A Witch Central Wedding

by Debora Geary

  Her husband chuckled again. “I believe the correct response to that is ‘pants on fire.’”

  She blinked, surprised by the gentle chiding in his voice. “What have I done now?”

  “It’s not the ‘old’ part that has you bothered.” He touched her cheek gently. “It’s ‘wise’ you don’t think you’re quite ready to be.”

  She stared, and felt the truth of his words slide over her bones. “When did you get so smart?”

  He grinned, shades of Devin’s glee tingeing his mind. “Since I woke up this morning married to a crone.”

  -o0o-

  Devin stood in his wedding finery—bare feet, suspenders, and all—and waited for Jamie’s teleporting spell to whisk him away.

  He hadn’t had to ask. The brothers who had stood beside him through more kinds of mischief than any of them could remember had known exactly what he would need before taking the entirely insane step of promising to be reliable and dependable for the rest of his life.

  Jamie had simply waved his fingers, winked, and asked if Devin was ready to go yet. And Matt had made rabbit ears behind Jamie’s spell, just like he always did.

  It was Jamie’s power that would carry him—but odds were good the idea had been Matt’s. The best ones always were.

  The light tingle of spell hit, two grinning faces shimmered, and Devin felt the sun-warmed sand under his feet before he even opened his eyes. The small strip of beach under the cliffs at Ocean’s Reach.

  The wave sounds crashed against his eardrums and the rocky cliffs to his left. The water wasn’t gentle here, smashing into rock with a force and persistence meant to remind you that in the end, the water always won.

  He’d loved this place ever since the first moments his toddler feet had touched its sand. His power had awakened here, on an innocent romp after a picnic. The power of the oceans, called into his veins by the magic that lived within.

  He’d only known that he’d danced with the water.

  Moira, visiting from the east, had been there to hold his hand. He remembered well the feeling of her trickle of energy dancing with his. And the awful green goo she’d given him later, the price to be paid for strong magic and the ocean-sized temper tantrum he’d thrown when his fledgling power had finally run out.

  He’d never done anything with restraint.

  Reaching his arms out to the water, he pulled power, glorying in the rush, the memories, and the knowledge that this would always be his.

  Permanence.

  It had captivated the small boy, knowing that he belonged to something so immense and timeless. And now, as he stood again on the cusp of permanence, it steadied the man.

  Marriage came with storms and rocks. He’d watched his parents long enough to know that. Sometimes the outside world threw problems at you—and sometimes they came from within.

  Devin grinned. He’d spent most of his life a magnet for trouble. That probably wasn’t going to change just because he planned to try to behave.

  Not once had Lauren asked such a thing of him—but he asked it of himself.

  His soul was a restless and seeking one, and that wouldn’t change. But his whole life had been a stream of lessons on how to join. In magic. In love. In family.

  When you held out a hand to someone you loved, she deserved for it to be steady.

  He reached for the waters once more—and blessed the people who had spent a lifetime shaping his reckless heart to be ready.

  -o0o-

  Lauren walked in the door of the small house on the cliffs and closed her eyes, overwhelmed.

  She’d walked countless clients through the doors of their new homes. Touched their minds as gratitude and hope, worries and dreams, entered four walls and started to breathe in life.

  She and Devin would do that here. Together.

  It was the right house—she’d known the moment she’d laid eyes on it. A cozy nest full of light and character, with a spot for her couch right in front of the fire. And water as far as the eye could see.

  She was just going to ignore the fact that she’d first seen it in her crystal ball rather than the new listings report.

  And she’d more or less recovered from the price tags on slightly run-down little cottages with million-dollar views. It was meant to be theirs—and she’d seen that magic happen far too many times to ignore it.

  Walking toward the large windows, she contemplated the ocean expanses. Sunny and bright today, with early spring breezes riffling the wave tops. Devin would feel his power calling here, stirring his sense of adventure.

