by Debora Geary
Well, that got to her topic of the morning pretty quickly. “Yes, Adam’s my son.”
“He’s gorgeous.” Cass poured a second mug of tea from the cozy pot sitting in the middle of the table. “He seemed to like the music.”
Sophie felt a lump rising in her throat. “He loved it. He’s never that peaceful in a crowd. Usually we’re outside walking the road with him.” She could sense Aaron’s attention—still stirring his pots, but he was listening now.
So many people quietly worried about her little boy.
“Lots of babies like the music.” Cass smiled. “My mum says my nan used to play me to sleep when I was teething. Says it worked better than bourbon.”
Well, those were two things they’d never tried with Adam. Sophie wrapped her hands around the warm mug, debating how carefully to tread. “Perhaps there was magic in your nan’s music, too.”
“Maybe so.” Cass smiled, taking the words at face value and missing the question underneath. “Or maybe your Adam will play the fiddle one day.”
She was pushing too hard. Sophie took a breath and tried to relax. The mystery didn’t need to be solved today—it was enough of a gift that it existed at all. “If you play again while you’re here, I hope you don’t mind if we sneak in to listen.” Probably with half the village in tow. They had a few locals who could put together a passable evening of music, but Cass had grizzled old fishermen talking of angels.
“I play every day.” Their visitor stood up, her eyes glued to the scones Aaron had just pulled out of the oven. “Particularly if it earns me one of those.”
Aaron chuckled. “The Sea Trance Inn feeds you whether you play or not.”
Cass winked at Sophie and shrugged. “And I play whether anyone listens or not, but you and the babe are welcome anytime. If he’s restless, bring him on by and I’ll see if I have my nan’s touch.”
The easy generosity was irresistible, even to someone who normally made friends slowly. “If it does, can I sign my husband up for violin lessons?”
“Not in my inn.” Aaron’s eyes were merry as he set two plates down on the table. “I’ve heard Mike sing. He’s as tone deaf as a rock.”
“Rocks aren’t tone deaf.”
It was an offhand comment, said by a guest staring in deep pleasure at a steaming scone. And it tickled the small hairs on the back of Sophie’s neck. Sometimes healers had to venture into the unknown with nothing but those tickles guiding them. “The rocks like your music?”
“Mostly.” Cass looked up, eyes less glazed by baked goods now. “My nan says the planet listens better than most people, at least if you’ve got something worthwhile to say.”
A lifetime of conversations with Moira, and Sophie had learned to hear what hadn’t quite been said. “Your grandmother is an earth witch.”
A noncommittal shrug. “That’s a word that means something different on this side of the waters, I think.”
Maybe not as much as their guest thought. With casual hands, Sophie reached for the vase of flowers tucked behind the sugar bowl and teased out a bud that was still closed. A little morning glory needing just the lightest touch of magic to open its purple face to the sky.
Sophie smiled and sent it a gentle apology—the sky wasn’t so hospitable at this time of year.
“Ah.” Cass breathed out quietly. “Yes, my nan can do that, but most of our other healers can’t.”
“Not all healers are earth witches. Lizzie is primarily a water witch, although she’s got enough earth magic to bloom a flower or two.”
“That fits.” Cass nodded. “She doesn’t dance like an earth witch.”
That was interesting. “She’s unusual. We think she might yet develop earth magics. Often one kind of power developing can tug on others, especially when the witch is young.”
“I didn’t know that was possible.” Their guest looked at her uneaten scone. “I’ve been away from the magic a long time.”
Sophie wasn’t so sure of that. But her instincts were tickling again. There were times to push—and times to back away gently. Whatever flowed beneath the surface here, it wasn’t a simple conversation over scones. She topped up both their mugs of tea. “I think we can eat without burning our tongues now.”
Cass grinned. “It would hardly be the first time I’ve scalded a body part or two. Nan used to say I had the patience of a three-year-old boy in a mile-long line for the outhouse.”
