by Debora Geary
And still, Nat’s heart ached for what she was about to do.
But she found herself holding one thing very tightly. Growing up, no one had respected Natalia Smythe. She’d been dismissed because she was a small, blonde child. No matter what happened on this couch, on this day, Ginia was going to know she was loved.
And she was going to know that she had Auntie Nat’s total respect.
Ginia set down the lemonade she’d fetched from the kitchen and took her place on the other end of the cozy sofa, eyes curious. “Are you okay?”
It was an easy question—and a really hard one. “I think so. I’m working on it.”
“Do you need me to help with something?”
Nat took a moment, preparing her words carefully. “I’m going to ask for your help with something really big. But I don’t want you to answer until you’ve heard the other stuff I have to say because it’s really important. It matters a lot to me that you don’t decide until you hear it all.”
Blue eyes watched her intently now. Ginia nodded slowly.
So hard. Nat held that gaze and reminded herself of the most important things. Love and respect—the two rails that would keep this train from going somewhere awful. “You know about the little boy and the snowman.”
“Uh, huh.” Soft words, and quickly calculating ones. “You and Uncle Jamie have been waiting a really long time for him.”
She was going to make this easy. “Yeah, we have.” Nat breathed again. “Sophie’s been trying to help us, to see if there might be something she can change or fix so it might be easier for me to get pregnant.”
“I thought it might be that,” said Ginia quietly, her face scrunching up a little. “She had some bitterroot tincture on her table. She doesn’t usually have that unless she’s doing a really tricky scan.”
Already, damage to repair. “I know you wanted to help too.”
Anger flashed in clear blue eyes. “You asked them to keep it a secret.”
She had. And she wasn’t going to stop owning that choice now. “Can I tell you why I did that?”
A head nodded, but the anger wasn’t entirely gone.
Where to start. “I was scared, sweetie. This is a really big thing to deal with, and I didn’t want you to have to deal with it too.”
“That’s not fair.” Ginia’s face was a study in fierceness. “I deal with lots of things. I’m not just a kid.”
“I know that.” Nat looked at her niece and pushed love out, front and center. “But I’m not dealing with this very well. It’s that big and scary and hard. And I thought you might feel extra responsible for finding and fixing whatever’s wrong.”
She could see the moment when one very smart head connected the dots. “Because I have your name. For the holiday gift.” Ginia’s eyes got wet, and she looked at Nat and shook her head. “That was really silly, you know.”
That wasn’t the way she’d expected this to go. “Why?”
Ginia swiped at her cheeks. “Because I love you really much. I’d have wanted to help with this no matter what.”
Nat stared, entirely humbled by incontrovertible eleven-year-old logic.
“So.” Ginia sniffled, but her smile was full of forgiveness and love. “What do you need me to do?”
“I want you to listen to the rest,” said Nat quietly, speaking to the bright mind and heart that had just crushed her reason for having kept this all under wraps in the first place. “It’s important to me.”
“Okay.” Knees popped up under a focused chin. One preteen girl, ready to listen.
It was time to talk about dreams. The having of them—and being ready to let them go. Nat dug for words to convince both of them. And found her eyes settling on her daughter’s toy school bus, tucked under the side table, full of a family of birds. “Remember when Kenna was little, and you guys gave her your old school bus to play with?”
Ginia’s eyes tracked to the toy. “Yeah.”
Nat hid a smile. So much said in one word. Teenager in training. “Do you remember what happened the first day she played with it?”
Blue eyes hazed, trying to remember. “Yeah. She got so mad because she wanted to ride in the bus and she was too big.”
Nat’s memory of her fourteen-month-old daughter trying to stuff herself inside a small yellow toy bus and wailing was crystal clear. A child completely convinced she could fit inside if she just squooshed her pudgy little body hard enough. A tantrum they’d thought might never end. And then the triplets had arrived. “And what did you guys do?”
