A Different Witch

Chapter 12



Beth squatted down in front of their tiny, cantankerous fireplace and added another log to the fire. A real wood-burning fireplace had been one of the main reasons they’d rented the small apartment. That, and the retail space below.

Not that it had looked like retail space when they’d first found it.

She looked over her shoulder at Liri, who was lounging on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate cradled in her hands. “Remember when we first got this place?”

“Mmm.” The chuckle was long and wry. “You decided the rent wasn’t a problem because we’d be dead of some noxious disease before the month was up.”

It had been an entirely rational fear—the previous tenants had left a nasty kind of squalor behind them. And according to neighborhood gossip, the storefront downstairs had conducted several kinds of business, none of them legal. “It cleaned up pretty well.”

“It did.” Liri smiled as Beth settled back on the couch. “And so did we.”

They’d been fresh out of college, eager to create a home for themselves, and slightly crazy. “When we walked down the street tonight, I realized how much the neighborhood has changed.” Including the latest addition—an excellent coffee shop on the corner.

“It sneaks up on me sometimes. I say hello to Mrs. Andriychuk or dodge a skateboard as I unlock the doors in the morning, and it feels the same as always.” Liri grinned. “And then I take a look at our account balance at the end of the month, and I realize it’s a whole new world.”

Their account balance had rendered Beth speechless when Liri had pulled it up downstairs. People strolling down the street this holiday season had money to spend.

That change felt really good. Beth pulled her knees up under her chin, watching the flames dance up around the new log. “It’s good to remember how far we’ve come.”

“You know how to journey,” said Liri softly.

Here, at home, she could face the difficult truths. “I’m hard to journey with.”

“Maybe so.” Her partner slid off the couch down onto the rug beside her. “But it’s worth the effort. Our circle is stronger for having learned to work with the mind and the heart that is Beth Landler.” Fingers slid into hers. “Our relationship is stronger for the same reason.”

Oh, she’d needed to hear those words. “We’ve walked a lot of steps together.” And for so many of them, she’d been the one pulling back, resisting. “It’s harder alone.”

A slow smile crept up Liri’s face. “You didn’t always think so.”

She hadn’t. And she didn’t remember to thank the woman who had convinced her otherwise nearly often enough. “I’ve missed you so very much. It all moves so fast in California. I feel like I’m losing my balance most of the time.”

“I think that’s exactly what you said when Mrs. Andriychuk’s grandson talked you into trying out his skateboard.”

Beth grimaced, amused. That had ended with an embarrassed trek to the urgent care clinic and five stitches. “I’m not very good with speed.”

Liri gazed over the top of her mug, silent for an uncomfortably long time. “Do you want to be?”

That sounded ominous. “I don’t know. I tried some training with Nell and Jamie, and they both insisted that fire magic needs to be fast.”

The hand that reached out for hers was warm and steady. “Are they right?”

Only Liri could make her want to look at the hard things. “They might be. I’ve been watching the kids. There’s this tiny girl—Jamie’s daughter, Kenna. She has such magic, Lir.” And such joy. “She lets the energies flow much more quickly than I do.”

“You’re a very careful witch.” Liri spoke slowly, the dancing light of the fire casting shadows on her face. “But you’ve also practiced your craft for more than a decade.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “When Jamie came, he turned things upside down.”

He had—and Liri’s body language said he still wasn’t entirely forgiven. “We managed.”

“Exactly.” Her partner’s eyes flashed gentle fire now. “You’re our leader—and the circle you built handled radical change.”

Beth traced the misshapen handle on the mug that had been Liri’s last solstice project. “You think I could do it. Let the magic be faster.”

“I don’t know.” Liri looked at her now, the direct gaze that she only used for her most important words. “But I think you’re ready to try. Do things differently and see what happens.”

Unwavering support—and a sturdy push. Two gifts her partner had always offered in abundance. Beth tried to accept them both. “I’m afraid.”

“I know.” The words were infinitely gentle now. “Let it change you, love.”

Beth held on tightly to the woman who had taken so many steps at her side. “I think it already is.”

