An Unlikely Witch

by Debora Geary

  A child who had been granted a miracle—and knew it.

  Just like the woman who had once been a lonely sixteen-year-old girl. She smiled at Molly, heart totally shaky. “I didn’t find my forever family until I grew up.”

  Molly said nothing. Just sat, her solemn brown eyes never looking away.

  Whatever power Nat might have had to resist fled in the face of the implacable wish in those eyes.

  And in her own heart. Stay open.

  Haltingly, feeling a little desperate, she stepped closer to the wall. Walked past the first and second pictures in a blur, and then forced herself to slow down. To truly look.

  Stay open.

  She gave each one her full attention. Let the faces touch her—the awkwardly happy ones and the cautious ones, and the eyes that told too many stories. Children too old to be easily adopted, too scarred by their lives to step easily into a new one.

  The cookie in her hands crumbled to dust.

  She knew what it was to grow up bereft of love. Waiting. Slowly withering inside. She hadn’t found her forever family until the first time she’d looked into Jamie Sullivan’s eyes.

  And then she reached the last photograph on the wall.

  Nat Sullivan stared, transfixed, unable to breathe, as the chains around her soul shattered and sunlight blazed into the wasteland that had taken up residence in her ribs.

  Not. Possible.

  The face on the wall stared back at her, all impudent grin and big shining eyes.

  And insisted. Possible.

  She felt a small hand slide into hers. “That’s Benjamin,” said Molly, her voice somehow sliding through the pea soup of Nat’s fog. “I bet you’d like him.”

  “Molly,” said a gentle, warning voice.

  “It’s okay.” Nat gripped the small fingers in hers tightly, unable to get any more words out. She had no idea what to do next, no idea how she was even going to collect enough molecules of thought and action to keep breathing. To do what needed to happen next.

  But she knew. And Molly knew.

  A new miracle had just begun.

  -o0o-

  He’d left Kenna with Devin and come running—and he had no idea why. Just a one-word message, delivered by Aervyn, his eyes really big.

  Jamie landed in his dining room, alarm bells sounding at full alert. And saw his wife standing beside the table.

  Looking lost.

  No. Looking found.

  He sucked in a breath and tried to slow his racing heart. “Aervyn said you needed me.”

  Her smile was wildly lopsided. “I do. I was at the store. The grocery store, the one on the corner with the spring rolls in the deli that Kenna likes.”

  He had no idea what Nat was babbling about, but it sure as hell wasn’t spring rolls.

  “There was a little girl, sitting by the wall with the pictures. The kids who need families. She had cookies.”

  He knew that wall. Hated that wall. Walked past it every time with the blazing wish that he could make it unnecessary for any child in the universe to ever go up on that wall again. And he had no idea what that had to do with cookies.

  Nat reached for a picture frame lying on the table. “I—” She broke off and then looked at him, frame cuddled in her arms, eyes sending a thousand messages he couldn’t untangle. “His name is Benjamin.”

  Jamie felt his head hazing, the words not making any sense. All he knew for sure was the blazing heat of Nat’s mind. Pummeling his channels.

  With joy.

  Bewildered, Jamie reached for the picture and looked down at the face of a child who needed a family.

  And felt the world stop.

  With one shaking finger, he reached out, trying to reach the dimpled cheek below. Oh, God.

  Something caught fire in Jamie’s heart, right and true and inviolate, as his finger touched the glass. And then he looked up at his wife and felt the fire turn into conflagration.

  Their son. He was already here.

  Chapter 22

  Nat was pretty sure Kate Cellers thought they were nuts. They’d pulled every string in the known universe to get an emergency meeting with her.

  She was going to think they were crazier before the next hour was up.

  Jamie leaned forward, a copy of Benjamin’s picture on his phone. The original sat in the very heart of Witch Central. “You’re responsible for helping this boy find a family to adopt him, right?”

  Some warmth came into the woman’s eyes—and a flare of harried concern. “Adoption is a big step. Lots of people consider it at this time of year, but bringing a new child into your home permanently isn’t a decision that should be taken lightly.”

