A Different Witch

Chapter 9



Lauren waved good-bye to Jacob and his father and closed the door to the Center. It had been a good session, full of laughter, two new words, and a very lopsided pillow fight.

And it had added fuel to the litany of questions circling in her head.

Tabitha stepped up to her shoulder, two cups of coffee in her hands. “That was a good day. Come sit and tell me what’s got you so distracted.”

Lauren followed her over to a squishy couch that did double duty as the pillow fight headquarters. “We have a new witch who’s come to Berkeley looking for some training.”

“Mmm.” Tab raised a curious eyebrow. “Mind witch?”

“No.” The couch felt heavenly—it had been a very long day. “Fire witch. With Asperger’s.”

“Aaahh.” They sipped together quietly for a moment.

“We didn’t get off to a good start.” Lauren watched shadows flirt in her coffee cup and gave Tabitha the short version of Beth’s fetching. “She had a rough arrival, and then we managed to compound the mess in her first training session with Nell.”

Tab’s mind winced.

Lauren stopped, train of thought broken. “You think that was a bad choice? Nell’s one of our best fire witches.”

“Nell’s wonderful. But she’s kind of the opposite of autistic.”

People with autism were as varied and diverse as people with brown hair, magic, or shiny red shoes. Even very part-time work in the Center had taught her that. Lauren frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Autism is a lot of things. But at its heart, it’s a collection of issues that get in the way of being in easy community with others. Think about Jacob.”

Lauren nodded slowly. A year and a half ago, their small bright boy had such a need to spin that he couldn’t stop long enough for a hug. Now he could—but he still lacked words. And he made strange noises. And he had a very hard time reading the body language and facial expressions and tones of a normal conversation. “He’s improving so much.”

“He is.” Pride shone from Tabitha’s mind. “And he will keep improving. But for him, relating to others is hard work.”

The dots were lining up. “And Nell is the heart of Witch Central and makes it look effortless.” Relating writ large.

“Yup.” Tab set down her coffee. “She lives and breathes community—and she offers it to others generously. You would know that.”

She did. But for a newbie mind witch from Chicago, used to interacting with a sea of people on a daily basis, it had still been a near-drowning experience. “They have no idea how overwhelming they are.”

“The world needs Witch Central to be exactly as it is.” Tabitha gave Lauren a searching look. “But it also needs people who remember what it was like to stand in the path of that kind of wave.”

A mirror. Tabitha was particularly good with them. Lauren looked into her coffee cup, which was suddenly mysteriously empty. “Funny, I came here to see if you could help us understand Beth and how to help her. You always help me see myself more clearly instead.”

“Oh, I can help with Beth too. You already have the perfect person to help you understand her.”

Lauren blinked. “Who?”

“Beth,” said Tabitha wryly. “Jacob can’t speak for himself. She can.”

Lauren remembered back to her first whirlwind days in Witch Central. She’d barely been able to figure out what to eat for breakfast. “I wouldn’t have known what to say.” It had taken her months to process that particular upheaval in her life.

“You aren’t autistic, either.” Tabitha’s eyes were kind—and flagged another lesson coming. “You roll with life with an ease that makes me very jealous. Those of us who are less adaptable need to learn how to cope with the world, and that involves figuring out what we need. Beth sounds like a strong and amazing woman. From what you told me earlier, she owns a business, has friends, is in a long-term relationship. Handles the role of coven leader with quite some skill and grace. No one with Asperger’s could do most of those things without learning a whole lot about themselves. I’m quite sure she’ll have a very good idea of what she needs.”

Phew. “They—Nell, but even Moira—see her as weak.”

Tabitha raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t.”

It wasn’t a question, thank goodness. “No, although I don’t think I’d painted quite as clear a picture for myself as you just did.” Lauren paused, at the center of her dilemma now. “How do I help them see?”

The pause was a very long one. “I think maybe you don’t. We don’t do a competent person any favors when we carry them on their journey.”