Liri cuddled in closer. “I know that, too.”

-o0o-

Moira laid her head back against a cool stone, admiring the shimmering night sky. “She’s putting on quite a show for us tonight.”

Sophie chuckled from her seat nearby. “It beats last night’s rain.”

A true earth witch never minded the rain—but fire witches from California weren’t quite so sturdy.

Spluttering laughter from Lauren, newly arrived, suggested to Moira that she hadn’t been thinking quietly enough. She never could remember that the warm waters made her mind leaky.

“Just for that,” said the last of their quartet, sliding into the pool, “I’m sending your cookie rations back home.”

It would be a harsh punishment indeed—the plate in Nell’s hand smelled of delectable goodness. “I can hardly help it if you’re picking up on my private thoughts now, can I?” Moira beamed in welcome and reached for a cookie, just in case. “Besides, I notice you never come soak in my pool on the nights when we’re getting a gentle Irish rain.”

If Nell’s eyes rolled any harder, they were going to plop right out. “Rain, I can handle. Horizontal sleet at thirty miles an hour is the kind of weather that calls for a fire inside and a warm body to share it with.”

Oh, my. Someone was feeling frisky this winter’s eve. “And how is our Daniel?”

Sophie was chuckling again. “You were in Berkeley just a couple of hours ago. Surely the news hasn’t changed much since then.”

Time passed differently when you were old. “I’m thinking a couple of hours is plenty of time for two as young as Nell and Daniel.”

Moira twinkled at the pool in general as Lauren nearly slid under the water laughing. And Nell’s glare couldn’t cover up the amusement in her eyes. Good. A dash of humor was one of the best antidotes to the winter blahs.

Or fragile ground under a warrior’s feet.

Sophie reached for a cookie. “How long have you decided to grace Fisher’s Cove with your presence?”

Long enough to check in on all those she loved. “Just for the night. A wee sleep in my own bed, and I’ll be headed back west tomorrow. We’ve decorations to finish.” And a newly rooted fire witch to nurture. “I promised Beth I’d help her shop for a couple of birthday gifts.”

“I’m not sure she needs help.” Nell was still looking up at the stars. “Kenna hasn’t let go of that butterfly balloon since it arrived. Nat said they wake up at night to the quiet crinkling of metallic wings.”

There were worse sounds to wake up to. “They’ve a special bond forming, those two.” She’d learned well in her years—it was often the little ones who extended the best welcome.

“Shay, too.” Nell’s pride shone in her words.

“And Lizard and Nat.” Lauren dusted cookie crumbs off her fingers into a nearby flower patch. “With the notable exception of the under-six crowd, I think Beth has found it easiest to connect with the quieter, more introverted people in our midst.”

A certain old Irish witch was making progress too. “They’re also some of those with the biggest hearts. We’ve made a good start, I think. A few missteps, but we’ve touched the woman.”

Sophie lifted her head off a convenient rocky pillow, eyes suddenly alert. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

Lauren was nodding slowly. “But an apt one, I think. We haven’t really connected with her magic.”

Aye. The woman, they’d begun to reach, and that was nothing but good. The witch—well, she was still in hiding.

“Not for lack of trying.” Nell’s sigh was a series of frustrated little spurts. “She’s so linear in her magic, and so inflexible. It’s really difficult to work with.”

They all waited quietly—Nell was plenty capable of finishing that sentence herself.

When she did, the smile that came with it was wry. “Especially when her trainer is opinionated and not very flexible either.”

“I’ve never known a spellcaster to be all that flexible—and you’re one of our best.” Moira patted her hand. “Complicated magic requires a witch who knows how to drive to her goal. But that’s not all that’s impeding our efforts with Beth. Jamie had little more success, and he’s a very adaptable, creative witch. Probably the best trainer we have.”

Every head in the tub was nodding now.

“He keeps up with my munchkin.” Nell traced wet lines on a rock. “And Aervyn did really well with Beth, but he’s hardly ready to be her trainer.”

Moira sent a mental cuddle to the boy she loved beyond measure. “He’s got a fine hand as an assistant.”