  Nat leaned forward, seeking what lived under the professional spiel. “Tell us about Benjamin.”

  Kate smiled this time. “Nobody calls him that. He likes Benny, and he moves fast enough that no one ever has enough time to get all three syllables out anyhow.”

  Benny. Nat leaned into the light mind connection with her husband, feeling them both try on the name for size. Jamie looked down at the photo on his phone one more time and chuckled. “Maybe that’s why my mom gave us all such short names.” He looked up at the social worker. “I have five brothers, and we all move fast. My mom is officially a saint.”

  Something akin to humor flashed in Kate’s eyes. “Do you have children of your own, then, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Call me Jamie. And yeah. Kenna’s going to be two in a few days, and she’s a hell raiser.” He flashed one of his patented Sullivan grins. “She totally gets that from her mom.”

  Nat hid a smile. It was an interesting way to try to convince Ms. Cellers they were ready to take on a busy little boy. “We’re used to active kids. Kenna has lots of cousins, and we all have plenty of experience watching out for toddlers whose feet are faster than their brains.”

  The social worker paused, clearly torn.

  There’s something else going on here, sent Jamie quietly.

  Yes, there was. And while it wasn’t going to change the final outcome in the slightest, they needed to know. Nat steadied her breathing and leaned forward, trying to connect with the human being across the desk. “He’s an adorable little boy nobody wants. Why?”

  Kate’s breath came out in a whoosh. “That’s exactly right.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “He was left on the steps of the hospital as a newborn—a day or two old at the most. That was almost two years ago now.”

  Nat’s heart broke for whatever tragedy could make a parent leave a part of themselves with strangers and run.

  “He was healthy.” The social worker’s tone was brisk—but her eyes told a different story. “Probably a very young mother with no support system to help her cope.”

  “She brought him to someplace safe,” said Jamie quietly.

  “Yes.” Kate smiled. “She did. And she took good care of herself while she was pregnant, at least good enough that Benny was born full term and healthy. One day, he should know that.”

  Neither Nat nor Jamie missed the shift in language. Possibility had entered the room. Hope.

  The woman across the desk glanced at Jamie’s phone, and her hands shook. “I held him when he was three days old, and promised that I would find him a family. And so far, I’ve failed miserably.”

  Fear assaulted Nat’s heart. He’d been a healthy baby. The kind people got on waiting lists to bring home. “I thought newborns were easily adopted.”

  “They are.” Kate’s voice wavered. “I found him a family in less than a week. Pushed through the paperwork, sent him home with them before four weeks had passed.”

  A woman who knows how to get things done. Jamie’s voice was grim. Fear was taking its shot at him, too. “What happened?”

  The social worker’s professional veneer cracked. “They sent him back fifteen months later.”

  Nat felt the darkness swamp the room for just a moment. “How—” She couldn’t finish. The leap of empathy she’d been able to make for the young m
other just didn’t materialize for whoever had done this to a tiny boy.

  “They were an older couple, in their forties.” Kate’s voice stopped just short of despair. “They’d tried to get pregnant for years, and they were overjoyed to have Benny. They just weren’t ready for the toddler he became.”

  “Nobody’s ever ready.” Jamie’s voice was short. Curt. He hadn’t found any empathy either.

  “We surely aren’t. But some are less ready than others. I watched their marriage crumble over it.” Kate reached out to touch the faces of two kids in a picture frame on her desk. “Benny’s very challenging. He’s been in and out of three foster homes in the last seven months. Nobody can keep up with him. The doctors have given him lots of labels. Attention deficit and oppositional defiant disorder and a whole bunch of other ones.”

  The social worker’s hands fisted on the desk. “Ah, hell. I’m supposed to tell you everything that’s wrong with him. But it’s Christmas in a few days, and I’m tired of feeling like the Grinch.” Her eyes lit with a new fire. “He’s an active, adorable little boy who needs a place to anchor and feel loved. And if there’s anything other than that wrong with him, I’ll eat my entire stack of paperwork.”