  Buying this house, with this view, was her gift to him. A message. She would take him exactly as he was, every reckless, seeking bone in his body.

  No one lived life as deeply as Devin Sullivan. And she wanted him to stay that way.

  Being his wife would be anything but boring.

  But she’d also seen him hold tiny newborn Kenna. Pull a brand-new package of glitter glue out of his back pocket when supplies ran low. Reach for Moira’s hand when Irish tears threatened—and when they didn’t.

  Devin Sullivan also loved deeply. And he loved her, Lauren McCready, with a steadfast fierceness that still rocked her every time she touched his mind. A crazy kind of miracle that had her imagining all kinds of things she hadn’t known she wanted. Starlit magic on a very private beach. Sticky-faced toddlers and big family dinners. Swimming lessons.

  She’d always lived a life of purpose and roots. But this was different. More.

  Wandering now, Lauren stepped into the kitchen, running her fingers along the counters. Soapstone, showing the marks of time and history and those who had come before. The listing realtor had blathered on about removing the dents and scratches. She intended to keep them.

  The kitchen window looked out on a tiny garden, hardy flowers trying to bloom in the brisk spring winds. A little bit scraggly, much like the rest of the property.

  She knew a witch or two who might be willing to help with that.

  The scraggles hadn’t bothered her—those were easy to fix. It was the feel of the house that had called to her. Comfortable, welcoming, and tough as nails—a scrappy little survivor nestled on a cliff.

  In the crystal ball she still had trouble accepting as hers, it had been soaked in magic and love.

  With a grin, she turned toward the largest of the bedrooms. Its broad expanse of windows had featured prominently in her dreams of the night before. Apparently her subconscious desired a lusty romp with a pirate, on silk sheets, with the smell of sandalwood permeating the air.

  It had been a very specific dream.

  And Devin made a damn sexy pirate.

  She backed out of the bedroom—way too many mind witches at the wedding to be imagining Devin half-naked with an eye patch. The rest of the house she ignored, mostly a warren of small rooms that needed the help of a good contractor.

  Slipping out the creaky side door, she followed a small path around to the cliffs. The view was gorgeous—the stuff of dreams and really big real-estate commissions. But it wasn’t what she’d come for.

  Turning her back on the sea, she looked at her home-to-be.

  And felt ready.

  It was awe inspiring to watch the wedding circle assemble. Nat took in a deep breath, preparing her small offering of love to add to the forming tidal wave.

  It was the same communal strength that had held steady as Kenna found her way into the world. The echoes of that memory brought tears to Nat’s eyes.

  She felt Jamie’s hand slide into hers. He understood, somehow, this wonderful man who’d grown up immersed in the miracle that was Witch Central—knew how much their easy love still rocked her.

  The two of them stood at the top of the circle, a funnel for the magic that would buoy up Lauren and Devin on this very special day. Nat snuck a look at her brother-in-law, standing on a flat rock in the center of the circle.

  Strong, fluid grace—and a heart open to the magic flowing around him. The panther had stopped climbing
the walls.

  He caught her eye and grinned.

  She grinned back at the very different heart who shared her husband’s face. And let the amusement flow out her hands into the swirling power of the huge circle that was still forming. Small hands reached for bigger ones, old and sure arms linking with those newer and less certain.

  Lauren’s mother stood hand-in-hand with Mia and Shay. Non-witches of experience, shepherding one of their own.

  Kenna stirred on Jamie’s chest, and he scooped her out of the sling, grinning. Told you so.

  Indeed he had. Their little girl never missed a magic show. Nat watched the tiny lights dancing above her sleepy daughter’s head and hoped that was all the magic Kenna planned to contribute.

  Soft music began to play—haunting, lilting notes that seemed to give voice to the love flowing from those gathered. Nat had heard Elorie play before, but this time, it seemed like even the grasses and flowers made music along with her flute.

  They are, sent Jamie, amused. The small contribution of our earth witchlings.

