A Different Witch

Chapter 1



Lauren opened the door to The Center for Families and oophed as a freight train hit her belly. Laughing, she squatted down to Jacob’s level—his greetings usually came headfirst these days. “Hi, sweetheart. Can I give you a hug?”

He stared at something just past her head. Avoiding her eyes.

She waited, giving him time to process. It had been one of the very first lessons Tabitha had taught her. The Center had a reputation for unusual success reaching some of the most difficult kids on the autism spectrum. Some even called it magic.

Lauren had come to appreciate just how little magic and how much hard work was involved.

She held still, waiting. And smiled as Jacob’s hands began to move, inching up her arms like little drunken spiders. He paused for a moment, admiring the shiny beads she’d worn just for him—and then dropped his forehead on her shoulder.

One hug, Jacob-style.

He took her hand, tugging her over to a giant mountain of pillows.

Lauren waved at Tabitha, half-hidden by the mountain. “Doing pillow rides, are we?”

The effervescent woman who was the heart-blood of the Center smiled. “Maybe today Jacob will give us a ride.”

Lauren laughed—and then froze as Jacob’s giggle drifted up beside her.

Tabitha’s brain had gone on red alert, but her smile stayed easy. She crouched down to face the small boy, taking care that he could see her face, but keeping her eyes lightly focused elsewhere. “Will you give me a ride, Jacob?”

Lauren held her breath. Tabitha’s tone was joking, her face full of mischief—and most kids with autism couldn’t read those signals at all.

Jacob gazed for a while at some point off in the distance. And then he laughed again—and this time, it came all the way from his toes. “No! Jacob ride!” He tumbled over onto one of the giant-sized pillows, still giggling. “Me ride!”

Tabitha picked up two corners and Lauren grabbed the other two, trying not to sniffle. Eighteen months of work—and Jacob finally understood a joke.

He’s getting so much better at reading nonverbal cues, sent Tabitha, beaming at the deliriously happy boy as he flew through the air onto Pillow Mountain.

Lauren made sure Jacob landed safely before she replied—not everyone could goof off and mindspeak at the same time. Can you feel the difference in his brain?

Tabitha’s eyebrows flew up. No—what do you see?

It was hard to explain, but Lauren tried anyhow. Well, you talk about these kids needing to integrate the words we say with what our tone and our faces say, right? It was at the core of Tabitha’s working theory of autism. Too many layers of information, not digested together.

You could see it?

Lauren ignored the hushed awe—it was still weird having Superman powers others couldn’t share. His mind lights up differently. When he got the joke, it… the pattern was different. And even saying it, she knew she needed to watch more carefully the next time. Tabitha would hound her until she could replay every second.

Jacob tumbled down Pillow Mountain, landing in a heap at their knees. Replay could wait.

You try now, sent Tabitha softly. Let’s see if we can solidify this for him.

Lauren leaned down and tickled Jacob’s ribs. “That looked like fun, cutie. Can I have a ride now?” She kept her facial expressions simple and light.

Jacob’s eyes got big, and he looked back and forth from her to Tabitha.

Lauren winced—it was beautiful eye contact, gorgeous social referencing—and maybe a kid pushed just a little too far.

And then Jacob’s mind lit up, he giggled, and two adult women with no children of their own melted into puddles of maternal pride.

-o0o-

Beth looked around her circle, evaluating. Measuring.

They’d made a lot of progress since the day, twenty months ago, that a brown-eyed stranger had crashed their coven practice, rearranged their circle, and given them a taste of magic at an entirely different level. A meeting they’d barely survived, emotionally torn asunder by his magic and his words.

They’d been doing it wrong.

Jamie Sullivan, messenger of coven near-destruction and a man who haunted her dreams, had made that very clear. And shown them what was possible.

Beth yanked her thoughts back to the task at hand—daydreaming witches were dangerous in circle work.

Mellie, their solid and grumpy earth witch, stood at cardinal north, facing Beth. Power ran smoothly out of her right hand, lines from earth to water connecting competently. It was good to see it so—it had taken Margaret a while to embrace her sudden new identity as a water witch. Before Jamie’s arrival, she’d spent thirty years as a sister to earth magics. Being de-earthed and tossed into the world of blue, liquid power had shaken her sense of self to its core.

Beth didn’t judge. It had taken all of them months to recover from Jamie Sullivan’s visit.

She reached out her left hand to Margaret, seeking the strands of earth and water power, winding them carefully with her fire. She grinned as her flows spit in protest, less than pleased to have to cooperate with water’s cool, wet energies.

It still amused her that fire magic had a temper. Just another of the many things she’d learned in the wake of Jamie’s departure.

She’d touched real magic that day, and it had been like lifting a blindfold. Hands that had felt small edges of the truth now knew what the whole felt like. She’d spent twenty months yearning to feel it again. Working her circle diligently. Scouring the old texts, looking for clues. Planning and practicing, training her hands and her eyes to shape what flowed in her veins.