“We showed her,” said Ginia quietly. “Each of us tried to fit inside the bus and we showed her that nobody fit.”
And gradually, Kenna’s wails had ceased. “Right.” Nat closed her eyes, the rest of the lesson hitting deep. “Then you found her family of plastic birds and showed her how it could be a perfect nest.”
A new dream, only acceptable because the old one had been released.
Amusement suddenly sparked on Ginia’s face. “Then she ran it down the driveway and got mad because the birds kept bouncing out.”
A stray chuckle made its way up from Nat’s belly. Kenna was a girl of fierce dreams—but often fleeting ones. She’d kept her big cousins very busy constructing a bus ramp and a set of bird-sized seat belts. “You guys do that a lot—you help her find dreams that are possible. And when you do, she’s a lot happier. That works with big people, too.”
Nat breathed out, making room for belief to settle.
“Even when it’s a really big dream?” Ginia’s voice was fragile and small.
“Especially then.” Nat tried to chase the wavers out of her voice. “Our little boy… We love him a lot, and it would be really hard to let him go. But I need you to know this—finding out the school bus is too small is a gift, too.”
Ginia was curled up now, folding in on herself. “So if me and Sophie can’t fix this, then it’s like the school bus.”
“Yes.” Nat laid down her line in the sand. Planted her feet in bravery because they all needed her to do that before they went any further. “And I want to ask you to think about that carefully before you and Sophie try a scan. I need you to know that your help is a really big gift to me, no matter what the answer is.”
The small shoulders hunched even further. “Even if you’re really sad after?”
Love and respect. Even when you were bleeding inside. Nat tugged her niece in for a desperately needed cuddle. “Especially then, sweet girl.”
-o0o-
The orb sat alone in an empty house. Watching the threads of time and space ripple.
The girl of great healing magic was a shimmering thread, dancing in and out of the pattern. Breaking all the rules. Pulling the fabric out of alignment in a thousand ways. Creating newness, some of it beautiful. Some of it terrifying.
None of it certain.
The forces were not saying if she would succeed or fail. Or if she would even start. Only that she had immense power to shape the threads of space and time.
The orb bowed down in awe to the small human who was sending such a great ripple out into the fabric.
And it hurt for her. A child had stepped up to her destiny. Whatever came next, she would never be quite as small and carefree again. There were too many threads attached to her now.
Those who glimmered brightest also carried the heaviest load.
The orb sat alone in an empty house. And paid its respects to the small warrior.
May she battle well.
-o0o-
She was no healer.
Lauren settled into the cozy chair by the fire in Marcus’s living room, desperately uncomfortable.
Moira placed a cup of tea near the pile of pillows and blankets on a very large couch. “If you’ve something to say, best you do it before Nat and Ginia get here.”
Ouch. Brisk healer mode, and a very clear message. Time for one mind witch to get over herself. Lauren looked around the space where they’d chosen to work. Marcus and Cassie’s hou
se wasn’t large, but it was full of light and warmth and the obvious signs of a family who loved each other, no matter how untraditionally they’d been built.
Probably not an accidental choice.
“The healing leylines are very strong here,” said Sophie quietly, setting some small bottles in place on a side table. “And Marcus has the house well shielded for mind-witch work. This kind of scanning will benefit from both.”
Mind magic wasn’t something healing usually required, but Lauren didn’t need that part explained again. They wanted Moira’s expertise on tap—and she wasn’t strong enough anymore to join the healers in trance-state, so they’d requisitioned themselves a mind networker.
All things ready, and a skilled team on hand. And still, Lauren’s gut churned.
Moira took a seat on the chair across from Lauren’s. “Trance-state is very connected—we will know of your concerns later, even if you don’t share them now.”
Like hell they would. Her mind powers were stronger than that. One crystal ball’s evil proclamation was staying as buried as she could make it. She wouldn’t jeopardize the work done this day.
The wise old witch persisted. “Is it Ginia you worry about? We’ve prepared her the very best we can for this. She’s young, but she’s done difficult healing work before.”
