A Different Witch

Chapter 11



“It’ll be okay.”

Beth looked into the gentle eyes of her new friend, clutched her jar of macadamia-coconut-flaxseed butter, and opened the front door of Nell Walker’s house.

The last thing she expected was utter silence.

Then quiet footsteps came from somewhere deep in the house, and a smiling blonde face popped out into the hall. “Hi, Auntie Nat. Hi, Beth.” A few more soft footsteps and the face smiled up at them from much closer. “Come on in.”

Beth stepped through the doorway gingerly, expecting noise to explode at any moment. “Is anyone else home?”

“Only those of us who know how to be quiet,” said the blonde child cheerfully. “Which means Dad and Aervyn went over to visit Uncle Jamie.”

They were doing this for her. Beth gulped. “I don’t remember your name.” And it suddenly felt important.

“I’m Shay.”

“You have two sisters.” They’d seemed so much bigger last time, towering over her as she sat on the grass.

“Yeah. They’re Mia and Ginia. It’s okay if you can’t tell us apart. Most people can’t.” Shay sat down on a staircase that headed upstairs. “Can I tell you a bit about what we planned, and you can tell us if it’s okay for you?”

Beth nodded slowly, at a loss for words.

“We have a few people downstairs. My sisters, and my mom, and Lauren, and Aunt Moira. With you and Auntie Nat and me, that will be eight. If we try to be nice and quiet and only talk one at a time, will that be okay for you, do you think? We’re going to make some decorations, but we have some instructions that we wrote out, and we’re going to work in small groups. You get to work with me and Auntie Nat.” Shay slid to a halt. “Sorry, I might be talking too fast.”

Words were one of the few things that had never been a problem for Beth at all. She swallowed hard as their true meaning landed. There were six people downstairs and two right beside her trying their hardest to be exactly what she needed.

And for eight people who hardly knew her, they’d come up with some amazingly thoughtful ideas.

A gentle hand squeezed hers. Nat. Support—and a signal.

Beth looked at the girl sitting on the steps, waiting for an answer that hadn’t come yet. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I need to think a minute before I give you a reply.”

“That’s okay.” Shay set her chin on her cupped hands. “What were you thinking about?”

“About how you look smaller than the last time I saw you.” Beth smiled. “And about how kind you seem.”

Shay’s smile spread all the way to her knees. “We’re going to color a dragon.”

Beth’s hand slid to the small crystal in her pocket. “I think I’d really like that.” She ignored the voice in her head listing off all the ways it could go wrong—eight people deserved that much, and more.

Walking into the room downstairs made putting the voice to rest easier. The quiet murmur of conversation continued as they entered. A couple of faces looked up in friendly welcome and then went back to their work. Soft yellow light cast the room in warm tones and quiet music played from somewhere overhead, sounding very much like something Liri would play in the shop.

Shay stretched out a hand and then jammed it back against her side. “Our table is over there in the corner.”

Beth hadn’t been born with a head that understood body language—but thirty years of practice helped with a lot of things. She reached out gently for the fist hidden in the folds of Shay’s glittery skirt and wrapped the small warm fingers in hers. “I don’t mind being touched by friends.”

It felt like all the room smiled in return.

-o0o-

Ah, it was so very lovely when a plan came together. Moira looked up from her job coloring a dragon’s tail red and took in the melodies of the room.

The conversation was soft, and little souls in particular were making an enormous effort to be gentle with their noise. But periodic giggles floated up into the air and contentment was on wide display, even with the volume turned down low.

“I think you’re done that part, Aunt Moira.” Mia’s eyes twinkled, clearly amused by forgetful elders. “We just have to do the spiny things now. And the eyes.” She squinted at the head of their dragon. “Are you sure the eyes should be purple?”

“Absolutely.” Moira pointed a finger at the instruction sheet, written out in glittery pink crayon. “It says right here to make sure we use our very favorite colors.”

“You have a lot of favorite colors.” Mia giggled, looking at the rainbow wings and bright green dragon toenails.

It was no fun being seventy-four years old if you couldn’t be at least a little silly every day. “You’re sure you don’t want to add a little brown or maybe some lovely mossy green?”