And she was learning—once again—that she was different.

No one else present that evening had seen what she’d seen. Felt what she’d felt. It had left her a witch awakened—and a witch alone.

A different witch. Again.

She looked to her right, to the last of the cardinal directions and their newest candidate for air witch, and sighed. Nothing. Not the faintest whiff of the shimmer she’d come to recognize as someone with enough power for true circle work.

Mellie had enough power. Margaret, with good support—just barely, but neither of them came close to matching Beth’s strength.

Beth watched newcomer Alyssa swaying gently, dressed in stamped purple velvet, hands tracing arcane patterns in the air. She looked every inch the air witch.

A far cry from Jamie Sullivan’s disreputable jeans and flagrant displays of power.

Beth felt the light push on her brain that was Liriel’s contribution to the circle. Mindtouch. Get back to work.

They’d have to work without air, just as they’d been doing intentionally for twenty months, and accidentally for far longer than that. Beth pushed a line of fire power across the circle to Mellie and felt the connection snap into place. Whatever Mellie’s issues outside the coven, she was a reliable witch.

Liri’s mind was pushing support now, mostly for Margaret.

Beth hurried to ready the spell—their weakest witch didn’t have much endurance. Bringing up the map of a spell imprinted on her soul, she painstakingly began shaping the bubbles. One small, round orb. Two. Working faster now, she added a small shimmer of light to the surface of the second and reached for power to form the third.

And felt Margaret’s power sputtering.

Beth squashed her frustration—circles were no place for temper tantrums either. Quickly, she tightened up her link with Melissa and let the most exhausted witch slide out of the circle. Carefully, competently, the remaining two grounded the circle’s lines and swept up magical remnants. There weren’t many—their work was getting cleaner.

She tried to see it as a victory. They’d made two bubbles and almost formed a third. One of their best efforts.

Jamie Sullivan had filled the room with dancing rainbow bubbles—and it had been effortless.

She looked around at the pleased, proud faces of her circle and tried to shake off her own impatient reactions, just as she’d done for months now. They’d worked to the limits of their power. That it hadn’t truly tested hers wasn’t their fault.

It was better—but it wasn’t what she needed. And she was too scared to do anything about it.

Liriel stepped to Margaret’s side, and the circle broke into celebratory, chit-chattery clumps. Beth edged toward the doorway, needing a few more minutes alone with the magic and her edgy discontent.

She walked into the front room of Witchery, seeking the comfort the little shop always brought her. Small, but profitable. Until twenty months ago, it had anchored her life in a good place—even a happy one. Security, friendship, and a place of sanctuary for one who was different.

Beth touched the titles of the books, proud of their small, but eclectic, library. Customers came to read and to talk, and always seemed to leave with a bauble or two.

She shook her head, still finding that behavior odd. When she shopped, she bought what was on the list.

A shadow settled in beside her. “You need to go.” The words were quiet. It had taken Beth a long time to learn that quiet meant Liriel at her most serious.

“I know.” Beth sighed and fingered the midnight-blue silk draped over their window display. Liri’s work. They’d decided very early on in their business partnership that Beth didn’t get to touch the merchandizing, and Liri didn’t get to touch the accounting software. So far, it had worked out pretty well.

Her life partner of eleven years said nothing. Just waited, silently lining up the edges of books.

It made something in Beth’s chest ache. It wasn’t Liri who needed everything geometrically aligned—she did it out of love. “I’ll go after winter solstice.” That was the rational choice—the holidays were their busiest time of year.

“Go now.” Liri did something pretty with the decks of tarot cards and then leaned over and kissed Beth’s cheek. “This is the most difficult season for you, and California is full of sunshine and light.”

Logic from Liri—another act of love. “I think that lamp I got is helping.” The latest in scientific delivery of full-spectrum light, meant to keep a light-deprived fire witch from descending into a pit of cranky in the middle of a Chicago winter.

“It’s helping you survive. That’s not good enough.” Her best friend and lover looked up now, eyes shining with affection and a disturbing dose of determination.

Beth frowned—she never understood feelings that well unless someone was mind-shoveling them into her brain. If Liri was using magic to make her point, this had gotten awfully serious. “Don’t exhaust yourself. I’ll think about it.”

“Let the magic call you,” said Liri softly, echoing a conversation that they’d been having for months.

Beth picked up a small blue crystal. Lapis, for clarity of thought. “It’s been calling me for months now.” And it still shamed her. She had a good life, one full of friends, love, and purpose. It shouldn’t feel incomplete.

It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t match her magic.

Or that she couldn’t be satisfied with what she had.

-o0o-

It sounded like Martians had invaded, along with their pet rhinos. Nell watched the army of kids barreling through her living room and hoped somebody was in charge.

When Sierra waved from the back of the attack formation, Nell grinned and turned back to her computer. Life Sullivan-Walker style, back to normal.