That was the most apt description of Sean that Sophie had ever heard. “We have one or two like that here.” Fortunately, Fisher’s Cove no longer sported very many outhouses. She smiled at their guest. One more thing to find out before she put up her detective shield for the day. “How long are you staying?”
“Not sure. A few nights, maybe a week.”
The casual words of a traveler. Sophie tried not to protest—ten hours of straight sleep deserved better than that. She picked up her scone and took a bite.
And watched bliss hit Cass’s face as she did the same.
Sophie grinned and made a little wish. It wouldn’t be the first time Aaron’s cooking had turned someone’s short visit into a much longer stay.
-o0o-
Someone had cleared out all traces of pink bunny from his keep. Marcus looked around—only one Realm player had that kind of power.
The one who had created them in the first place.
“She’s still eating lunch,” said an amused voice from over by the tree.
Marcus raised a reflexive shield and then relaxed it again. If The Wizard had meant to behead or bespell him, it would have happened already. In the gaming world, Nell Walker took very few prisoners. He glared her general direction. “I thought we were dueling.” Morgan was napping under Lizzie’s careful watch. He didn’t have all day.
Nell’s eyes flashed, mostly with humor. “Want a fight, do you?”
No. He was simply here to honor his commitments. “I heard the old guard was coming out to play. Someone has to teach the younglings to keep their shields up.”
The Wizard’s robe glittered.
Marcus snorted—some things never changed. Nell had always been more than willing to blow game points on flagrant displays of nothing useful. “Parlor tricks.”
“Says the guy whose game points have probably molded from lack of use.” The robe was doing something fancy and swirly now.
“Some of us have children to raise.” Belatedly, Marcus remembered who he was talking to. “All of yours know better than to eat carpet fuzz or feed dirt to the kitty.” Morgan had been very insistent and Hecate had been very unimpressed.
“Yup.” The Wizard leaned back against a sturdy tree. “My life is all leisure and sunshine.”
He didn’t want to know what trouble they got into past the age of two. “You’ve got time to duel.”
She grinned. “Kevin asked nicely. What’s your excuse?”
He had no earthly idea. “Who recruited Daniel?” There weren’t that many kids in the witch-only levels, and most of them weren’t nearly smart enough to find the tough old librarian, much less convince him to don his gaming shoes.
Unease entered The Wizard’s eyes. “Moira.”
Oh, hell. “How is it she’s become one of the more frightening denizens of Realm?” A couple of years ago, his aunt had needed assistance to find the Internet at all.
“Never underestimate the Irish, I guess.”
Or old and sneaky witches. Marcus leaned against a neighboring tree. And hoped like heck that his partner had a plan.
The Wizard dimmed her robe, parlor games over. “How’s it going with your visitor?”
Marcus turned a sharp eye on the fields of his keep. “Where?”
Nell snorted beside him. “Brown curly hair, green eyes, small talent with a fiddle?”
Oh. That visitor. “She’s not my anything. She’s a guest at the inn.” One whose music had the entire village chattering and his daughter trying to dance like the fleet-footed Lizzie. Which so far had only bruised her botto
m and her ego.
“There really is life beyond parenting,” said his companion quietly.
Marcus blinked. That had sounded entirely too much like empathy. “I’m aware of that.”
“Good.” Nell pushed away from the tree. “Then let’s head to town so I can crush you and that upstart daughter of mine into dust.”
That was more like it. Marcus grabbed his sword, suddenly very glad to be back in Realm.
A world with simple rules. And empty of Irish witches who walked through life with a head of easy joy.
Chapter 10
Such haste, these young people. Moira smiled at her magical pool’s latest arrival.
Nell slid into the warm waters, slightly out of breath. “Okay, gimme the scoop. I only have about ten minutes.”
That was plenty of time for a nice soak and catching up on the latest gossip, too. The chatter had been flowing thick and fast this morning, and it wasn’t all about their new arrival’s magic fingers. “She’s lovely, our Cass.”
Nell snorted. “She’s smoking hot and probably has guys falling at her feet all over the continent.”
That was likely true as well. “Her beauty shines, but I was more speaking of her heart. She’s made friends with half the village already.”