The look she got in return said someone wasn’t all that far from embracing her teenage years. Moira chuckled—she enjoyed the liveliness of the young ones hitting puberty, even if it made their parents a little crazy.

A second blonde head appeared over Mia’s shoulder. Shay—quiet, thoughtful, and extremely proud of herself.

And so she should be. Moira pulled her in for a quick hug. “That was very well done, sweetheart. You have a special talent for taking very good care of people’s hearts.”

“Especially quiet people.” Mia handed her sister a bright blue crayon. “You’re like Auntie Nat.” That was the highest of praise—all of her nieces adored their yogini aunt.

Shay’s eyes shone starlight bright. “I was thinking maybe one of you might want to go take a turn at our table.”

It was an idea Moira wished she’d thought of herself. “Our Beth is ready for a little variety, is she?”

Shay took the question very seriously. “I think so.”

Moira looked at her young coloring partner. “Would you like to go? You can make sure they’ve got a little bit of red tucked into their dragon somewhere.”

“You go.” Mia’s eyes shone with mischief. “I’m going to go color the toenails on Auntie Lauren’s dragon.”

Oh, dear. Someone’s leash on her exuberance was sliding—and she was smart enough to know it and head for safe ground. Moira reached over for a hug. “And what color were you planning on making them?”

Mia’s eyes met her sister’s, triplet secret code passing between them. “It’s a surprise.”

Moira watched, amused, as the two of them giggled their way over to the table where Lauren, Nell, and Ginia sat industriously coloring.

The toenails would surely be glittery and pink—she’d been a bubbly girlchild once.

Moira picked up her Irish green crayon and headed for the table in the corner where Beth and Nat were sitting. Perhaps there was another dragon needing its toenails colored.

Nat looked up as she approached. “Come to help us, have you?”

She had. But as Moira took a seat, she realized that help was totally unnecessary. The dragon’s body was covered in beautiful swirls of color blended one into the next. A garden for the eyes. “I do believe that’s the most enchanting dragon I’ve ever seen.”

Beth was finishing the last of the swirls on a knobby dragon knee. “It was Nat’s idea.” She looked up, smiling. “It feels like I’m lost in a Monet painting.”

Natalia Sullivan did very few things by accident. Moira studied the work of art, curious. “And how did this idea come to pass?”

Beth reached out to touch a tiny crystal figurine sitting at the top of a table. Light glinted off the scales and curves of a small, entirely gorgeous dragon. “This is mine. See how the light makes all the colors dance? Nat thought we could maybe do something like that with our crayons.”

Moira’s fingers ached to touch the wee dragon. “My gran would have loved that very much. She had a deep fondness for dragons and things that shine in the light. Part of her collection keeps me company in my cottage.”

“I’ve never been a person for collecting things.” Beth picked up the small crystal, nestling it on her palm. “But Liri loves them. This one was a gift when I left.” Her voice wavered. “To remind me that home would be waiting when I was ready.”

Sometimes it took a room full of love to discover the obvious. Or perhaps it only took an hour with Nat Sullivan. Moira laid a finger on the tiny dragon’s head. “You miss home terribly, don’t you?”

Beth looked up, mute. Yearning.

“I told you the story of a wee Irish lass who traveled across the ocean.”

“I know.” Gratitude shimmered on Beth’s face. “And it made me feel better. Thank you.”

Tears teased the backs of Moira’s eyes. She traced the crayon swirls that spoke of love and longing and home. “I’m glad of it, my sweet girl. But it occurs to me that there’s one very important difference between that lass and you.”

Nat was already smiling.

Beth’s grip on her crayon tightened. “What’s that?”

“You can go home, my dear.” Moira reached out to touch a brave cheek. “You can go home.”

“I don’t need to.” Beth looked around the room, suddenly frantic. “This was just right. Please, I think I can make this work.”

Oh, child. Moira’s heart broke. “We’re not sending you away, sweetling—it’s just for a bit of a visit.” She squeezed Beth’s hands tightly, crayon and all. “Everybody needs to nurture their roots once in a while. You go home and spend a night or two with the people who love you.” She firmed her own wavering voice. “And then you come back to us with your soul well watered and ready to grow a bit more.”