Not where they’d failed. But Lauren wasn’t going to say that, either. Perhaps the orb was wrong.
Wise green eyes simply waited. And made very clear they weren’t going away until a certain grumpy mind witch did her homework.
Lauren sighed, and told as much of the truth as she felt able. “I’m worried about Nat. About what this could do to her, and how that stretches out to all the people she loves.” Her heart quivered, and she named the selfish monster that had woken her shaking in the night. “She’s been my best friend for all my adult life. I don’t know what happens to me if she crumbles.”
“It’s quicksand she’s in,” said Moira quietly. “Don’t be ashamed that you hate the feel of it tugging at your feet.”
One nightmare, told to go stand in the corner. Lauren dug a smile up from somewhere—tough green eyes deserved it.
“She is the sister of your heart.” A wizened hand patted hers. “Remember that today. Whatever comes next, that bond will not change.”
Lauren wished, with everything inside her, that she could believe that.
-o0o-
Moira shifted her attention. Lauren’s body language still spoke of distress and secrecy, but that couldn’t be the focus now. It was time for the healing work to begin.
Sophie sat beside their patient on the couch, helping the newly arrived Nat to ready her mind. It wasn’t a hard job—a decade of dedication and discipline gave their yogini one of the cleanest auras any of them had ever seen.
A quiet ping sounded on Lauren’s phone. Ginia was coming.
Moira turned, watching for the arrival, knowing that helping their talented girl to settle was her job.
And all it took was one look to know that wouldn’t be necessary. Clear eyes. Steady hands. And a smile that said she was ready. All the products of training and discipline—and of a heart that had been born brave. It steadied an old witch.
It’s not an act, sent Lauren quietly. Nell must give some seriously good pep talks. She’s very calm. And very confident.
As it should be. Scans required absolute sureness, especially at the levels they’d be working. Has she got any distracting thoughts? Small physical aches or pains? All things to get out of the way before an act of healing this profound.
No. Lauren’s head shake was more mental than physical. Sophie’s checking too.
Good. Moira smiled—Sophie was already leading her student down into trance-state. When Nat had given the go-ahead, they’d moved quickly. Waiting wouldn’t help anyone.
They’re seeing things now. I didn’t expect them to go this fast. Lauren was suddenly far more alert. I’ll connect you in. Tell me if you’re getting tired, please.
It was a smart warning—even the first glimpses of what came down the mindlink were exhausting. And breathtaking. Ginia and Sophie were deep in healing trance, swimming through layers with spine-tingling speed. It had been a long time since Moira had watched their magic at work like this. They’d both gotten better.
They’d both gone far beyond any lands Moira had ever known.
Abruptly, Sophie pulled them to a halt, way deep in the levels where the energies ran strongest. In a witch, this would be where her power channels lay. Moira squinted, looking for shadows, even knowing she’d never had enough magic to find them.
Felt Ginia’s hesitant tendrils doing the same, tiny scouts sent out into the dark. Looking for a needle in a haystack. Looking for the shadow of a needle in a mountain of hay.
Carefully, Sophie guided her young partner over to the edge of—something.
Moira caught only the tiniest glimpse from one of their minds. A ghost—an echo, almost. The sense that something had once been there.
Ginia started to move forward, and then stopped, turning back. Confused. Waiting for her mentor to join her. Moira held her breath—knowing what she watched, and aching for both her girls.
They’d hit the limits of Sophie’s power. What Ginia did next, she would do alone.
She can’t hear me. Lauren sounded ready to punch through walls. Her trance is too deep. If I push any harder, I’m going to disrupt that.
Aye. We can only watch now. Sophie will know if we need to pull her out. Moira closed her eyes, hoping they’d done enough. Enough training, enough persistent, careful repetition, and the constant encouragement of good and independent judgment. The foundations of every healer.
Lessons taught because every healer, no matter what their skill, would someday work alone.