“Her partner said much the same thing.” Have a little respect. Clearly, on this issue, with this witch, they were very slow learners. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. And let me know how it goes.” Wistfulness wafted into the air along with the smell of coffee. “I like to hear of adults with autism who have full, rich lives. It gives me hope for my kiddos.”

-o0o-

Beth squinted, wishing her eyes could see magical flows with half the ease of anyone else here in California. “It gets all blurry when you move it that fast.”

“Hmm.” Jamie leaned back, studying his hands. “It has to move that fast. Fire flows are really difficult to slow down.”

She’d been slowing them down all her life. “But if they go fast, I can’t see what they’re doing. And if I can’t see what they’re doing, I can’t shape them into anything useful.” Beth could feel the frustration rising in her throat. Another magic lesson headed somewhere wrong.

“I hear you.” The flickering light on Jamie’s palm died. “Let me try holding the final spellshape steady for you again—maybe now that you’ve seen pieces of it forming, you’ll be able to weave it yourself.”

“No.” Beth was coming to a very uncomfortable realization. It wasn’t just a problem with speed. “My mind doesn’t work like that.” She wasn’t creative or spontaneous, unlike apparently every other witch in Berkeley. “If I want to get to a specific destination, I need a map.” A very detailed, thorough one. Like the one Aervyn had drawn for her, neatly tracing all the lines of his beautiful magical ball.

But that had been yesterday. Today, she was an autistic witch—and apparently back to unteachable.

Jamie smiled wryly. “I wish I had my nephew’s skill, but he’s the only witch I know who can teach magic like that, and unfortunately, his presence was required in kindergarten this morning.”

Beth tried not to cringe—most of her memories of school were not good ones. “Does he like kindergarten?”

“Loves it.” Lights flickered on Jamie’s palm again. “His favorite part of the day is weather forecasting, closely followed by making paper lanterns out of shiny red paper. I think they’re getting ready for Divali.”

It didn’t sound like any school she’d ever been to. “What’s Divali?”

“Indian Festival of Lights. Witches aren’t alone—most cultures have some kind of celebration at this time of year. A reaction to all the dark, I guess.”

Beth blinked as the power lines on Jamie’s hand slid briefly into focus. And then blurred again as she squinted at them.

“Keep talking to me.” His voice was soft, but carried a touch of command. “What were your favorite parts of kindergarten?”

“I didn’t like school.” The lines stayed blurred.

Jamie sighed. “Me neither. My brother Matt did, but Devin and I weren’t born to sit still.”

Sitting hadn’t been her problem. “I had trouble with all the noise.”

He grinned. “Devin and I were most of the noise.”

She’d hidden inside a locker once, trying to get away from kids like that. For the briefest moment, the lines slid into focus again. “It’s hard for me to focus when there’s too much going on around me.” At school, or anywhere else. It was making her crazy, trying to talk and watch his hand at the same time.

And yet, there were tiny glimpses of success peeking through.

Hope.

The lights on Jamie’s palm vanished.

Beth’s eyes snapped up to his. “Why did you turn them off? I was seeing it.” Just a few more quick flashes and she might have enough—her mind learned maps very quickly.

“I know. I think maybe we just learned something useful, and we’ll try again in a few minutes.” He reached into a dilapidated leather bag on the floor and came out with a small green container. “Nat sent over more of her granola.”

“Thank you.” She never understood why people interrupted important work with inane small talk, but she tried to roll with it.

“Check your power levels,” said Jamie quietly.

She blinked—they hadn’t been doing any actual magic.

“Gas tank’s on low.” His eyes watched her steadily.

Beth did the quick self-check that was the first lesson she taught every witch in her circle. And cursed the spluttering dregs of power that she found. To be that low after so little was embarrassing—but not noticing it was far worse. “I’m sorry. That was a beginner mistake.” One that had her teeth gritting. Jamie had shown up on her doorstep bearing coffee and burritos and announced that they needed to start at the beginning. Ten years of hard work as a fire witch and apparently she wasn’t yet skilled enough to try the tricks small children did with ease. The last thing she’d wanted to do was prove him right.

“You were trying something new.” He seemed unconcerned by her sloppiness. “It’s easy to lose track of something.”

