An Unlikely Witch

by Debora Geary

  Clearly the crystal ball was right. This was going to be a journey.

  Nat looked around Sophie’s cozy herbals room, eyes lighting with a touch of amusement—and something deeper. “I wonder how many women through history have come to a room just like this one, asking what I’m about to ask.”

  Too many. But not all of them came with such courage—and not all of them got their heart’s wish met. “The things that call to our souls haven’t changed so much through the ages.”

  Sophie’s eyes were gentle. “Well, they mostly came for love potions, but I don’t imagine that’s why you’re here.”

  “No.” Nat looked down into her tea. Breathing. Centering.

  The two healers gave her the space to do so. Very few patients were as capable of getting their own hearts ready as Nat Sullivan. When she finally looked up, the entire room exhaled. “We’ve been trying to have a baby, and it’s not working. I’m hoping you can help.”

  It was far more than just a baby—and yet, in so many ways, exactly and only that. Moira kept still—she would cry tears in her garden later for a blessing that hadn’t found its time just yet. It would take younger, more powerful hands to do the work now.

  “We can try,” said Sophie quietly. “You know your body well. What have you done already?”

  “Herbs,” said Nat promptly. “Some teas. Meditation and breathing, and some energy alignment work. Some small changes in what I eat.”

  All things they would have tried in the first few months. Which made their job both easier and harder.

  “Those are all smart.” Sophie had slid on her calm-and-competent-healer persona. “Keep doing them. Have you tried taking your temperature in the mornings to track your cycle?”

  Moira listened to the ebb and flow as a skilled and humble healer began the process of partnering with a patient who knew her energies, her body, and her needs extremely well. It was a beautiful thing to hear, and it gave an old witch hope. She waited until Sophie glanced her way, seeking anything that might have been missed. And made her small offering. “I’ve not got so much strength with my teas anymore, but young Ginia has a fine hand. We could put our heads together and create a blend for you.”

  “No.” The word shot out of their visitor.

  Sophie’s face stayed calm, but her hands had fairly leaped with surprise. “She’s a skilled healer.”

  “I know.” Nat’s eyes were soft and pained, but her voice was crystal clear. “It’s not that. It’s just—I know this is anything but certain. And she got my name. For the holidays. She’s looking to make a special wish come true for me. I won’t have her feeling responsible for this one.”

  Sophie’s breath caught on the same knife edge that sliced Moira’s heart. Their young healer couldn’t possibly leave such a dream lying at the side of the road. Not with the fighting, generous heart she had been born with.

  They would have to heal without her this time.

  Moira prepared her own shoulders for the load instead. An old witch still had a few tricks left. And the image of a wee small boy in her heart, asking her to use them.

  -o0o-

  Lauren settled into a back booth at Romano’s, very happy to see Nat—and edgy, too. They very rarely had secrets between them. Stupid orb.

  “They have a new salad for the Christmas season. Lots of green and red stuff.” Nat spoke without looking up from her menu.

  Crap. Whatever had exploded yesterday was clearly still front and center. Lauren stuck to the salad theme until she had a better idea. “I don’t come here to eat rabbit food.” And neither did her best friend, even if she did contemplate the menu every single time. Not necessarily with this much focus, though.

  Lauren waited. Nat sometimes needed time. And Witch Central knew it, which was why they were waiting as patiently as they could to find out what the hell was going on.

  One realtor with a crystal ball in her living room was terribly afraid she knew.

  “I just got back from Fisher’s Cove.” The words were quiet, but her friend’s head had finally tipped up from the menu. Eyes shuttered, mind a strange mix of lost and determined.

  Damn. They were going to need a lot of noodles for this. “What’s going on, Nat?”

  “A lot of stuff. Let’s order, okay?”

  It wasn’t deflection, exactly, just a plea to let this come out slowly. Lauren traced the letters on the front of the embossed menu. Not a problem—she could talk inanity with the best of them. Core realtor skill. “I know what I’m having. Did you raid Aaron’s kitchen?” That would cut down how many orders of noodles they needed.

