A Reckless Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 3)

by Debora Geary

  He rapidly revised his plans for the morning’s lesson, pulled out a stopwatch, and selected one of his more advanced drills. “Can you lay those out on the pond in a way that none of them will amplify for at least sixty seconds?” Amplification happened when two funnel effects ran into each other.

  Sierra squinted out at the pond. “Can I do stuff to the pond water too?”

  Seriously? It had taken him a month to figure out that was the only way to solve this little problem. “Yeah. But only at the beginning. Whatever you set in motion needs to run free once the clock starts ticking.”

  He watched as she carefully laid out her funnels on the pond’s surface, water currents eddying and ripple effects heading out to the rest of the pond. The first three, she impressed him with her understanding of spatial relationships. The next three, she astonished him with her easy skill weaving water currents.

  She didn’t step wrong until funnel number eight. As soon as she let that one go, it was clear to Govin that disruption was coming. Funnel eight sat spinning quietly—but one of its side ripples began to create havoc over on the left edge of the pond.

  And Sierra noticed nothing. Her eyes were fixed on funnel nine’s pretty dance—she’d just set that one down. She didn’t notice until the combined entity of funnels two and five bounced off the edge of the pond and ricocheted back through the center. At that point, a blind man wouldn’t have missed the chaos.

  Her face fell.

  Devin waved his hand to calm the energy flows, and then elbowed Sierra gently. “Congrats. I don’t think I’ve ever managed to create two-foot waves in a duck pond.”

  She frowned, clearly not ready to let go of failure. “I was really close. What went wrong?”

  Govin debated how to approach his answer. She’d laid down seven funnels before disaster hit. That was two more than he’d ever managed. Which made her later blindness all the scarier.

  And hopefully more correctable. She’s not reckless. Not reckless. He tried to remember Devin’s words as he faced a witch who still scared him silly. “You’ve got the mind of a mathematician. Your initial layout was brilliant.”

  She scowled at the pond. “I still had one more to add. I’m not sure where that one was going.”

  He was pretty sure TJ and all his models couldn’t have solved that one either. “That’s part of the work we do—needing to judge when we can’t safely do any more.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “You lay out funnels on the ocean?”

  He’d forgotten how literal teenagers could be. “No. But we look at existing weather patterns and try to intervene in ways that solve problems without creating more. Sometimes the ocean’s pretty clear, and it’s like laying down your first couple of funnels. Sometimes the weather’s pretty gnarly, and getting even one small intervention in place is impossible.”

  She nodded slowly. “So sometimes eight funnels fit. But not nine.”

  “No.” Damn, she really hadn’t been watching. “It was your funnel eight that caused the problem. Sent a left-turn swirl toward funnel five that was a little too strong.”

  “Eight?” She scowled, clearly not getting it.

  “Yup.” This much he was sure of. “Five ran into two and caused the big funnel to form.”

  He didn’t really expect her to understand. She’d spent her whole life doing magic without a care for the consequences.

  She looked out at the pond, mirror calm now. “And if I screw up like that with a big spell, people die.”

  Govin looked at Devin in concern. Damn, he’d been trying really hard not to whack her over the head with that. And then he knew what must have happened. TJ’s models had been all over the wall monitors when they’d arrived.

  Sierra held up her hands, ten more funnels spinning. “I want to try it again. The same thing first, so I can see what went wrong.” She stared out at the water, eyes fierce. “Then I’m going to fix it.”

  Chapter 15

  Sophie plunked down on The Monster between Nat and Moira. “This looks like the closest thing to an island of sanity in this place.”

  Moira chuckled and handed over a cup of tea. “We old people and pregnant ladies occasionally need a break. Besides, the decorating is coming along very well.”

  Nat looked over at Mia, atop a ladder with a hammer in her hand. She was hanging artwork, with Lauren behind her holding frames and offering input. “I think Jamie was a little offended when Mia threw him out so she could use his tools.”

  Sophie grinned. Somehow decorating Sierra’s apartment had turned into an all-girl affair. “He does have cool tools.” She’d had to veto the table saw and bit router—they were decorating a one-bedroom apartment, not building it from scratch.

