by Debora Geary
Nell: That’s pretty fancy. Only my daughter has made it any further that so young. So—you need a job that pays enough to cover your living expenses, you’re open to learning new things, and you’re a pretty good gamer.
Moira: And she needs it in four days, dear. It sounds rather urgent.
Nell: Let me talk to Jamie. Sierra, is there some way I can reach you?
Sierra: Yeah. [email protected]. Are you serious about this?
Nell: Yup. I’ll get back to you later today—can you get access to a computer after dinner tonight?
Sierra: Um, wow. Yeah, and thanks. I gotta go, I only had half an hour on the computer and my time’s up.
Sierra backed away from the monitor, really glad to see the screen go blank. Most of the librarians already thought she was totally weird. Chatting with witches would probably get her library card taken away or something.
And not just any witches. Nell Walker. When Momma told all her stories about famous witches, Nell had always been one of Sierra’s favorites. Really rich, a totally awesome gamer, and the first woman to ever spellcast a class-one spell. She must have such an exciting life—parties and famous people and lots of cool magic.
As she waited in line to book another slot on the library computers, Sierra shook the lucky red dice in her pocket. Maybe they’d worked after all.
Chapter 2
Nell deposited the last of the morning’s dishes on the counter and turned to call her youngest. “Hey, Aervyn. Let’s go visit Uncle Jamie and Auntie Nat.”
He arrived wearing a black cape and carrying her kitchen broom. “Mama, I need a pointy hat.”
“Really. And why’s that?”
“Cuz Harry has one, and I’m trying to fly like him.”
Her older kids had seen the latest Harry Potter movie and laughed it off as cool, but totally fake. Her baby, a week short of his fifth birthday, was still gullible. “You know real witches don’t fly on brooms, right? Most witches can’t fly at all.”
Aervyn rolled his eyes. “I know, Mama. It’s just pretend. But I still want a pointy hat.”
Well, it probably wasn’t that much different from his superhero fixation. “Maybe your Auntie Nat can help you with that—she’s got a pretty good imagination.” And a lot of tolerance for little boys with oddball requests.
He grinned and grabbed her hands. “Wanna port?”
She’d planned to walk, but given his current garb and the fact that his feet kept levitating off the ground, maybe teleporting was a good idea. “Sure, munchkin. Just let me grab my bag.” It thunked into her hands a moment later, and Nell barely grabbed the strap before it landed on the floor. She sighed. And they wondered why she’d needed three new laptops already this year.
A grin from her son, and they landed in her brother’s living room. Aervyn immediately took off running, broom between his legs—and crashed into the wall when he tried to navigate the turn down the hallway.
Jamie got to him first, with a kiss for the dinged elbow and a hug for the bruised ego. “Brooms don’t fit through doorways very well, little dude.”
Aervyn sniffled. “Harry Potter does it. He can fly anywhere.”
That last part concerned Nell. Unfortunately, in the movie, Harry had jumped on his damn broom and flown like a maniac first time out. Her son hadn’t seen the movie, but he’d quizzed his siblings until he might as well have. “Real witches have to practice a lot of flying low to the ground nice and slow before they try the fancy stuff.”
Jamie kissed the top of her son’s head and stood him back up. “How about we go to Ocean’s Reach tomorrow and try some flying?” He glanced at Nell. “Really close to the ground, so we don’t get hurt if we fall.”
Aervyn’s eyes brightened. “Can I bring my broom?”
“Absolutely, superboy. And if you go ask Nat, maybe she knows where you can find a broom for me too.”
Her son took off, witchling on a mission. Nell wondered if anyone had a handy spell for fixing holes in walls. “You’re really going to fly on a broomstick?”
Jamie grinned. “Tell me you don’t want to try it too.”
“Not on your life.” She didn’t have enough air power, or the teleportation skills to avoid the inevitable crashes.
He snorted. “Liar.”
She gave in. “Yeah.” They walked into the living room laughing.