“Only half?” Sophie had settled in contentment on the other side of the pool.
It was a good point. Most people in Fisher’s Cove were smart enough to befriend a good Irish lass when they had the chance. “She shared her music.” Even leathery old fishermen had found Cass’s fiddle hard to resist.
“She calls magic while she plays.” Sophie’s hands were no longer content, their restless motions shaping and reshaping the ripples on the water’s surface.
Ah. Moira had wondered. “It calmed wee Adam.”
“He slept all night.” Sophie’s breath hitched. “I need to know what she’s doing.”
Nell’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, you mean she calls real magic?”
“Yes. Mike felt it most strongly, and his tightest affinities are rocks and metals.” Sophie’s eyes held aching sadness now—and hope. A mother pleading. “She knows how to help my son.”
Moira wished it was the hope she could feed. “Our Cass was named for her grandmother’s clan. The Cassidy bloodline has the old magics. Some hear voices in the wind. Others can sense the sun or the rain.” And had been tormented for their inability to control any of it.
“Old magics?” Despair leaked into Sophie’s voice. “Those are unpredictable. Hard to control.”
And very rare. “Aye.” Moira would have given her soul for it to be different. Adam was hers, too.
“I don’t understand,” said Nell quietly.
“Well then, you didn’t pay enough attention in witch history.” Moira knew her voice was overly brisk—something had to fight back the tears. “The ancient powers are fickle. Hard to possess and very difficult to call to your bidding. They can’t be taught—a precious few are simply born with them.”
“Cass’s magic likely doesn’t respond to her in the way we’re used to.” Sophie sounded almost bitter. “And she’s only here for a few days.”
“Ah.” Warrior light jumped into Nell’s eyes, but her words stayed gentle. “Then do what you do best.”
“What do you mean?” Sophie’s fists clenched under the water.
“Take small, persistent steps.” Nell’s kindness filled the tub. “And be brave enough to hope.”
Tears dripped from Sophie’s eyes—but the words had been the right ones. Moira felt her heart fill. Her time might be waning, but the witching community was in very good hands. And she wasn’t entirely done yet. “I do believe you’re not the only one who wants Cass to stay a while. Young Kevin is enchanted with her violin, and I’d venture the faeries have whispered in the ear of my nephew as well.”
The mention of Marcus and faeries had the desired effect—her two companions glanced at each other, amused and skeptical.
Nell rolled her eyes. “I don’t think he’s going to be much help. Kevin can be quietly persuasive, though.”
He could indeed—and they had one other very powerful card to play. “She’s also lonely.”
Sophie frowned. “I didn’t get that from her at all. She makes friends as easily as she breathes.”
“Aye.” An old witch knew that sometimes even a wealth of friends couldn’t block a lonely heart. “She’s walked the road alone for a very long time.” Just like the Irish bards of yore. A soul with a singular purpose. And like her soul’s ancestors, maybe her feet tired—and turned toward hearth and home.
Something Fisher’s Cove had in abundance.
Sophie was quiet, thinking. “She is tired. I thought she just needed a little downtime.”
“Perhaps.” Honesty forced the simple acknowledgement. “But she came to us and we’ve welcomed her. I’m very much wondering what Cassidy Farrell will do if we keep holding out our hands.” Moira smoothed the rocks beside her, conscious of the magic that lived in their depths.
A magic their Irish visitor heard very well.
And then she felt something odd under her fingers. Moira looked down and gladdened—perhaps the rocks weren’t entirely done with their efforts just yet, either. “Ah, well now. Isn’t that interesting.”
Sophie looked confused.
It was a small crack—but a crack nonetheless. Moira traced the fracture line running down the granite that shaped her pool. “I do believe my wee tub has sprung a leak.”
Nell leaned over to look. “Huh. I’ll page my fire witch—he could use something to burn off his energy.”
Moira adored her small boy of the mighty magic, but he wasn’t the answer this time. “Thank you, Nell, but not today. This is for us to fix, I think.” Earth magics ran strong in Fisher’s Cove, and they could use a good day’s work.