The email at the top of her inbox grabbed her attention first. She read Sammy’s response and chuckled. Someone had lived in Texas for way too long. She missed her friend desperately already, and they’d only been back in Berkeley for about four hours.

Nell pushed back from her computer, mind full of old memories. Sammy walking down the aisle, a handsome cowboy awaiting her. A wedding reception full of soggy steak and bootlegged cookies. And the wrenching pain of losing a best friend to the wilds of Texas.

Fifteen years ago—and it still felt like yesterday.

Strong hands settled on her shoulders, rubbing gently. Daniel leaned over and kissed the top of Nell’s head. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Yeah.” The glow spread out from Nell’s belly like fire-warmed whiskey. “It was time—we have a very big birthday bash happening in less than a week.” And Texas, even with Sammy in it, wasn’t home.

Her husband pushed a hard drive out of the way and sat down. “Witch Central can plan a party in their sleep.”

Maybe so. But this one was for her son and her favorite niece. “It’s going to be bedlam.”

“We’ll hardly notice.” Daniel grinned and raided her super-secret cookie drawer. “The girls are already trying to figure out how to wedge extra beds into their room. Something about a week-long sleepover.” He took a monster-sized bite out of her last snickerdoodle. “Aervyn’s helping.”

Uh, oh. Nell got halfway out of her chair before she realized the obvious—Daniel was sitting down and munching on a cookie. “Read them the riot act, did you?”

“Yup. Bread-and-water rations for any kiddo who ports in anything bigger than an elephant without asking first.”

That would probably take care of it. Apparently five childless days hadn’t slowed her husband down any. “We can fill The Dungeon with air mattresses.” There would probably be extra houseguests. A party and sunshine in December were both pretty big witch attractants.

Her husband just ran a thumb up the arch of her hand, his mind broadcasting calm and a quick vision of her favorite red silk nightie. “Stop worrying about the logistics.”

She grinned, appreciating his mental multitasking. “It’s a bit strange to be home.” She’d stayed in touch with Sammy, reading the letters and emails of a life in Texas. Made three trips to Texas over the years, the first one alone, the second one with her munchkins in tow. Which had led to three girls with a full-blown horse fixation, an older son who wanted to be a cowboy, and a three-year-old who had wanted to marry Sammy.

Nell had vetoed the wedding—she wasn’t losing any more people she loved to Texas. This time, Aervyn had only wanted to bring home a horse.

She sighed. Sometimes it was hard to lay the mama aside in favor of red silk.

“Give it a few more hours to sink in.” Daniel hugged her shoulders. “Witch Central beats in your soul. It’ll suck you back in soon enough.”

Nell smiled, a little wistful. Sammy had said something very similar as they’d done their good-byes. “Anything else before I get back to work?” In about three hours, jet lag and a week of cow fumes were going to knock her over.

Daniel waggled an eyebrow hopefully. “What are your plans for the afternoon?”

Nell laughed—with eight creatures under the age of ten in the house, that particular activity was highly unlikely. “Off to chat with Moira and Sophie. Moira’s itching to fetch a new witch again.”

“She’s trouble, that one.”

Her husband’s deadpan delivery had Nell giggling like one of her daughters. Their elder witch would never admit it, but she had an inordinate fondness for stirring the pot.

“Hopefully we can get her to postpone trouble for a couple of weeks.” Just until they got past the holidays, the birthdays, and whatever mischief had happened in Realm during her five-day absence.

“Don’t make her wait too long.” A hint of sorrow tinged Daniel’s eyes. “She feels her own mortality these days, I think.”

That was the last thing Nell wanted to contemplate. “More likely she’s just got cabin fever. Nova Scotia’s pretty cold and dark at this time of year.”

“Hmmm. Dark is good.” Her husband shifted gears smoothly, eyebrows dancing hopefully again. “Maybe we can borrow that pond of hers for a midnight rendezvous.”

“Absolutely.” She grinned at the sexy man she loved. “But odds are pretty good Moira would lace it with a fertility spell first.”

The horror on her husband’s face wasn’t entirely feigned—Kenna’s antics were reminding them all too well of Aervyn’s first years.

Nell reached for his hand. “How about we lock all the kids in The Dungeon with Sierra instead? Throw a movie and popcorn down after them?”

He snorted, amused. “That might work.”

It probably would—her herd loved Sierra. And when you had five kids, “might work” was about as good as it got. Nell kissed his cheek and picked up her keyboard. “Give me an hour to chat and then I’ll make dinner.” If Sophie’s terse instant messages were any indicator, Fisher’s Cove was a little cranky at the moment.

“I’ll make dinner.” Her husband headed for the kitchen, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “And lots of popcorn.”

Nell pulled up a transport window for the Witches’ Lounge, well aware there was a goofy grin on her face. She finished the login spell just as a parade of children ran through the living room again, this time wearing turbans. And had to laugh. The one on Aervyn’s head was red and had a slinky strap hanging over his left ear.

So much for her red silk nightie.

She was definitely home.