  Nat looked at Lizzie and Ginia, swaying in gentle communion with the notes. And Moira, smiling at them with love in her eyes.

  Gorgeous. All of them.

  The circle quieted, a small ripple at the north end. Edric made his way into the inner circle, resplendent in midnight-blue robes, hands glowing with gathered magic. That much, Nat remembered from her own wedding. Edric had presided over witch weddings for almost fifty years.

  The twinkle in his eye, however, was new. Love did that, even to an old man. Nat grinned over at his lovely Helga, dressed in glorious red and adoring every minute of her first Witch Central wedding.

  Edric raised his staff to the sky.

  “We gather here, upon this soil, upon this day

  To witness and bless this union destined

  by stars and earth and love unending.

  With hearts full and power steadfast,

  We call into the circle those who will stand

  with Devin Sullivan and Lauren McCready.”

  Hand in hand, she and Jamie stepped forward into the circle’s interior, as did Matt and Sophie. Her husband squeezed her hand one last time and took his place with Matt. They would complete Devin’s trio. She and Sophie would stand for Lauren.

  Devin blasted them all a hundred-watt grin from his place on the rock, and then turned to the south.

  Every head present did the same. And waited, in collective held breath, for the arrival of the bride.

  The circle quietly parted at the far end. She was here.

  -o0o-

  Devin grinned as his nephew came into sight, walking with surprising reverence, his feet six inches off the ground and shiny red cape fluttering in his wake. Lines of magic flared and swirled, a spell in the making.

  Aervyn moved through the parted crowd, a carpet of flower petals floating up on the summer winds. No one moved—they were well aware the magic had only begun.

  Two last steps and Aervyn slid to a stop in front of the wedding party. He looked up, face a blend of awe and adorable love. “She’s really beautiful, Uncle Devin.”

  Whatever glue had been holding Devin’s emotions together cracked.

  Aervyn turned, fingers flittering lightly in the air. The fingers weren’t for power—they were for care. For gentleness. With the magic of absolute five-year-old love, he pulled on the flows that would carry Lauren and her father into the circle.

  Devin felt the waters of his heart swirl.

  It should have been high comedy—his witch wife-to-be, wedding dress flowing, riding down the makeshift aisle on a broomstick.

  It was anything but.

  He was vaguely aware of Lauren’s father—proud and choked up and clutching his broomstick with one desperate hand. The other offered his daughter the steadfast support that had emanated from both of Lauren’s parents since the moment they’d arrived.

  He caught the edges of crowd amusement as Leo ducked under the broomsticks and threw an excited handful of purple rice at the bride, about twenty minutes too early.

  And he felt the pulsing energy of love and awe, dozens strong, shining at his back.

  But when Devin forever remembered this moment, all he would see were her eyes.

  His world shrunk to the ineffable link blazing to life between his soul and hers. The two who would become—in some tangible way he had never truly known existed—one.

  Her broomstick settled to the ground in front of him, light as fairy dust on spun glass. A gentle kiss on her father’s cheek, and she stepped onto the flat rock that would be the place of their union.

  He reached for her hands, needing to touch. And, overwhelmed for the first time in his life, pulled her close.

  -o0o-

  Her knees were trembling.

  Lauren leaned into the strong arms of the man waiting for her—and realized it wasn’t her knees at all.

  Wild and fearless Devin Sullivan was shaking like a leaf.

  His mind and heart stripped naked, he was offering all that he was. All that he would be. Deep love and searing need, and a promise to be water to her soul.

  Her heart sang with the joy and rightness of it. And knew it wasn’t complete. He offered everything—except for the one thing critical to the soul of the man who had made happy wreckage of her life.

  Wordless, she cupped his face in her hands, lifted his eyes up to hers, planted her feet deep into the rock beneath their feet, and dared his sense of adventure to come out to play.

  It took a moment.

  But when she saw laughter spark into his eyes, she knew the missing piece had arrived. He was hers now. All of him.

