A Modern Witch

A Modern Witch By Debora Geary


A Modern Witch Series: Book 1

A Modern Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 1)

Debora Geary


Chapter 1

“I like the lingerie, Nell. Can I meet the woman it fits?”
“What?” Nell was trying to debug a couple of uncooperative lines of code, and her brother Jamie wasn’t making any sense.
“I’m standing beside a giant bra, available in eggplant, chocolate, and ruby. Says it’s size 34D, but either that’s a big underestimate, or you shrunk me. Go for the red, by the way—it’ll look good on you.”
“What? Oh, no.” Nell’s head snapped toward her second monitor. She had been testing programming code on one screen and shopping online for anniversary lingerie on the other. Sure enough, a five-inch tall version of Jamie was currently on screen two, ducking his head into the cup of a red lace bra.
He backed out and waved. “I’m impressed—nice magic trick. Nice bra, too. What are you working on?”
Nell was grateful he hadn’t noticed the matching garter belt and stockings already in her shopping cart. “Crap. Sorry. I’m working on the fetching spell for Witches’ Chat, the online witching community Sophie is adding to her site. The spell is supposed to locate witches as they browse the Internet and redirect them to our chat room.”
Jamie had climbed up the red-lace bra cup and made himself comfortable. “Looks like the locating part works fine, but I’m guessing this isn’t your chat room. If it is, I can guarantee you high attendance from the male witch population.”
“Get off the lingerie, Jamie—that’s just disturbing. Here.” Nell swiveled her two monitors toward each other so Jamie could read the spell code. “Any idea where it’s going wrong?”
Jamie squinted. “Hmm. So, first part, you identify witches as they move around online. That’s the tracking part, right?”
“Yes. Then we leave a sniffer cookie so we can find them again. When the fetching part of the spell is turned on, it should activate the sniffer cookie and pull our witch into chat. We’re triggering the fetching, but it’s obviously not pulling people to the right place.”
“I think I see your issue. You need to program Witches’ Chat as a fixed variable in line sixty-two. Right now it’s pulling people into your last known Internet location. Not that I mind.” Jamie had turned the bra straps into his own personal monkey bars.
“Dang. I see it now. Thanks for the help.”
“No problem. That’s a nice piece of spellcoding, by the way. Can you send me back? I was in the middle of lunch, and it was pretty good.”
“Oh, shit. You’re really in there?” Nell gave up on line sixty-two. Clearly they had bigger problems. “It’s just supposed to redirect you, not suck you into the net. I thought we’d just grabbed a virtual version of you.”
“Like I said, nice piece of magic. We could use it for the really advanced, witch-only levels of Enchanter’s Realm.” Jamie was always looking for a new coding challenge for their online-gaming world.
Nell knew even her spellcoding skills weren’t that good. “I don’t have enough power working alone to write a transporting spell. It must have piggybacked on your teleporting skills.”
Jamie pillowed his head on red lace. “Yeah, that could have upped the voltage. Let’s work on it, though—it could be a real jolt for Realm. In the meantime, do me a favor—can you click to the product photos of women wearing the bras? More fun for me while you work on getting me out. Take your time.”
“Fortunately,” Nell said dryly, “I have ample practice in reversing spell misfires.” She thought for a minute and typed a couple lines of code. Waving goodbye to Jamie, she reached for power.
“I ask the lines of power and spell,
Remember the steps you just now took.
Take this one you know so well,
Send him home to be and look.
As I will, so mote it be.”
…