Something in his casualness grated on her nerves. “It’s dangerous.”

“It would be if you were working alone.” His cookie stopped halfway to his mouth. “Ah. Which you usually do.”

Not always. “I have a circle.”

“But you’re the strongest.” His eyes were clear now, like he saw right through her. “You’ve always been the one who has to keep track of all the pieces, make sure no one in your circle is overexerting themselves.”

“Of course.” Keeping her circle safe was a leader’s biggest priority. And they were her friends.

“And you train alone.”

“Yes.” She tried not to feel judged. “Liri monitors when she can, but it exhausts her.” She did the best with what she had. “It would slow down my learning if I never worked alone. I’m very careful.”

Jamie set down his cookie. “When we train here, we try to transfer most of those responsibilities to the trainer. It frees up your energies to be less careful. To explore the magic more, knowing someone has your back.”

It was a tempting offer—and a dangerous one. “I’m only here for a short time. I don’t want to pick up any habits that would be unsafe at home.”

“We’d layer in the checksafes again before you go.”

He was trying so hard to understand. Beth took a deep breath and tried once again to explain the reality of being an Aspie witch. “I need rituals and patterns. They help my mind to connect with the magic, but they also help me as a person to stay comfortable.” Something all her circle knew and helped her with.

Here she stood alone. “New things are very difficult for me, in life and in magic. I don’t do well with change.”

“You came to learn. Some of that is going to be new.” His words were gentle, but his eyes held the same dare that had invaded twenty months of dreams.

“I’m trying.” And she was, which is how she’d almost run out of energy without noticing. “But I won’t compromise on safety.” Mellie might handle a small amount of backlash in a circle, but Margaret would surely crumple.

And Liri would feel the pain of each one of them.

She took a handful of granola from the green tin, trying to find more words. And gaped in surprise as the heat hit her tongue.

“New blend.” Jamie grinned. “This one’s got some spices that Caro said are good for fire witches. Nat said to let her know if you don’t like it and she’ll switch it out for something different.”

Beth’s heart squeezed. They were trying so hard. Which was lovely—and she really wanted to feel appreciative. “It’s very good.”

“But?” His eyes asked for what she hadn’t said.

But three days here, and no one over the age of five seemed able to teach her anything. She tried to find a more polite way to tell him. “Maybe we could hold our next lesson when it’s not time for kindergarten.”

Jamie winced. “I’m not doing so well, huh?”

Ten years partnered with Liri had taught her not to agree with statements like that. “I enjoyed spending time with him.” Aervyn had deft magic—and kind eyes. The ones that thought she could do anything with just a little more practice.

“You enjoyed my daughter, too.” Jamie’s head tilted to the side, thinking. “Would you like to come over for lunch tomorrow? Kenna’s magic isn’t very predictable, but she might like to do some tricks for you. Give you something else to watch.”

He was trying. And Kenna was wonderful. “I’d like that.”

She’d give it one more chance. And if they couldn’t find a way to step forward, then it would be time to go home.

-o0o-

Liri closed the laptop, very pleased with herself. Three days now she’d managed to update inventory without breaking anything.

Standing up, she walked over to the shelves, fixing things as she went. An herbals book misfiled in the history section. Carnelian sitting next to topaz. With quiet hands, she remedied the trail of small disorders created by browsing customers. A job that always soothed her soul, even when the day had been hard.

It had been a record-setting day for the shop, the kind that signaled a holiday season brimful of hope and generosity. It was her heart that hurt.

When you’d loved someone every day of eleven years, their absence left a hole.

She reached out a finger to the water lily crystal, sitting all alone. It missed its dragon friend.

The sound of a key in the lock had her turning. After hours, that meant someone from the coven.

“You still here, girl?” Mellie set down her bag and began peeling off the five layers required to survive a two-block walk in a Chicago winter.

“I had inventory to adjust.”

“Mmm, hmm. That’s usually Beth’s line.” Their earth witch pinned her with a sharp look. “You should have come to dinner.”

She’d needed to nest some. “My channels were pretty taxed today. We were busy here.”