“In most cases.” Nell spoke slowly now, her words measured. “And he did well with Beth when they were just playing. But any time someone has tried to guide her learning, there’s been struggle.”

And a mama bear protected her little ones. “You don’t want him in the middle of that.”

“Not if there’s any way to avoid it.”

“She doesn’t know how to trust.” Lauren was still gazing up at the stars. “People with autism learn a lot of things on their own. I think she’s very used to acting as her own guide.”

Sophie frowned. “She has a partner. That speaks of a pretty solid ability to connect and relate.”

“Yes, and there’s deep trust between them.”

Instinct tugged on Moira now. “The kind that’s built over years. We don’t have that kind of history with her.”

“We don’t.” Lauren’s words were mild, but Moira could hear layers behind them. “And the brief history we do have might not be all that convincing as to our worthiness as guides.”

Aye. They’d shown the girl strong magic, but of the rather reckless kind. Running amok in her coven, teleporting her hither and yon.

Her coven.

The vague feelings in Moira’s gut suddenly took on shape and texture and grit. “Perhaps we’ve been going about it wrong.”

Nell snorted. “I don’t think that’s much in doubt.”

Lauren abandoned her stargazing and raised an eyebrow. “You have an idea.”

“I do.” Moira stirred a hand through the warm waters. “We’ve been trying to shape her magic, to teach it. Perhaps instead, we need to share it.” The rightness of her idea was growing. “We’ll be having a solstice circle, no?”

“Of course.” Nell was already frowning. “You can’t be thinking to put her in the circle.”

“Not the big one, no. But a circle, yes.”

“That’s—” Nell stopped and forcibly relaxed. “I’m listening.”

Moira hid her smile. There was more than one witch in the pool used to getting her way. “It would obviously require a rehearsal, but she’s no novice. She’s done ten years of circle work, and Jamie tells me she did admirably well in Chicago for a witch with so little to work with.”

There was silence in the pool for a long moment. Moira kept her eyes on Nell—it was there that the idea would live or die.

When Nell finally spoke, it was a single, drawn-out word. “Why?”

In answer, Moira rooted herself in the long-tilled soils of tradition. She smiled at the fierce warrior across the pool. “What are the three responsibilities of a witch in the circle?” She’d taught every last one of them to a young Nell Sullivan herself.

“To join her flow with others.”

Moira only nodded.

“To hold steady.”

“Her circle work in Chicago will have taught her both those things.”

Nell looked down at the gently rippling waters and sighed. “To trust.”

“Aye.” Beth would manage the first two quite nicely—she was a disciplined witch. “It’s the last that will be the test.”

Nell’s hands fisted on the surface of the water. A witch in turmoil.

A turmoil that clearly didn’t make sense to anyone else in the pool. Moira spoke from her heart. “What troubles you so, Nell?”

Sophie leaned forward, her healer instincts also seeking. “We do circles with new witches all the time.”

Nell stirred the waters, seeking wisdom in the pool’s depths. “I don’t like it at all. I honestly don’t know why.” She looked up, face taut. “But it makes my gut tie up in knots.”

Moira felt worry settle in her heart. It might be overreaction—but witches didn’t ignore their warriors.

“I watched her color a dragon and hug my girls, and that felt really good.” Nell’s voice hitched. “But this feels different.”

A smart witch knew when to push—and when to let truth make its own way. “Perhaps it’s more coloring and cuddles we need first, then.” Time for trust to build.

“I don’t know.” More staring into the murky depths.

Once again, the pool’s occupants sat silent, honoring Nell’s struggle with truth.

When she looked up, her eyes were clear and bright. “Okay. It’s a good idea. But I’m not the right witch to ask that of her. The trust.”

“Not yet.” Moira offered balm as she could.

“I don’t know that I can trust Beth.” Honesty shone in the words—as did worry. “But I do trust the circle.”

Sometimes witching asked so very much of its strongest hearts. “We’ll let you and Jamie work out the details. Perhaps Lauren can assist you.” And maybe figure out what was casting shadows on the warrior’s soul.