  Jamie reached for Nat’s hand. “How do we take him home?”

  Kate met their gazes evenly. “You go through the application process to become adoptive parents. It’s long and arduous and bureaucratic, and a lot of that is for very good reasons. At some point, if Benny is still the child you think you want, you’ll get a chance to meet him.”

  “He’s the child we want.” Nat let that knowledge shine in her eyes, hoping it would mean something to the woman across the desk. “And he’s a little boy nobody wants.”

  The social worker winced. “There’s a process.”

  Nat cast around for something more, wishing desperately for Lauren’s negotiating skills. And then felt inspiration hit. It was a Hail Mary pass, but there was no way they were meant to spend months filling out paperwork and waiting. “Do you know Tabitha Schwartz, by any chance?”

  Kate’s eyebrows flew up. “Yes. My son went to her center.” Her whole face softened. “She’s a miracle worker.”

  Nat leaned forward, eyes fierce. “She’ll vouch for us. Help us be Benny’s miracle. Please.”

  For a long moment, nobody moved.

  And then Kate pulled out some paperwork. “Let’s get started. I can’t make any promises.”

  Nat smiled. The only promise that mattered was the one they were making to Benny.

  -o0o-

  Lauren looked around at the chaos of Nell’s living room and tugged her mind barriers down a little tighter.

  A stranger might be forgiven for thinking it was just another Sullivan family afternoon together, one that involved lots of snacks, lots of loud games at floor level, and the occasional magic trick.

  It was anything but a normal afternoon.

  The room fairly throbbed with thick emotions of every kind. As one of the most powerful mind witches in the room, she was ready to scream. And she wasn’t alone. Aervyn climbed into her lap, hiding his head momentarily in her chest. Uncle Jamie doesn’t want me to port them back yet.

  Whoa. “They might need a little privacy, superdude.”

  Big eyes looked up at hers. “Auntie Nat felt really funny, so I wanted to make sure she was okay. And Uncle Jamie got mad and then he got frustrated, and then he wanted to throw a bunch of really ugly chairs, but I think he’s okay now.”

  The room was dead silent—even Kenna was paying rapt attention.

  Mia leaned forward, her two sisters glommed on to her sides. “Are they bringing Benjamin home?”

  Lauren met Nell’s eyes. There were hurdles. And bureaucracies. And three hours of trying to explain that to everyone under five feet tall had gotten them exactly nowhere.

  It wasn’t making much headway with the taller members of Witch Central, either.

  Aervyn shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But Uncle Jamie said I could help if we needed to kidnap him later.”

  Lauren winced, hoping that had just been a figure of speech. And then she’d remembered Jamie’s eyes while he’d been calling everyone he knew, trying to get a meeting with the only woman who mattered.

  He’d been a man going to get his son.

  The picture of Benjamin stood on the mantel. And not a single person in the room doubted that he belonged there.

  They just had a real world to convince first.

  Aervyn sat bolt upright, eyes glued to the door. “They’re here.”

  The room froze.

  Jamie and Nat walked in, as solid a unit as Lauren had ever felt them. And looked at the assembled, mesmerized clan. Nat found her words first. “We get to go meet him tomorrow.”

  Relief landed like a neutron bomb.

  “If it goes okay—” Jamie choked, clutching Nat’s fingers in his. “They’re trying to expedite things. Make it all go faster. So we can bring him home. Maybe as soon as a month from now.”

  Lauren listened to the howl of protest that went up—and the concrete wall of frustrated support.

  And then she turned her back as the mob swallowed Nat and Jamie whole. She was very sure of one thing. If they had to wait an entire month for Benny, the world was going to end.

  And a deal damn well wasn’t over until the signatures were dry.

  Chapter 23

  The one who listened was exhausted. The orb could feel her sleeping presence curled up nearby, oblivious to the noonday sun out the windows. Peaceful, finally. For the last fourteen hours, she’d been at war.