“Don’t I know it. People strolling up and down the darned street all day long.” The last of her layers off, Mellie plunked her ample self in the shop’s most comfortable chair. “But I know that one earth witch doesn’t tax your mind overly much, and it would have made it a lot easier to get my gossip if you’d just taken a little walk down the street.” She nodded toward her monstrous purse. “If you’re hungry, I might have brought you over a little something-something.”

Love came in so many shapes. Liri smiled and gave the water lily an extra squeeze. “I haven’t heard from Beth today. Just a quick email last night.”

“They’re probably romancing her with all their fancy magic. She won’t have time for the likes of us.”

It hadn’t sounded like romance so far. “She had to go, Mellie. She’s got more magic than the rest of us combined.”

“I know.” A huff and a puff as her visitor rooted more deeply in the chair. “I’m worried about her, that’s all. She’s worth knowing, that one, but you have to make the effort. You think they’re making it, way out there in sunny California?”

For all her huff and grump, Mellie had made that effort. Liriel came and sat on the sturdy stool that normally helped her reach high places. “I don’t know yet. I’m trying to be patient.”

“Hmmph.” Mellie’s voice hit the gravelly place that, for her, meant high emotion. “Well, then. I guess we’ll just have to sit here and be not patient together.”

Liriel reached for the tough, gnarled hands of one of her dearest friends.

Together, they shaped a single yearning wish—and sent it west.

-o0o-

Moira looked up at the sky, enjoying the warm California sun and at the same time, feeling her body’s bewilderment. Irish blood had no idea what to make of sunshine in December. However, her old bones would enjoy a brief sojourn in the warmth.

She turned up the walkway to Caro’s townhouse, shaking her head at the state of the gardens. Smart plantings—the kind that could survive December sun and the vibrations of a resident fire witch. But someone needed to have a chat with a few of the more persistent weeds.

Ah, well. An old witch could only tend so many gardens, and right now, it wasn’t weeds that were her concern. Jamie had called for reinforcements. They had a guest who was feeling lonely and out of place, and Moira’s Irish blood had risen in protest.

Time to pay young Beth a visit.

She knocked on the door, waiting patiently for footsteps in the hall, and cast a wee blessing while she waited.

“Let the feet that touch this ground,

Find water and warmth, safe harbor and love.

From seed to sprig, and sprig to tree

Grow ’tween that below and that above.”

“What are you doing here?” The voice from the doorway was surprised—and possibly a mite grumpy.

Moira looked up. My, the girl was tall. “I’ve come to visit and bring you a housewarming gift, if I might.”

Beth looked confused. “It’s not my house. I’m just staying here for a few days while I get some training.”

The first step in growing roots was to acknowledge the soil under your feet. “Well then, for now, it’s yours.” Moira settled the jar of blueberry preserves into stiff hands. “This tastes lovely on crackers or a bit of fresh bread, if you’re a baker.”

“Why does everyone here eat like a child’s fantasy?” Beth held the jam as if it might be a small bomb or a fertility potion. “Sugar and cookies and an overdose of carbohydrates. You’ll all end up overweight and diabetic.”

Not while she was still elder healer. “Magic uses a lot of sugar, my dear. Witch metabolisms have different needs, to satisfy the work we do.”

Beth only raised an eyebrow. “Witches aren’t doing magic all the time. I acknowledge the need for occasional quick energy, but there’s no need to eat that way all the time. Even the non-witches here do.”

Moira felt her hackles rising. “You judge us quickly.” And rather harshly. And before inviting a guest in the door.

There was silence for a moment. “I’m sorry. This is all very new for me, and I’m sinking into things you’d find irrelevant to help myself cope.”

They were quiet words, said without a lot of feeling. And they punched a hole right through Moira’s heart. She looked up at the girl, sympathy flowing from her heart. “It’s so very hard to be a newcomer, isn’t it? I was once. A young woman, left home and country, off to a strange and heathen land.”

“Where did you go?”