“She understands Beth best.” Nell’s breath let out with a whoosh. “Okay. I can live with that.”

Moira didn’t miss Lauren’s worried look from across the pool. All was not yet well in the witching world.

She looked up at the stars, drawing solace from their light. On this dark winter’s night, that would have to be enough.

They had a witch to woo.

And one of their strongest to steady.

-o0o-

Beth made her way slowly down the stairs to the shop, a small glass of eggnog in her hand. Tea might have been more appropriate to the hour, but she hadn’t wanted to disturb Liri’s sleep making it.

Apparently her Aspie brain was still on California time—and even a warm body cuddled in beside her hadn’t been enough to convince her mind to drift off to dreamland.

She made her way to the back of the shop by feel, something she did often when her nocturnal thoughts kept her awake. Parting the curtain of blue crushed velvet, she let herself into the cozy back room that served as their coven meeting place and her usual spot for nighttime magic practice.

It hadn’t been thoughts teasing her brain—it had been the lure of a new spell.

Magic, in a space and a time of her own choosing.

Carefully, she set out the things she would need to be comfortable and safe. A firm hassock to sit on and a cup of water nearby. Candles to light a ring around her workspace. A small fire extinguisher in the corner, never needed, but always present.

She pressed play on the iPod tucked away on the room’s single, simple shelf, and smiled as Celtic Christmas carols filled the space. Liri loved them.

And tonight, love would support her work. She turned down the volume to barely audible and returned to the hassock. Already her breathing was settling into the quiet rhythm of the simple meditation she always used to begin her practice.

Slowly the breathing led her other senses to quiet, focused only on the air moving in and out. Bringing life to the energies that lay within.

And soon enough the drumbeat of power began to beat in her veins. A second heart, pulsing in time to an ancient calling.

The beat was strong tonight. Power, yearning for purpose.

Time for a map.

Filed in her mind between street maps and restaurant menus, Beth found the memory she needed. A simple fire globe, hovering over a five-year-old hand. Carefully, she zoomed in on the floating orb, her mind working back to the spellshape that had created it.

Glowing lines of power, beautifully tangled.

With the precision of a decade of practice, she called fire into her fingertips. And with the new eyes of the last twenty months, she began to tease apart the colors. Yellow—the workhorse stream of power. It took only a few seconds to work it into the oblong flow that served as the spell’s backbone.

The thin orange flow came next, dancing more sharply. Breath in, breath out. The flow eased, winding itself sinuously around the spell’s core.

This far, she’d come before—it was the next step that always faltered. Beth paused, checking the map. Aervyn’s spellshape was cleaner and simpler than the ones she’d tried in the past. Just two more flows.

Unraveling delicately now, she teased apart red and violet, seeking the fickle, darting energies of the first. It snapped at her fingers, protesting. She tugged hard on the lines, demanding control. Too fast. Slow down.

The red snapped harder.

Let it change you. Liri’s words seeped into the magic.

Slowly, Beth let the brakes go a fraction, and felt the zooming speed as red energy lit up her channels.

It was frantically fast—but it wasn’t snapping anymore. If she could move fast enough, it would do as she asked. Fingers flying, Beth wove an undulating filament and threw it at her spellshape.

And gaped as it layered itself over the yellow and orange.

The shape was wrong. Not Aervyn’s spell now, but Kenna’s. Her magic had gone renegade.

No. It was morphing. Innovating. Evolving. Sweating now, Beth invoked the power of friendlier synonyms to stem the panic. She was one step away. One.

And the violet flow was her favorite.

Hands trembling, she folded the tiny energy stream that reminded her of fairy lights and slid it into the center of the spell.

And then ignited it and opened her eyes, laughing.

Delighting.

And stared in awe at the orb floating over her palm.

It was a tad lopsided. And the size of a basketball. And a fair bit hotter than a well-behaved fire globe was supposed to be.

None of which mattered in the slightest.

She’d done it. With Chicago concrete under her feet and an evening wrapped in love at her back—she’d done it.