  “Yes.” Nat smiled. “But I brought it back for dinner, so I’m still ready to eat.”

  “That’s some legendary self-control.” Aaron’s culinary skills rivaled Romano’s.

  “I’d be in big trouble if I ate it all. He made tree soup for Kenna.”

  The only witchling on either coast who voluntarily ate green things. Lauren’s radar dinged louder. If Aaron was going out of his way to make Nat’s little girl happy, something was definitely up—and Fisher’s Cove knew it. “Well, nobody will arm wrestle her for that.” Broccoli was a dirty word in most of Witch Central.

  The waitress came and took their order. Lauren gave hers on autopilot, still trying to feel her way into the mess brewing on the other side of the table. She wrapped her arms around her ribs and squinted out the window at the warm rays of California sun. So weird. She was still wired for snow in December.

  And dammit, snow wasn’t a safe conversation right now, either.

  Something whacked into the glass right beside their heads. Lauren jumped—and then goggled. “Whoa. That’s a really big… something.” A humongous pole with a star on top. Followed by a guy holding a statue of a dude in a turban.

  Nat turned around, watching the odd procession making its way past the window.

  The sheep probably should have clued them in—but it wasn’t until the shepherds that Lauren’s brain, short on noodles and long on coffee, finally got into gear. “That is one monster nativity scene.” The sheep were the size of small wooly mammoths.

  The shepherds came next, and then something that looked like a horse with humps, but was probably meant to be a camel. And then an angel with wings that put everyone in a ten-foot radius in jeopardy.

  Lauren grinned at Nat, grateful for the nutty streets of Berkeley, especially when they cheered up her best friend. “I wonder where they’re taking it.” Witch Central loved field trips to the absurdly adorable.

  Three kids came next, carrying a manger big enough for Paul Bunyan. And then a little girl, holding a doll wrapped in swaddling clothes almost as big as she was.

  Nat looked carefully back down at her menu, her mind blazing with sad grief.

  Oh, hell. Lauren reached across the table, feeling entirely helpless. “Talk to me.”

  “I peed on a stick yesterday. I’m not pregnant.”

  The hope that Lauren had been carrying around tightly since their magical swim in the ocean shattered. “Oh, God. I’m so freaking sorry.” And those were such meaningless words.

  “It happens every month.” Nat looked up again, eyes shining with grief and frustration and something that almost looked like fury. “I don’t know why this one’s tearing me up worse, but it is.”

  A quiet, communal working of watery magic probably hadn’t helped any. Guilt kicked Lauren hard in the ribs. “It’s so unfair.” And at this time of year, so damnably harsh. She scrabbled around for something to say—and remembered where the conversation had started. Grasping at straws, she latched onto the strength that lived in every breath of an old Irish witch. “You went to see Moira?”

  “And Sophie.”

  Healing. Panic punched in under the guilt. “You think there’s something wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” Nat’s eyes were steady now, and something far more sturdy was taking hold in her mind. “But I’ve been as patient as I know how to be. It’s time to try something differ
ent.”

  Such insane strength. As Lauren looked deep into her best friend, it was the raw courage that shone brightest. And she knew it was time for the words she’d been holding back for several days. Time to lay the orb’s infernal message down on hope’s side of the scale. “My crystal ball’s gotten chatty again.”

  Nat shook her head a little, confused.

  Lauren ignored the grumpy thought that hadn’t been said. “It showed me a picture of you.” Her throat caught. “And the little boy you’re waiting for. The snowman scene from Jamie’s vision.”

  Nat gaped—and all that came out was one sad, shaky word. “Why?”

  “I think it’s sending a message.” Berkeley’s best negotiator leaned forward, determined to make her point. And hoping fervently it was the right one. “I don’t think this is over yet, Nat.”

  The bright, shiny courage across the table held very still. And then quivered and glowed a little stronger.

  Lauren resolutely squashed the naysayers in her head. To hell with other reasons a senile old globe might have come out of retirement. For now, she was just going to steadfastly believe it had decided to become the world’s earliest pregnancy test.