Moira smiled at the open curiosity—a story could often go where nothing else could. “Why don’t you let me come in and make us both a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you the tale of young Moira Doonan.”

Beth’s face stayed oddly flat, but she stepped aside and held the door open.

An old witch didn’t need any more invitation than that. Moira strode briskly in the door, senses jolted, as always, by the fiery flare of Caro’s interior decorating. No matter—even a water witch appreciated a little heat in midwinter. “Are you enjoying your stay here?”

“It’s colorful.”

Moira wondered if Beth knew how her fingers drifted toward Caro’s paintings as she walked down the hall. “The woman who owns this is a fire witch as well. I’d imagine you’d find these colors soothing.”

“What?” Beth had stopped in the hall, astonishment clear in every bone.

Proper visits happened at kitchen tables, especially when the conversation was clearly going to take a few strange turns. Moira herded Beth the few remaining steps to the kitchen and spied the tea kettle already on the stove. Some things, at least, were predictable. “I brought a nice, spicy rooibos tea with me. I expect you’ll like that as well.” Encouraging the little rooibos flowers to bloom in December had been no easy task.

“I am fond of spicy teas.” Beth still looked perplexed. “But how could you possibly know that?”

“You’re a fire witch, my dear.” Moira looked up, tea preparations on automatic pilot. “Not all fire witches are the same, of course, but you tend to share affinities. Spicy things to tease your palate, warm colors to soothe your eyes, a ball of lovely yarn under your fingers, and of course a need for light and warmth…”

“I knew of the need for light.” Fascination was overcoming Beth’s confusion. “But I’ve never read of any of the others, even in the oldest texts.”

Ah, a witch historian. Moira beamed, finding herself very pleased with their new witch. “You like the reading, do you? I’ve a library that might interest you, if you want to come for a wee visit sometime.”

“Plane tickets to Nova Scotia are very expensive.” Beth took down a small tin and poured some sort of cereal mix into two bowls. “But I’m always looking for something new to read. Maybe we could plan a trip for next summer.” Her whole face softened. “Liri would love to travel.”

The girl loved as well. There was much to like here. “You’d both be most welcome.” Moira stirred the tea, musing. “And if you find yourself wanting to try the transport spells again, the cost of the ride isn’t quite so dear.” She didn’t miss the shudder from her companion. “I’ve gotten used to the infernal things, but I must admit, I found them entirely awful the first few times.”

“I understand they have a very high safety rate.” Beth wrapped her arms around her ribs. “But …”

Ah, now they were getting somewhere. “But what, child?”

“I worked four years, reading and learning and practicing.” The words came steadily now, almost a chant. “Over and over, every evening for hours.” Beth’s hands moved, lining up packets of sugar in a neat row. “Four years, and I made a flame. A tiny little thing that barely managed to light my candle.”

Moira’s heart hurt—so much desire here, and so little knowledge. “You worked hard. You must have been proud.” Tenacity was a good trait in a witch, and one that would serve her well as she got more training.

“I was,” said Beth quietly. “I was so proud of my tiny flame that I nearly blew it out in my excitement.” She looked up. “In my life, lighting a candle is difficult magic. I’m considered an adept in my coven. I don’t know how to accept a world where transport spells are used for casual visits. It shouldn’t be possible.”

Moira studied the lined-up sugar packets and felt her sympathies stirring yet again.

“I’m sorry.” Beth slid the packets into a pile. “I organize things when I’m nervous.”

“Don’t apologize.” The spicy rooibos was nearly ready. “I make tea when I need calming.”

It took a moment, but the smile that slid onto Beth’s face was worth waiting for.

Moira reached out a hand. “Come, my dear. Let’s sit at the table and I’ll tell you a story of long ago, when a headstrong Irish lass arrived on the shores of Nova Scotia.”

She murmured a wee stitch of power as she began to weave the tale, an old bard’s charm to let the words fall on open ears. It would rock Beth when she discovered how much of that impossible magic was hers to command. Perhaps a story of loneliness and belonging would help ease the way.

If nothing else, it would help Moira to remember. And it was usually easier to walk alongside someone when you remembered the journey.