Nell ignored the loud thud from the kitchen. By now Auntie Nat was an old hand with minor witchling mishaps. “So, could we use another set of hands for Realm?”
Her brother raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a loaded question—what’s up?”
She sighed. “We fetched another witch this morning. She needs a job.”
“And you think we should give her one?” He slouched into a really ugly relic of an armchair. “Gotta be a story there. Keep talking.”
“I don’t know a lot about her. She’s eighteen, and her IP address is from a library on the Oregon Coast. She needs a job in four days.”
He frowned. “Or what?”
“She didn’t say.” Nell pulled out her trump card. “But she used to play Realm when she was younger. Said she hit the third witch-only level.”
That got her brother’s attention. He grabbed his computer. “Seriously? How much younger?”
“When she was twelve, so six years ago.” They kept meticulous records of their gamers, particularly the witches and underage ones. Realm was as safe for kids as humans and magic could make it.
“I don’t see her.” Jamie typed on his keyboard a few moments longer, and then sucked in his breath. “Wait, maybe I do. I have one account that reached level three, active until six years ago. It’s not a child account, though.” He looked up, eyes wide. “Registered to Amelia Brighton. You found Amelia?”
Nell just stared, trying to connect all the crazy dots. “I don’t think so. Her name was Sierra, and she knew who I was, but not like Amelia would have. She sounded young, Jamie.”
Amelia Brighton was the wild hippy witch of the eighties. A decade older than Nell, she’d been adventurous, rebellious, and a world traveler. She’d been famous for showing up unannounced and then taking off a couple of days later, equally unannounced. Then she’d drifted further away, occasionally sending tales and emails from far-flung lands. And then about six years ago, they’d stopped hearing from her altogether.
Jamie tapped idly on his computer keys. “You think she had a kid? And nobody knew?”
“Dunno.” Nell shrugged. “But if we’re talking about Amelia, anything’s possible.”
“Yeah.” He shook his head as if trying to clear a clog. “So what do we do now?”
That much she knew the answer to. “We offer Sierra a job, and we get her down here.”
Jamie nodded. “Okay. I could use some extra help with all the WitchNet work. Elorie’s got us hopping.”
“It’s a smart idea she has, hooking other witch projects in so everyone can coordinate.”
Jamie grinned. “Yup. And she might just pull it off, too. But my nine-year-old staff could use some assistance—herding witches isn’t easy. Sierra could help with that. It sounds like she’s got some coding skills.”
“They might be a little rusty after six years out of the game.”
He shrugged. “Then we’ll find something else for her to do.”
She’d known her brother would come through. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
“No big. We take care of our own.” He grinned, eyes sparkling. “But if you want to be in my debt, you can go grab Matt and Devin at the airport tomorrow.”
She was pretty sure that had been on her job list anyhow. Her brothers were coming home for the long and rowdy family celebration that ran between Winter Solstice and the New Year. The terrible threesome would ride again. “They’re cutting it kind of close. Nat could pop any minute.”
He shrugged. “She says not yet. And maybe our baby’s not going to need a big circle—she’s not playing with power much these days.”
“You’l
l have a huge circle just because no one wants to miss it.” Nell grinned. “Besides, it’s usually the dads who need the most help.”
She caught the pillow just before it beaned her in the head. Some things never changed.
~ ~ ~
The power flows were practically crackling, just waiting for her to shape them. Sierra stood on a small outcropping north of the Heceta Head lighthouse, well out of view of normal tourist trails, and reached for more.
It was time for a storm.
Patience had never been something she was any good at, and waiting for Nell Walker to maybe offer her a job was driving her crazy. The last six years had taught her a lot about living in a life that sucked. She’d learned to turn to the storms for comfort.
Magic was her birthright, her destiny, and her way of kicking a big hole through the crap of foster care and caseworkers and people who didn’t truly care about Sierra Brighton.
She reached her fingers to the sky, feeling the storm that was already brewing. It wasn’t hard to find one on the Oregon Coast in winter. She just planned to make it a little bigger.