  She turned to Edric and winked at his solemn, grumpy face. They were ready.

  -o0o-

  Retha exhaled, deeply proud of her son—and awestruck by the woman he’d chosen to love.

  The two of them were magnificent.

  Lauren was mind-broadcasting now, opening the love in her heart to the circle gathered round them. Devin’s mind had always been an open book.

  And reading them both, Retha knew the truth. Life had never taken the full measure of Devin Sullivan. Until now. He’d always been a whirlwind of emotion and drive. Her tempest of a boy had grown up into a storm of a man, one bent on changing the world, sometimes just for the pure excitement of it.

  She and Michael had planted their wild child into the fertile ground of Witch Central and trusted in the magic of love.

  And as Retha watched him stand hand-in-hand with Lauren, mind a single beam of steady joy, she knew his roots would stick.

  It would make her next job so much easier.

  Edric looked over, mindsending his customary growl. It was time.

  She looked across the circle, meeting the eyes of her counterpoint in the east. Moira stood, strong and ageless—palms outstretched. Waiting. An invitation and a dare. Jennie stood at the foot of the circle, hands up as well, eyes dancing in easy empathy.

  No Sullivan walked away from a dare. Or the commitments of love.

  For the first time in her life, Retha Sullivan reached for the ancient, difficult power of the crone and asked her heart to accept.

  And then, palms to the sky, she began the blessing of the crones.

  “We ask the power of life well-lived,

  Come into this day where souls seek to join.

  Bring true sight and wisdom,

  Patience and grace,

  Grant these two we love

  Hearts that sing

  And joy for the journey ahead.

  We ask this gift, we aged three

  As we will, so mote it be.”

  When she lowered her hands to her sides, the silence was absolute. And then a gentle, thrumming warmth began to beat in the stone under Lauren and Devin’s feet.

  The crones had asked—and the power of life had responded.

  Edric raised his staff once again and began the age-old ritual of joining.

  Retha watched, eyes full of tears
and heart full of joy, as her son and his chosen began their sacred words to each other. The vows were heartfelt and simple—and the story behind them had made the rounds of Witch Central at the speed of cookie-propelled love.

  It was tradition—couples wrote their own vows. Together or separately, they found the words that needed to be spoken to the one they loved for all the world to witness.

  For some, the words came easily. Others borrowed from those who had come before. For a few, finding them was pure torture.

  Retha had not been surprised to see her son join the first group—flow had never been Devin’s problem. It was Lauren who had ground to a halt, her mind the frustrated, unsure mess Retha remembered all too well from struggling with her own vows so many years ago.

  For a week, Lauren’s distress had haunted every mind witch in California.

  And then one poet fairy had marched into the offices of Berkeley Real Estate and plunked down a crumpled piece of paper that contained the words of Lauren’s heart.

  Even in a community used to deeply special wedding gifts, it had been remarkable.

  Retha sought out Lizard in the crowd, and tried not to laugh as the highly embarrassed ex-delinquent squirmed in the arms of the man who loved her. This might be the first wedding to use those words. If she was any judge of young love, it wouldn’t be the last.

  They were such beautiful words.

  And drilled into every head present by the bride.

  Retha smiled. Welcomed Lauren to the long list of mind witches whose barrier control had entirely shredded during their vows. And helped Jennie and Caro erect enough of a shield to keep away the headaches. Green goo had no place at a wedding.

  She sniffled, overwhelmed by the intersection of memory, power, and a heart beyond full. And, hearing Edric’s closing words, reached for her youngest grandson’s mind. It’s time, sweetie.

  Aervyn, feet mostly on the ground, raised his hands.

  Devin, in on the second and far more secret surprise, reached out for his wife, and held on tight.

  And on the gift of one five-year-old boy’s exuberant love, powered by a circle dozens strong, the newlyweds soared into a beautiful, swooping dance in the sky.