  Sipping her tea, she looked around. They’d done a nice job. The walls had a lovely watery feel and gave the entire main living space a mellow vibe. Which was good, because the kitchen was Roaring Raspberry, the bedroom was Laughing Lavender, and the bathroom was Tahiti Tangerine. Totally wild, as were various bits of furniture pilfered from all over Witch Central. “Do you think Sierra’s brain will hurt when she walks into that bathroom in the morning?”

  Nell walked over, bearing grapes and cheese. “Dunno, but my girls are currently lobbying to be let loose on our house with paintbrushes, so I suspect I’m about to find out.”

  “Sorry.” Sophie winced in sympathy, trying not to look too amused. “They’ve done a great job here.”

  Nell shrugged. “It’s paint. If it’s really awful, I’ll teach Aervyn a color transmutation spell.”

  Nat blinked. “You can do that?”

  “It’s not a difficult spell.” Moira smiled. “But only one of our three lead decorators here is actually a witch, so this way, they all got to make a real contribution to Sierra’s new home.”

  Nat grinned. “Well then, can I either borrow the girls, or a witch who can keep a secret?” She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “Jamie thinks he painted the nursery orange, but it’s salmon pink, I swear.”

  Nell snickered. “I’ll come over tomorrow. There should be a law against salmon pink.”

  Any more opinions on Jamie’s painting skills were interrupted by Lauren. “What do you think? Do they look good from over there?”

  Sophie turned a little to see the display of pictures Lauren and Mia had just finished hanging. Jennie had dug up some negatives from an old trip to Hawaii, and the wall sang with color. “Wow. I so know where I want to go next time I get on a plane. Those are awesome pictures.” Not surprising, given a glorious location and the talents of a world-famous photographer.

  “I think we’re about finished too.” Caro stood up from an easy chair in the corner and stretched. She and Ginia had been piecing together the welcoming blanket—a huge, multicolored throw for Sierra’s bed, made up of almost a hundred hand-knit squares contributed by the witching community. The colors clashed, knitting skills seriously varied, and some witches clearly had only a vague idea of how big twelve inches was. It should have been an eyesore. It was gorgeous.

  Moira smiled. “It’s absolutely lovely. She’ll go to sleep at night cuddled under magic and love.”

  Sophie’s eyes misted, and she patted her belly. Normally welcoming blankets were made for babies—she’d sent her square for Nat’s little girl, and there was surely one underway for her Seedling, as well. But they hadn’t known about Sierra when she was born. It was good to know that no child was ever too old for a proper welcome.

  Caro folded the blanket neatly. “Nothing holds a candle to that throw you made, Moira. I’ve never seen anything knit that so resembled water.”

  “It was my Sophie who dyed the yarn for that one.”

  Sophie grinned. Aunt Moira had been an exacting taskmaster—they’d tried four batches before she’d been satisfied with the result.

  “Really, now.” Caro’s eyes gleamed. “And how might I go about getting some of that for my yarn store?”

  Sophie laughed. “I’ll need an apprentice.” She was
no dummy—every water witch on the continent was going to want some of that yarn. It was totally luscious.

  Nell laughed as hands shot in the air. “How about three?”

  Sophie had no idea when the triplets slept. They seemed to be involved in everything these days.

  “Does it require magic?” Nat touched the throw meditatively.

  Sophie’s eyebrows shot up. Nat wasn’t a knitter. Yarn shouldn’t call to her like that—unless she was nesting. And when someone was nine months pregnant, nesting only meant one thing. She reached out for Nat’s hand—and met Moira’s knowing eyes.

  Carefully, she dropped into healing scan, lightly following the energy strands linking mom to babe. The baby was fine, cocooned in the safety of a warm, dark womb and a room full of happiness.

  Everything okay? She heard Lauren’s mental question, lightly shaded with concern.

  Then she remembered Lauren had shields in place for the baby. Perhaps those were affecting her readings. “Can you drop the baby’s barriers for a minute? I want to have a quick listen.”