Perhaps aided by a visitor who knew how to hear the rocks.
Nell’s eyes clouded—and then she caught up. You’re a very sneaky witch.
Moira only smiled. Not nearly as sneaky as whatever force in the universe had managed to crack her pool.
-o0o-
“Come on, Uncle Marcus—it’s an emergency!” Kevin tap-danced on the edge of the porch, a rare level of urgent in his voice.
Marcus scooped up Morgan, still bundled in fifteen layers from her morning walk, and pulled the door shut behind them. He hurried to catch up with his scurrying guide. “Who’s hurt?”
“No one. Sorry.” Kevin slowed down, looking shamefaced. “It’s not that kind of emergency. There’s a leak in Aunt Moira’s pool. Mike says one of the rocks wiggled and we need all the earth witches pronto.”
Hecate’s hells. Marcus scowled down at the unfortunate messenger. “I have about three whiffs of earth magic.” Until last winter, he’d been entirely unaware he had any. “I can barely bloom a flower.” Perhaps a little more than that now, but still.
Kevin looked concerned. “Mike said everyone.”
“Then tell him to send for help from the west.” Marcus turned in the gate of the inn, sighing. “I’ll go see if I can help with Adam.” Both his parents were earth witches of some repute—they might actually be useful.
“Lizzie’s got Adam, and Aaron said you can drop off Morgan, too.” Kevin hopped from one leg to the other and then held out his arms. “Here, I’ll take her. You’re kinda slow.”
Marcus sighed again. Why did the young ones always think life had to be negotiated at light speed? He handed Morgan over and headed for Moira’s garden, steps quickening. Maybe Mike needed a full circle to fix whatever had broken—and however loathe he might be to admit it, that pool was the best thing in Fisher’s Cove.
He rounded the corner and ran into Sean barreling in from the beach, eyes huge. “What’s going on, Uncle Marcus?”
Marcus caught the speedster just before he leaped over the fence. “Jump there and you’ll squish Aunt Moira’s prize roses.” And as he remembered from long-ago experience, her roses were well equipped to fight
back.
“Oops.” Sean looked mildly abashed. “I guess we should use the gate.”
Given that it was only about four feet away, that seemed prudent. Marcus gave the rickety old boards a push and followed Sean through at a somewhat more sedate pace. He could already see the collected group at the pool, and no one looked to be panicking just yet.
Then Mike stepped to the side—and Marcus spied their Irish visitor’s dark hair. Loose in the cold wind, her shoulders already hunching up.
Silly woman.
He yanked the thick wool toque off his own head, marched over to the gathered witches, and jammed it down on hers. “Canadian winters require a little more care than whatever you’re used to.”
The mental reactions of the small group ranged from dismay to giving him a good swift kick in the head. Cass had none of those. She tipped her head, watching him with her murky green eyes. “Thank you for that. Your daughter took a liking to my hat, and I haven’t had a chance to replace it yet.”
Damnation. Morgan had come home wearing a new one several sizes too big. He’d assumed one of the women of the village had knit it for her. “She doesn’t need it—I’ll have it back to you as soon as we’re done with whatever infernal emergency this is.”
“It was a gift, freely given.” Now the green eyes chastised. “A bit big just yet, but she’ll grow into it. I already have some lovely yarn to knit another.”
She knit, she meddled, and she stood her ground.
All wildly undesirable traits in his world, no matter what his innards thought. But the last year had forced some modicum of manners into his life, wanted or not. “I’ll apologize, then. And thank you for keeping my girl’s ears warm.”
It warmed his own overly much when she grinned, clearly forgiving him. Marcus shoved his hands in his pockets and wished for a transport spell. Anywhere else would do.
Anywhere at all.
“Ahem.” Mike cleared his throat, clearly amused. “If you two are done discussing wooly hats, perhaps we can get on with things?”
Embarrassment crept farther up Marcus’s neck. “What exactly has gone wrong?”
“A wee crack.” Moira spoke up from closest to the pool. “One of the foundation rocks has shifted a stitch, according to young Sean here.”
