled them to a stop. He just looked at her for a minute—and when he spoke, all traces of laughter were gone from his mind and voice. “I’m sorry. I guess this is one of those things that won’t be funny for you for a while.”
He’d be a lot easier to deal with if he was an obnoxious rich dude. Lizard could feel her punk face sliding into place. “No big. I just don’t know much about babies.”
His smile didn’t seem to see her defenses at all. “And I don’t know how to cook scrambled eggs.” He grabbed her hand. “How about a trade? I help you find belly butter and whatever else is on that list, and you show me how to cook something decent for breakfast.”
He didn’t know how to cook? Lizard tried to fit that in with her mental picture of Josh. It didn’t compute. “You asked for a house with a big kitchen.”
“Yup.” He turned left down the shampoo aisle. “Cooking’s just following directions, right? I figure I can learn. If you help me, I might not have to eat burnt cheesy eggs again.” He grinned. “The first attempt this morning wasn’t so good.”
If he’d added cheese and eggs in the proportions in his shopping cart, that wasn’t a big surprise. And she wasn’t falling for his whole “see, there are things I don’t know either” routine. They lived on different planets—she knew it, even if he didn’t. He lived on the kind where he could probably afford to hire a live-in chef to teach him how to cook. Not a mostly-ex delinquent.
Josh reached out and pulled down a jar. “This is the belly butter.”
Sure enough. It said so in great big letters on the side of the jar, along with a woman who looked like she’d swallowed the world’s biggest pumpkin. It didn’t look anything like butter—and for reasons she couldn’t fathom, Lizard suddenly found that funny. The slightly panicky kind of funny that meant she needed to get the hell away from Josh Hennessey before she did something really, really stupid.
Lizard reached for the jar, giggles bubbling to the surface. Rich dudes aside, she was never going to be able to buy butter with a straight face again. Thea owed her seriously big.
~ ~ ~
It had felt like the journey of a thousand steps. Elsie put her hand on the door of Spirit Yoga, yoga mat under her arm and hear
t in her throat.
Vero had said she needed to come.
Elsie had mostly managed to quiet the screeching protest in her mind. The quaking of her soul was a lot harder to manage.
Barely able to breathe, she pulled the door open. And saw Nat, sitting quietly against the opposite wall, smiling in welcome.
Elsie stood in the doorway, her ability to put one foot in front of the other entirely gone, her reasons for coming totally opaque.
Nat uncurled gracefully and stood up, hand out in invitation. “I was just about to do some gentle opening yoga. Join me?”
Somehow, that unglued Elsie’s feet. Slowly she followed Nat down the hallway into Spirit Yoga’s studio space. Like magic, her heart eased down from her throat, calm seeping in through her skin. Quiet music called to her, an offering of tranquility in every note.
Elsie breathed. Vero had been right—she needed this.
The scent of summer grasses and dandelions tickled her nose. Looking around, she saw the bouquet at the front of the room—a riot of color and weeds, clearly picked by small hands. Elsie grinned. It was just the right touch of exuberance in an otherwise utterly peaceful room. Rightness settled on her skin as she folded onto her mat.
Then Elsie blinked as Nat unrolled her mat and lined up just to her left. The message was clear—it wasn’t the positioning of a teacher. Shards of sadness sliced at Elsie’s breathing.
Nat reached out a hand, eyes softening the shards. Elsie closed her eyes in gratitude as the meaning shifted. No, not a teacher—someone to be at her side. A friend.
With a shared grace that astonished Elsie, they eased into movement together. Following instinct, she slid back into downward dog, her body creaking its appreciation, even as unused muscles scrambled to wake up. Used to following Nat’s movements, Elsie looked over—and discovered Nat was tracking hers. Her old teacher stretched into an elegant downward dog and waited patiently.
Carefully, Elsie led into a simple sun salutation, feeling an odd pride as Nat smoothly followed. Keeping the flow simple, she took them through the most basic version of the sequence, their breathing united as arms swept and backs arched, reaching for the gifts of warmth overhead.
Witches Under Way Page 17