  “I can, but in this crowd, it might give her a headache.” Lauren grimaced. “I still can’t figure out how to teach her to barrier for herself. Every time we try, she just gets mad.”

  Moira chuckled. “Our little fire witch is throwing tantrums already, is she?”

  Nell snorted. “No surprise—she’s got a full set of Sullivan genes.” She winked at Nat. “Good thing you really love my brother. If there’s justice in the world, any child of his is going to be a handful.”

  Sophie leaned in as everyone laughed, still feeling a need to scan the baby.

  Nat grinned. “Didn’t you just check ten minutes ago?”

  Normally Sophie tried to avoid making those in her care feel like watched pots, but something was niggling at her. She nodded at Lauren—she wanted those barriers down.

  And when they came down, she knew why. This babe was preparing for arrival. She squeezed Nat’s hand gently. “It won’t be more than a few days now. She’s ready.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Devin set down the tray loaded with fast food. “Two burgers enough for you, or do you want more?”

  Sierra grinned. “I’ll let you know.”

  Fair enough. Witches were always hungry, and she’d blown a lot of magical calories on Govin’s pond. “You were pretty impressive out there today.”

  She grabbed a fry and scowled. “I didn’t ever figure out how to get ten funnels down.”

  “Govin says it can’t be done.”

  She shrugged. “Math is cool and all, but it can’t figure out everything.”

  Neither could magic. “Govin and TJ are pretty genius with that stuff.” He held up his hands. “Not saying they can’t be wrong, but not every problem has a solution.” And cripes, that made him sound really old.

  “What if it was real, and people were in trouble?” Her eyes were dark and serious. “Just because the computer can’t find a way doesn’t mean there isn’t one. We’d try to help.”

  Man. How had they turned their witch from reckless to carrying the weight of the world in less than a week? “Sure. But try is the important part. Weather can be big and mean, and magic can’t always fix it.” Devin had a fair amount of experience throwing magic at the impossible. He could see that same need in Sierra, and it worried him. “Govin and TJ save a lot of lives with the work they do.”

  “But not all of them.”

  “No.” And it took a special person to handle that kind of work on a daily basis.

  She suddenly looked young and very sad. “It’s all gotten so complicated.”

  “Weather’s always been complicated.” He tried to tread carefully. “You’ve got a lot of talent, but even a basic weather spell is pretty tricky.”

  She looked down, toying with her fries, but he could hear the tears in her voice. “I always thought spells were so much fun. Momma and I used to do so much magic together. It was like getting to play all day long.”

  “Not feeling like a game anymore, huh?” For some witches, it could be. But not one with Sierra’s power. At least, not all the time. And it sucked to be one of the people pushing that truth on the poor kid.

  She shook her head slowly. “No. Rules, and training circles, and problems that if we can’t solve them, people might die.”

  All true—but not the whole truth. If magic were nothing but a weight to carry, a lot more witches would have been kicking around the world seeking freedom with Amelia. There was something seriously wrong when Witch Central didn’t seem like any fun. Devin decided someone needed to be in charge of fixing that. “Wanna ride a broomstick?”

  Her giggles seemed to escape by accident. “What?”

  “Eat.” He levitated her burger. “Aervyn’s been trying to figure out how to fly on a broomstick like Harry Potter. We’re going back to Ocean’s Reach in a couple of days for another lesson.” He grinned. “You have to wear a cape and a pointy hat. Aervyn’s rules.”

  She shook her head, more giggles spilling out. “I don’t have a cape.”

  “That can be fixed.” He took a bite of his burger. “I think Mia has a pink princess one you could borrow.”

  She held out a French fry like a sword. “Over my dead body.”

  He considered for a moment. “Finish your food. Then we’ll go shopping.”

  More giggles. “For a cape?”

  “Yup.” It would solve two problems. One, Berkeley thrift stores were like a trip to an alien world—Sierra couldn’t help but have fun. And two, it would keep them busy for another hour. If he delivered Sierra to her new apartment before 7 p.m., the decorating squad would be very displeased.