Understanding finally hit Beth’s eyes—and with it, an ocean of thanks.

-o0o-

Beth wrapped her arms around her ribs and tried not to think of Star Trek transporter malfunctions. Once Witch Central had decided she might want to go home, things had moved very quickly.

Nell’s very nice husband looked up from his computer terminal and smiled. “I have a smooth, easy ride all set. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

She tried not to shake, focusing on what she knew. Fact. It was probably less traumatic than getting on a plane and enduring O’Hare again. Fact. They’d never lost a witch in a transport spell yet, or even so much as a shoe. Fact. She really needed to see Liri and spend a night soothed by hearth and home.

Fact. Her body was about to be hurtled through space by a power not even the people in charge thoroughly understood. Beth clamped her teeth shut. Sometimes, you just needed to jump. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

Daniel winked—and then he was gone.

The cold wasn’t so awful this time, and her feet hit solid ground before her brain totally dissolved in fear. Beth kept her eyes closed a minute, waiting for things to stop whirling about.

And then she heard Liri’s squeal.

Her eyes popped open just as her partner jumped into her arms. Or rather, mashed into the very large bouquet Beth was carrying. “Careful, you’ll destroy the flowers.” Or the joy exploding out her fingers was going to cook them.

“Mmm.” Liri inhaled deeply, still squishing the bouquet between them. “What did you do, rob a florist?”

“Just a garden or two.” Helped by three giggly, adorable ten-year-olds.

“It must be glorious.” Liri backed up a step and buried her face in the flowers properly this time. “Having this kind of richness around you all year long.” She looked toward the window and laughed. “Puts my planter box to shame.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Beth tried to rescue the most mangled of the blooms. “These are a small gift. Those are home.”

Her partner looked up, eyes suddenly solemn. “You came home.”

“Yes.”

Liri took a deep breath. “Are you going back?”

“Yes.” Until she answered, Beth hadn’t been sure. “I need to be there for a little while yet. But I needed home, too. I needed you.”

Liri’s cheeks might have been wet, but her smile was a mile wide. “You should have told me you were coming. All I have for dinner is soup.”

They’d eaten hundreds of bowls of soup, once upon a time. Part of the scrimping and saving of getting the store started. Beth smiled, warmed by the memories. “Let’s take it downstairs and eat by the cash register.” It had been their only level surface once—furniture for the apartment had come only after Witchery had been full of inventory.

“I’m putting up the lights—you can help me finish.” Liri reached for the flowers, still beaming. “Let’s put these in water, and we’ll stick them in our display window.”

“For winter solstice?” Beth followed her partner out into the narrow hallway, bemused as always by decorating choices stuffed full of illogic. “Wouldn’t that make more sense in spring?”

“Solstice is a time of dark.” Liri’s footsteps sounded quietly on the stairs, feeling her way in the dimness.

Beth made a mental note to replace the bulbs in the crotchety old light fixture before she left.

“But it’s also a time to remember that the light comes.” Liri opened the door at the foot of the stairs and bathed them both in a luminous glow.

The shimmering dance of a thousand twinkling lights pulled Beth through the door. Her soul wrapped itself in the glow, the blazing warmth of the small fire in the corner, and the delectable smell of cinnamon cookies.

Home.

And German snickerdoodles—Liri’s great-grandmother’s recipe. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yes.” Liri’s happy glow matched that of the lights. She reached for a cardboard box sitting on a stool. “But I hadn’t quite finished. The last strand is yours.”

The lump landed back in Beth’s throat. Eleven winters now—and always, the last strand of lights had been hers to put up. A quiet demand in the early years, from a partner who hadn’t been content to leave their split of accounting and store merchandizing well enough alone.

And now, one of their most treasured rituals.

That she’d almost missed it had the lump doubling in size. She sat down in a chair, looking around the small shop. Lights twinkled from every possible nook and cranny. In the early years, Liri had left her an obvious spot to decorate—a small shelf or bit of greenery bereft of lights.