  -o0o-

  Dev sat down and waited for Jamie and Nell to settle. It didn’t take long—he’d shared the bare details when he called them.

  Lauren had texted. Nat knew what the orb had said, and now it was time to tell the rest.

  Not for comfort, although he hoped mightily that’s what it had been for his sister-in-law. This was a council of war.

  Nell stood over by the window, looking down at the innocent ball of glass that was throwing gasoline on an already raging fire. “You’re positive we shouldn’t just send this thing to the moon? Pretty sure I know the kid who can get it done.”

  “It’s just the messenger,” said Jamie quietly. “And I’m not sure what it has to say really changes anything.”

  Nell met Dev’s eyes over the back of the couch. That didn’t sound like a guy ready to do battle. She walked forward, taking a casual seat on the coffee table in front of Jamie. “It’s already changed things. It got our attention.” She glanced over at Devin, eyes grim. “And maybe if we’d known sooner, Nat wouldn’t have been alone when crap hit.”

  He didn’t miss the accusation in her tone. Two of them had known, and they hadn’t shared. Devin shrugged. He had big shoulders, and he was damn well throwing them in front of anyone trying to point fingers at his wife—she wasn’t in much better shape than her best friend. “We did what we thought was right.”

  “It wasn’t your decision to make. Nat’s a grown-up, not one of our kids.”

  “Nobody said she wasn’t.” Dev kept his voice low and as non-violent as he could. “But how easily do you throw out words that will put your best friend into turmoil? How come some oversized marble gets to decide what day Lauren has to wreck someone’s happiness?” He had plenty of rage, but they needed to aim at the right target.

  Whatever that was.

  “Stop.” Jamie’s voice cut through the words they were jabbing at each other instead of at the enemy nobody could see. “We all make decisions like that every day.” He swallowed. “And if Moira’s little stunt out in the ocean had worked, staying quiet would have absolutely been the right call.”

  Nell’s eyes narrowed. “What stunt?”

  Jamie shrugged, looking over at his brother. “Ask him. I just caught the barest hint of it.”

  Crap. “It was really awesome out there. Nat was floating on her back thinking all this awesome womb-of-the-mother stuff, and we were all connected. Moira added a blessing. That’s all.”

  “Damn.” Nell’s eyes softened. “She loves that little boy as much as any of us.”

  Yeah. Devin sucked in a harsh breath. That was the real elephant in this room. He looked at Jamie, letting everything he felt ride on his face. He understood, better than anyone, how the ocean could toss the small things that dared to ride on its surface. “I’m so freaking sorry.”

  “Nat feels like a failure,” said Jamie, voice cracking into a hundred pieces. “And I have no idea how to convince her she isn’t.”

  As a unit, Nell and Devin stormed the couch, bookended their brother and leaned in, doing their damnedest to take away even the tiniest part of what hurt him and the woman they both loved like a sister.

  He took a breath. “She’s doing better today. This morning she disappeared to her studio for a couple of hours.”

  Working through the pain. Dev winced. Smart, brave—and it killed his brother that she’d done it alone.

  Jamie stared down at random patterns in the pillow under his elbow. And then looked at the two of them, eyes full of pride. “Then she went to Fisher’s Cove. To see Moira and Sophie.”

  Devin clenched his fists, aching for Nat—and holding tight to something he knew how to do. One of their own had chosen to fight. He looked at Nell and spoke for both of them. “If they need anything. Or if she does or you do. Cookies. Someone to distract Kenna. My bottle-cap collection.”

  Nell poked a finger in his ribs. “I have a kitchen full of dirty dishes.”

  He hit her with a pillow, mostly managing not to deck Jamie in the process. “You have a house full of pesky children. Don’t any of them have arms that work?”

  She snorted. “They’re too busy eating my cookies. A bad habit they picked up from their uncles.”

  They both eyed Jamie to see if their Stooges act was getting them anywhere. He managed a smile.

  It was a start. The success of their comedy didn’t matter. All that really mattered was that he saw the long line of people forming beside him and Nat. Starting with the two of them in the room.

  It would be a mile deep by sundown.