“I call on Air, warm and light
Rise, a sheet of narrow flight.
I call on Water, dewdrops cold
Catch a ride, with friends of old.
I call on Fire, give heat to rise
Energies three, toward the skies.
Lift a storm up from the sea,
As I will, so mote it be.”
Her heart soared as wind and water raged, lifting a current of warm, wet air into the waiting storm above. Power kicked and drove heat into the clouds of ice and snow. Sierra backed off just a stitch. Lightning tended to draw too much attention, at least in the middle of the afternoon.
She laughed as a tail of air spun her in a circle. Wanna play, do you? Her left hand circled, drawing the air closest to the ground into a funnel. Her right hand circled the other direction, keeping the funnel short. Hurricanes also tended to attract attention, even baby ones.
Then she leaned back into the whipping wind of the funnel, spinning around, hands out as far as she could reach. Funnel dancing had been one of Momma’s favorite things. Sierra closed her eyes and imagined, just for a moment, that she didn’t dance alone.
And then she reached for the sky one more time, pulling down the torrent of rain that wouldn’t attract any notice at all as it washed away her tears.
~ ~ ~
“Holy crap!” Govin spun his chair around and yanked TJ’s earphones off his head. “We have a bloody hurricane brewing up in Oregon, and it came out of nowhere.”
“Weather does that.” His partner took one look at the blinking orange alert and turned back to his own workstation, pulling up multiple screens on their bank of big monitors.
Govin watched, power itching to be let free. However, he knew his limits. Unless TJ could figure out exactly where to act, he didn’t have enough magic to make a difference from this far away. When a flea wanted to turn an elephant, it had to hit precisely the right spot.
The muttering from their resident math genius increased to a dull roar. And then went totally silent, except for the insane clacking of the keyboard. Silent was TJ in genius mode.
Then he jumped up, grabbed a sheet of paper from the printer, and headed for the barn at a dead run. Govin knew better than to ask. He just ran.
As the helicopter took off, heading out to sea, TJ handed over the piece of paper. Govin jammed his headset down. “What do we need?”
“A bolus of heat to those coordinates. And don’t miss.”
Which was mathematician-speak for “this is a tricky bugger of a storm.” Govin looked at the data points. They were at the far end of his reach—not exactly the best range for accuracy. “People in the vicinity?”
TJ shook his head. “It’s a really small storm, very localized, but strong. If you’re going to miss, do it on the high side. That way we don’t get a full-blown funnel, just some big wave action. We’ll be over the right ley line in about ninety seconds.”
Govin readied his spell as he hung his feet over the edge of the helicopter, doing his best imitation of a special-forces weather witch.
“I call on Fire, a tinder blast
A white-hot shield, flat and fast.
I call on Air, a package to blow
Vectoring north on ley line flow.
Carry heat into the storm
Letting loose, disperse the form.
Just wind and rain, no funnels see,
As I will, so mote it be.”
At TJ’s 3-2-1-mark, Govin released his spell—a stingray-shaped fire shield, wrapped in a layer of air to minimize impact on weather between here and its destination. It should trigger when it met with the storm flow. TJ’s job was to pick a ley line that connected here and there without any other weather obstacles along the way. Most of the time, he got it right.
Slight tremors of spell kickback signaled that the fire shield had released and done its job of heating a layer of air. It had either dispersed the funnel, or made it worse.
TJ scowled at the tablet computer plugged in by his copter dash. “No funnel, but weird readings. Dunno what’s going on. We need to get back to headquarters to figure it out.” The tablet was cool, but it lacked the power of their main computer stations. Even TJ couldn’t jam a supercomputer into a digital toy.
No funnel was probably good news. Govin leaned back against his seat. Weather witches had to live with uncertainty, even in this day and age of satellite feeds and monster computing power. It was the nature of the beast. “Nice job finding a free ley line.”
TJ shrugged. “Hopefully that part will get a lot easier when we get set up with WitchNet.”