  Even the forces were impressed. The one who listened was a very fine general.

  The orb had no idea what she had been doing. Only that she had spoken with ferocious authority and calm reason, and punched out with her mind often enough to shake it out of sleep into the wee hours of the night.

  Others had come and gone, but the general had never wavered.

  But somewhere in the wee hours, she’d dropped a kiss on the flustered orb’s smooth surface. Thanked it for the message it had tried to send. That they had to let go of the little boy to help him arrive.

  She gave the orb more credit than it deserved. It had only known that the boy needed to fade. It had not understood why.

  And now she slept.

  The orb, feeling somewhat protective, had stayed awake. Kept its eyes on the shimmering thread that had always been the small, laughing boy. Every time the one who listened had spoken with her general’s voice, that thread had grown nearer to the others.

  The orb stood watch. Waiting for it to arrive. A concept of silly, human time.

  It felt good.

  The thread gave a small quiver, and the orb paid closer attention. Inconsequential, perhaps.

  And then, ever so slowly, it moved.

  Feeling, for just a moment, some of its long-lost grandeur, the orb collected itself. An announcement such as this one deserved a certain amount of preparation.

  Or not.

  Humans were creatures immersed in the flow of time. Hours mattered. Minutes mattered.

  The forces muttered. NOT NECESSARY. THEY WILL KNOW SOON ENOUGH.

  Once, not long ago, the orb would have agreed.

  But the one who listened—she had taught the orb the value of timing. And she had listened to the messages, even when they had caused her heart to fill with shards of glass.

  This message would not do that.

  The orb let its surfaces shimmer. A dance, not quite of this world. A hum, calling to the one who listened. She awoke, cautious.

  The orb paused only long enough to make sure she saw its glow. Once upon a time, it would have used fancy words, ones proclaiming glad tidings and great joy. ’Twas the season for such things.

  Instead, it let the shimmering ebb, and floated an image to the surface.

  And a single word. Go.

  -o0o-

  Lauren barely noticed her husband’s wild driving, busy as she was replying to t
exts from the entire planet. Lizard, manning the office, had called about thirty seconds after the orb had sent their small cottage into uproar.

  The tiny, feisty poet realtor had hammered the final nail in the deal of the century. Something about a police chief who owed her a favor.

  There were a lot of stunning gifts landing in Witch Central this holiday season. Lots of hearts filled with gladness and embarrassed, happy stuttering and shy wonder.

  But this one…

  Lauren texted faster—there were a lot of people who needed to see this. A lot of people who had been up all night working to make it happen. And they had to figure out how to do it without terrifying the little boy about to be at the epicenter of joy.

  And then the car stopped, and Dev reached for her hands. Stopping the rush. Stopping the motion. Asking her, with only the look in his eyes, to simply feel.

  It wasn’t hard. Not when you were connected with a mind that flowed as deeply as Devin Sullivan’s. In the shelter of the emotional ocean that was the man she loved, Lauren let go. Let the fear that had been chained around her heart for weeks slide into the waters.

  And as she watched it melt away, she was finally able to name it. “I thought this might be the one thing that could break Nat.” That could irrevocably alter the amazing spirit who was her best friend.

  “Yeah.” Devin breathed out, one monumental gust of relief. “It might have. And she wouldn’t have broken alone.”

  Jamie.

  And then more. When one Sullivan broke, they all cracked.

  “I hear Benny’s a spitfire.” Dev grinned, chasing away more of the shadows. “Nell said he climbed over the fence at his last foster home and let the neighbor’s dogs out to play.”

  Nell had been tasked with gathering background on the little boy so they could figure out how best to welcome him. Lauren snorted. “What’s that, about a two on the Sullivan scale of trouble?”

  “Only if the neighbors owned a boarding kennel.” Her husband leaned back against his seat and winked. “How long before you think they’ll let us babysit?”

  About two minutes after Benny was ready. Lauren looked out her window as someone walked by and waved exuberantly. “Come on. Let’s go do something this family is really, really bad at.”