Ginia’s magical presence stood, a little forlorn, still leaning back toward Sophie’s energies. And then Moira could have sworn she saw young shoulders straighten. A burden, picked up.
Again, the young healer sent out questing tendrils—and this time, they weren’t tentative. With sure and steady magic, Ginia Walker went where no healer had ever gone.
Everyone else did the only thing they could. They held fiercely steady and prayed.
And then they all heard one young warrior healer’s thought, plain as day. I’ve found something.
-o0o-
Lauren had no idea why she suddenly had a clear path to Ginia’s head again, but she did. And this time, she damn well wasn’t letting go. What do you see, sweetie? Can you share it with us?
I’m trying. Her niece’s voice was ethereal. Musical. Can’t you see it? It’s totally beautiful.
Not with mind-witch eyes. Lauren tapped the other two healers. Either of you getting a read on this?
Negative.
Lauren cast around, trying to figure out what to relay. And realized that Ginia wasn’t actually seeing anything at all. She was… part of it. Traveling in a sub-atomic river of light.
Oh, crap. Sophie’s mindvoice was reverent. And concerned. Ginia, honey, I need you to stretch a flow back toward me. Now. The last word cracked out into the ether.
Lauren amped it with everything she had.
Can’t. Ginia’s mind presence solidified some. I have to follow it, but if you keep talking to me, I won’t get lost, I promise. It’s coming from Nat’s center, but I don’t know where it goes yet.
No, sweetie. Sophie’s words stayed gentle, but her mind was ratcheting up the panic. You can’t just flow in the channels, you know that.
This isn’t a channel. Almost a smile. It’s something different.
She has to anchor. Sophie reached for thin air. Or we have to pull her back. And I don’t know if I can.
Ginia, love. Moira’s send was as calm as lake waters in the early morning—and took every ounce of strength the old witch had. The flow runs from Nat’s center. Anchor yourself there. Auntie Nat will hold you strong. She loves you very much.
Lauren felt Moira’s mind disconn
ecting. Intentionally. A healer, out of steam.
She’s okay, sent Sophie crisply. And Ginia’s doing what she asked. Now make sure Nat knows what to do. She has to hold steady—she’s got Ginia’s safety in her hands.
Lauren didn’t have to be told twice.
-o0o-
Lauren’s voice sounded so far away.
Nat knew she was as deep into meditative state as she’d ever been. Doing what Moira had asked of her in the garden. Holding the center.
Keep it up. The words from her best friend were quiet, easy. Ginia’s rooting her scan from your insides, so keep it nice and steady.
She was what? Nat felt her concentration faltering. Is that safe?
She’s got her favorite aunt holding on to her. Lauren exuded all the confidence in the world. Breathe, like only you can. You’ve got this.
Nat didn’t question. She didn’t dare. Breathe. Air and energy and adoration and life into the very core of her belly. Breathe. Into the heart of who she was and the birthing ground of everything she would ever be. Breathe. Into the soul of Natalia Sullivan.
And into the niece she loved so very much.
-o0o-
Lauren could feel the exhaustion pouring in—from everyone except an iridescent eleven-year-old girl dancing with the universe.
And then the dancing stopped, replaced with utter awe.
I know where it goes. A whisper, from a child looking on a miracle.
Lauren saw the image of the small girl dancing at the end of the atomic tunnel of light.
Oh, God.
It ran to Kenna.
Chapter 17
Moira set down tea on Marcus’s coffee table. One patient, sound asleep.
While her healers tried to figure out what on earth they’d found.
Sophie sat on the couch, wan, tired, and deep in thought. Nell had the couch’s other end. Ginia’s head was in her lap, a powerful brew working its way into her channels. The child should have been asleep. Instead, her face was a study in readying. Preparing.
For what, Moira had no earthly idea. She’d barely had the strength to make tea, and that after two glasses of Sophie’s fierce goo.
Even Lauren had drunk her share.