They both hoped so. In the last fifteen years, they’d learned a lot about how to dampen a storm or adjust an ocean current, but it all hinged on having a witch in the right place at the right time.
Or at least, a witch’s spell in the right place at the right time. Elorie’s WitchNet project was showing a lot of promise for being able to do exactly that—deliver magic exactly where it was needed.
Govin adjusted his headgear. It never sat quite right. “Could make things a lot more complicated, too.” It was a conversation they’d had about a million times in the last three months. “You’re sure you don’t want to act as liaison with them?”
TJ snorted. “You’re the witch, buddy. I’m just the math geek. I’ll predict the weather—you organize the response team.”
Team. That was a strange and scary thought. It had always been just the two of them. When you played with planetary weather systems, you needed lots of brains, lots of patience, and unconditional trust. Adding more people was going to make all of that really complicated.
It was either going to save a lot of lives, or drive him batshit crazy. Possibly both.
He sat contemplating those eventualities until TJ landed the chopper. His partner laid his headgear on the seat and waved in the general direction of the house. “Let’s check the computer readouts first—then we can come back out and do the pre-flight.” They always left the helicopter in flight-ready condition.
Govin hopped down and hurried after TJ. For a guy fueled on potato chips and beer, he could really hustle—especially when data called.
It took less than thirty seconds before the weather genius had an answer. Unfortunately, it headed toward the batshit-crazy end of the spectrum. “Gotta be aliens.” TJ slammed his hand down on the desk, causing a cascade of paper and weird desk crud. “No way this is a natural weather pattern.”
“Any theories that don’t require little green men?”
TJ snorted. “Rogue witches?”
Govin groaned. He’d walked right into that one. His old college roomie had swallowed the idea of magic and witches with ease. Unfortunately, that same mental flexibility wrapped around UFO sightings, Area 51 conspiracies, and alien spies running for the Berkeley city council. “There are only a dozen witches in the world strong enough to mess with planetary weat
her patterns, and none of them are anywhere near Oregon.” And none of them would play fast and loose with the weather, either. Which TJ already knew. “Just give me the data for now. What do you see?”
“The funnel formed about ten minutes before you hit it. Smaller than it should have been, and it disappeared before you did anything.”
“I threw magic at a regular storm?” Govin winced. There were a lot of ways that could end badly. “Anything we need to go back and fix?”
TJ clicked a few more keys and shook his head. “Nope. Whatever was there totally dissipated about five minutes before we got into position. You probably just warmed a few fish.”
Awesome. Mom would be so proud. “How’d it disappear?”
“No freaking clue. Aliens, witches, or unexplained phenomena—take your pick.” TJ leaned in closer to his screen. “Whatever it is, though, it’s connected to our Hawaii anomaly. That warm-water current from this morning ran right up to the same damn beach that just tried to grow a hurricane.”
Govin frowned. “The warm water caused the hurricane?”
“Nope. No relation. Just a happy locational coincidence.”
Yeah. As a mathematician, he had to acknowledge that possibility. As a witch, this was starting to smell. Witches didn’t like coincidences.
~ ~ ~
Sierra waited impatiently at the library check-in desk. She’d booked a slot for 6 p.m., and there weren’t any open terminals. She was antsy and cold—too much magic and not enough food. Her foster family’s food budget didn’t really stretch to witch portions, and they got really grumpy when she ate too much.
Sticking her hands in her pockets, she lit a couple of small fireglobes. She’d pay for the magic use later, but hungry was better than cold.
A woman stepped up beside her and grinned. “You must be Sierra. I’m Nell Walker.”
“Get out!” Sierra lowered her voice as half the library turned to look. “I didn’t know you were going to come here.” Wow, Nell totally didn’t look like what she expected. No fancy clothes, no big-shot attitude. She looked like somebody’s mom.
“It wasn’t the original plan, but I thought it might be easier to chat in person.” Nell turned and walked a little way from the library desk, clearly looking for some privacy.