  Chapter 8

  Apparently, she was going to have a full kitchen today. Moira looked up as Lauren blew through her back door. “Good morning, and welcome. Come have some tea with us.”

  Her newest visitor raised an eyebrow at the one already sitting at her table. “It’s the crack of dawn. Why aren’t we all sleeping?”

  Nell chuckled. “I have five kids. What’s your excuse?”

  The same one that had all of them here at her table. Moira poured another cup of her spicy Solstice blend and waited for Lauren to shrug out of her outer garments. “You came to deliver Nat, I assume?” Sophie had scheduled their first scanning session for today.

  “Yeah.” Lauren slid into a chair and made a face at the tea. “She wanted to come alone and Jamie wanted to glue himself to her side. It was the best deal we could come up with.” She glanced over at Nell. “Your brother has a hard head when he wants to.”

  Moira hid a smile. Nell had more than one brother who met that description. “He’ll not want Nat to go through this alone.” She sighed, her heart aching for the man who had once been a small, cuddly boy. “And he’ll not understand just yet that she’ll need to walk some of this journey by herself. There’s none lonelier.”

  Nell’s foot scuffed the floor. “It shouldn’t have to be.”

  But it was, and Nat didn’t need the combined weight of the Sullivan warriors trying to convince her otherwise. “We all have our things to bear alone. For all the support and love you have, no one else knows what it is to be Aervyn’s mother. There is a piece of that you hold alone and always will.”

  Denial flashed in Nell’s eyes. And then as Moira watched, truth landed behind it. Followed by empathy. And then, after a long pause—gratitude. She reached forward, taking the warrior witch’s hands in her own. “Did you think no one knew, lovely one?”

  Strong blue eyes met hers and managed a smile. “Daniel knows.”

  Nell’s husband was a marvel. “Of course he does. But he’s not the only one. And for as long as my kitchen is here, you will have a place to come when the loneliness of what you carry gets too much.”

  Lauren shifted on the other side of the table.

  Moira let her be. It was important that she listen. Her time woul
d come, both to bear the loneliness and to heal it at her own table. But that day wasn’t yet.

  Nell nodded almost imperceptibly. Acknowledging many things.

  Moira smiled. There were those who thought their warrior witch wore her strength on the outside. Far fewer knew of the layers of quiet courage underneath, or how well she saw what was true. Aervyn had chosen his parents so very wisely.

  “Nat knows how to walk alone.” Quiet fury stormed in Lauren’s eyes. “She did it every day she lived in her parents’ home. She shouldn’t have to do it again.”

  So young yet. Moira shifted her gaze, preparing yet another light dusting of truth for the woman who would one day walk in the matriarch’s shoes. “Walking alone isn’t your journey, my dear. But it has been Natalia’s, and perhaps she isn’t entirely done with it yet.” Which didn’t sit entirely well on an old witch’s bones either, but Moira had learned a little about railing at the fates. “You are both magnificent witches, and lovely souls. Nat is very fortunate to have you for friends.”

  Two sets of eyebrows rose.

  She chuckled. And finished what she had to say. “She will need you. But pick your battles wisely. They’re not all meant to be won. And not all yours to fight.”

  Lessons a certain Irish granny needed to remember more than most.

  -o0o-

  Nat settled into Sophie’s couch, remembering all too well the last time she’d done this. It had been exactly this time of year, the room had smelled of the same light blend of vanilla and citrus, and she’d been as big and ungainly as a house. As she recalled, she hadn’t let Jamie come that day either. Which had been a mistake—it had taken three people to extract her pregnant self from the very squooshy seat.

  That wouldn’t be a problem today.

  The healer reached out a gentle hand. “We can do this somewhere else if you like.”

  “No.” The answer came easily. “This is where you work.” And there were good memories here, too. The first time she’d put on a stethoscope and heard Kenna’s heartbeat. The bladder-jiggling laughter when her unborn daughter had kicked a plate of rich, chocolatey brownies off her belly. The first trip she’d made together with her tiny baby girl in the cold days of January—and they’d both promptly fallen asleep curled up under a blanket on the couch.