She looked around one more time, seeking the place that still needed light.

And then she knew. Meeting Liri’s eyes, she clutched the tangled nest of wires to her heart. They would travel back with her in the morning.

Lights from home.

-o0o-

Nell set her kettle on for tea and took a seat at her kitchen table, ears baffled by the quiet.

The noisemakers were still at Jamie’s house, the triplets were curled up reading in their room after helping to assemble the biggest bouquet in the history of Witch Central garden raids, Lauren and Nat had headed off to yoga class, and apparently the Walkers hadn’t adopted any stray children or puppy dogs in the last twenty-four hours.

Moira patted her hand. “Enjoy a moment of rest—it’s very well deserved.”

Dragon decorating had been a raging success, one that had helped ease the guilt in Nell’s belly a little. And the birthday witchlings would drool over the results. “All I did was requisition enough crayons.”

“Hardly, my dear. You’re raising three beautiful girls capable of loving someone the way they need to be loved. You stand at the heart of a community that does the same every single day.” Moira’s hands punctuated her words. “And I do believe this particular event was your idea.”

“I sat in a corner and colored dragon legs.” And had stayed carefully out of the way of the many people in her life who had far better instincts for making Beth comfortable.

“Yes, you did. And they were lovely legs too.” Irish eyes asked for the rest of what ailed her.

She’d been a passenger. “It doesn’t feel like enough. Like I did enough.”

“When most people walk in a garden, all they see are the flowers.” Moira’s fingers trickled through a few blooms one of the girls had left in a lopsided vase on the table. “They don’t see the gardener who comes through every day and makes sure they have water.”

Nell smiled at the woman who had always been the witching community’s best waterer. “I’m pretty sure that’s a bad analogy to use with a fire witch.”

“Mayhap. But I’m elderly and frail of mind, and I couldn’t come up with a better one.”

Nell nearly snorted flower petals up her nose. “Your mind is about as frail as a semi truck.”

The tea kettle began to whistle, and Moira stood up, amused. “I’ve some nice rooibos left from the batch I made for Beth, if you’d like some of that.”

So long as it came with a heaping spoonful of sugar, she was fine with frou-frou tea. “I’m no gardener.”

The gaze Moira leveled at her would have had lesser witches scrambling for cover. “You’re the core of this place, and you do no one any favors by denying it.”

“I’m just a fighter.” Nell unclenched her fists, entirely unclear why she was fighting something she already knew.

“I’m Irish, love.” Moira’s hand settled on her hunched shoulder. “The best of our leaders have always been warriors. And mothers too.”

Nell sucked in a shaking breath. “You think it was the right thing to send her home?”

Moira took two cups off the rack. “You don’t?”

“I don’t know.” Nell resisted the urge to destroy sugar packets. “I’m afraid she won’t come back.” And they’d finally started to get somewhere.

“She might not.” The soft clinks of the tea-making ritual somehow gentled the words. “But whether she does or not, it will be a choice. One made with a better understanding of who we really are.”

They were more than dragons and quiet basement coloring parties. “I guess I was hoping she’d have a chance to see more of us first.”

Moira turned, sugar bowl in her hand, and came to sit at the table. “Trust this place you water with such care.”

The water metaphors were making Nell’s magic squirmy. “I want her to feel at home here.”

“Of course you do.” Moira looked out the window a moment. “But this place of sun and light isn’t home for all of us. We have roots in various places that we also need to nurture. Beth needed to breathe in her own garden for a bit. She’ll be back.”

“You seem so sure.” As did three girls who would be very sad if their new friend didn’t return.

“This isn’t home.” Moira’s eyes were soft pools of green. “But we will always find water here. You offer nourishment, whether we plant here or not. She’ll come back.”

Nell wished she had that kind of faith.

An old and not-yet-frail hand slipped into hers. “And when the gardener needs nourishing, she should come and visit a friend. I’m going to pop home for the night too. You might come join me when the sky puts out her twinkling decorations this evening—I’ve a mind for a soak.”

Even a fire witch couldn’t resist that kind of invitation.

Or that kind of watering.