  ~ ~ ~

  “You don’t have to walk me up.” Sierra grinned at Devin. “I know the way.”

  “I do so. Honorary-big-brother handbook, section 23.2.”

  She still wasn’t entirely clear how she’d acquired a big brother. But she’d never forget where. They’d been in the third thrift store of the evening, trying to complete the set of Ugliest Dishes in the World. He insisted she’d need them to feed him properly. Apparently little sisters cooked for their big brothers. Also in the handbook.

  Devin set several bags down in front of her door with an exaggerated sigh. “Girls always buy too much stuff.”

  “Ha. You’re the one who picked the bowls with the cute painted pink pigs.” She was slowly getting the hang of this little sister gig.

  “Those are not cute pigs. They’re totally ugly. I so won the contest.”

  “Did not. The ones with the guy in the kilt were way uglier.”

  His eyes lit with victory. “Yeah, but you didn’t actually buy those.”

  Well, that was true.

  He elbowed her. “You’re not supposed to let me get the last word in. Little-sister handbook, section 17.8.”

  She needed to have a serious chat with Nell about this sister stuff. Sierra dug in her bag for her new set of keys, a bit wistful the night was over. It was nice to have her own place. It was just kind of… empty. Literally—she had three cups and one folding chair. Shrugging off the tugs of sadness, she picked up one of the bags. At least she had dishes now. And a Superman cape.

  Devin pushed the door open, and she nudged her way inside. A strange noise caught her attention—and then sound exploded from the walls. “SURPRISE!!!”

  Sierra tried to get her racing heart under control, astonished she was still clutching the bag of dishes.

  “Oops. We forgot to turn on the lights.” Ginia’s voice came out of the dark, followed by some thunking and cursing and a lot of giggling. Then light flooded the room.

  Wow. Just. Wow.

  There were people everywhere. And stuff. Couches, and pictures, and pretty lights. It looked like a room out of a magazine. Ginia bounced over, her sisters half a step behind. “Do you like it?” She looked up in concern at Sierra’s face. “If you don’t, we can change it—honest.”

  Sierra felt the happiness in the room dim—and bel
atedly realized she was the cause. She tried to find her words. “For me? You did this for me?” She cuddled her dishes in inarticulate joy. Only Momma had ever loved her like this.

  “Come sit down, dear,” said a voice from the couch. “We’ve overwhelmed you. Come—there’s a bit of space right here by me.”

  Devin took her bags and gently nudged her dysfunctional feet in the direction of the voice. She sank down into the couch between Nell and the older woman she remembered from her last visit to the Witches’ Lounge. Moira.

  “Welcome to your new home, darling girl.” Moira smiled, deep welcome in her eyes. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but you look just like your mama. You have her twinkling eyes and those same hands that are always moving. Your mama could tell a story just with her hands.”

  And with those words, memory drilled into Sierra. Momma’s hands painting pictures in the night shadows, telling one more tale before they drifted into sleep. Tears spilled over even as she felt herself cuddled into a warm shoulder.

  “Let them out, sweetheart.” It came as a gentle command. “The Irish have always believed tears are a blessing.”

  She cried. And when she finished, wiped her eyes, and looked up, discovered half the room had cried along with her. Somehow, that felt just fine.

  She took a moment, appreciating the home they’d made for her. Her hands traveled over the soft fabric of the biggest couch in the universe. Ginia grinned. “It’s called The Monster. It used to be Uncle Jamie’s.”

  Sierra sniffled. “It’s totally gorgeous.”

  “Ugh.” Jamie groaned, eyes twinkling. “Don’t insult The Monster. He’s already feeling all dolled up and girly.”

  Ginia stuck out her tongue. “Maybe The Monster’s really a girl.” Then she doubled over laughing as both her uncles started tickling her ribs.

  They were so goofy. And it was a totally awesome couch. Sierra reached out again, running her hands along The Monster’s curves—and her fingers touched magic. The knitted throw was beautiful, but that’s not what had called to her. She wrapped her hands in the soft folds, letting her power hum with delight. “What is this?”