Lauren paced back and forth in front of the entrance to one of Chicago’s hottest new condo addresses. She shot a distracted smile at the doorman and waved the real estate folder in her hand in his general direction. Thank goodness for cell phone ear buds, she thought ruefully. These days, talking to yourself on the street didn’t draw much attention. It could be her little secret that she carried on both parts of the conversation.
She was resigned about this particular showing. The clients were wonderful people, but they had a long list of demands. Truth be known, no condo in downtown Chicago was going to meet their expectations. However, it was her job to show them the loft, whether they were ready to be realistic or not. She hoped they decided quickly. Nat would be grumpy if she missed yoga class again.
A cab pulled up, and Lauren put on her best realtor smile. “Kate, nice to see you again. You’re going to love this loft—gorgeous views and a stunning kitchen. Will Mitch be joining us?”
“I think so, but let’s head up. Mitch may be able to tour a place at a sprint, but I like a little time to look around.” Kate Greenley was beautiful, newly married, and on a meteoric rise to the top of Chicago’s design world. None of which explained her sudden pallor as the elevator started to rise.
Lauren laid a hand on her client’s arm and sensed a touch of nausea. “Kate, are you feeling all right?”
Kate nodded and dug a granola bar out of her purse. “It used to be that I could skip lunch without a problem. Lately, it comes back to bite me. So, tell me about the condo. Does it have the office space we wanted? How is the light?”
Reaching into her bag for the property’s full-color glossies, Lauren started her spiel. She also kept a surreptitious eye on Kate—February in Chicago, the flu was always going around, and she didn’t want it.
They stepped out of the elevator into a striking foyer. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the gray, windblown expanse of the lake in winter. Not all clients loved windblown, however. “You can imagine the stunning views in summer, with blue skies and sailboats out on the water,” Lauren said.
Kate laughed. “No wonder you’re so good at your job, if you can look out at that and see Lake Michigan in summer. I like the lake in all its moods, even the less fashionable ones. It’s one of the reasons a lake view was on our list.”
“Ah, yes, the list.” Lauren unlocked the door. “As I’ve said before, Mitch’s spreadsheet is pretty daunting, but I think you’ll agree this place hits a lot of high points. Let’s go in and look around.”
She watched her client carefully and gave a quiet inner cheer. She could see the designer in Kate captivated by the spaciousness and modern design of the condo.
Knowing when to let a place sell itself, Lauren moved aside and let Kate walk forward to the sixteen-foot-high bank of windows overlooking the city and the lake. Good. One-half of the client was moving the right direction. Now she just needed Mitch and his list.
A discreet buzz told her she was about to get her wish. She opened the door to let in Mitch Greenley. He looked every inch the hip, young accountant, from the fantastic suit to the mighty laptop under his arm. She coveted the girl version of his suit.
“Good to see you again, Lauren.” Mitch entered and reached for her hand. He looked over at Kate, and Lauren could feel the newlywed happiness ooze out of him. The man might look like a dispassionate numbers geek, but he was deeply in love with his new wife. “Sorry I’m late, love. Tax season’s coming, and the clients are getting demanding.”
“Dealing with high-strung personalities is one of your best talents, sweetie.” Kate kissed him in welcome. “Why do you think I married you?”
“And here I thought it was for my spreadsheets,” Mitch said, tapping the laptop he’d laid on the granite breakfast bar.
Lauren choked back her laughter. “Mitch, I think this place will do well against your checklist, but let’s take a look around and let you gather some first impressions.”
Kate grinned. “Spreadsheets are his first impression. Come see this view, love—it really is marvelous. Even on a dreary day like this, the light in here is magnificent.”
Mitch took his wife’s hand and together they walked through the main living space. Lauren watched their now-familiar routine. Even holding her husband’s hand, Kate took the room in as a kind of dance, with sweeping gazes and impetuous changes of direction. Mitch methodically turned to each of the four corners, as if he was cataloguing against the list tacked to his mental corkboard.
Clearly the bedrock foundations of their souls were made of entirely different materials. Lauren would bet her next commission that they had as little common ground in deciding what to eat for dinner as they did in choosing their first married home. Somehow, they made it work.
Lauren joined Kate in the middle of the room as Mitch walked over to his computer. “Well, Mitch, how are we doing?”
“It hits some of our top priorities, for sure.” Mitch ran down the checklist in front of him. “Lake view, check. Open and airy main living space, check. Hardwood floors—what is that, Lauren? Bamboo?”
“Yes; random-width bamboo, and it runs through the entire condo,” Lauren said. “I particularly love it in the kitchen. It sets set off the chocolate cabinets and stainless steel beautifully.”
Mitch turned around to take a longer look at the kitchen. “Not sure I’m a big fan of open shelves instead of cabinets. Where do we hide the ugly stuff?”
Kate, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the empty living room floor, glanced up from her sketchpad. “No ugly stuff in my kitchen.”
“Uh, oh,” Mitch said. “That’s her designer voice.”
“We’ll just have to put the ceramic nesting bowls from your Aunt Josephine up for adoption.” Kate eyed Lauren. “A set of five, festooned with hand-painted pink pigs. Interested?”
Mitch winced. “She’ll come to visit and look for them; she always does. Isn’t it impolite to give away wedding gifts?”
Kate grinned at him. “I’m not buying a home to match pink-pig china, even for your favorite great-aunt. Besides, we shouldn’t encourage her; she’ll just give us more. I like the open shelves. I saw some copper-bottom pots the other day in a kitchenware store that would look fabulous up there.”
Lauren had spent enough time with the Greenleys to know Kate’s cooking skills maxed out at toasting bagels.
“Design inspiration,” Mitch whispered. He winked at his wife. “See, I’m not even going to ask why you were in a kitchenware store. I’m learning.”
Kate just giggled.
Mitch turned back to his laptop. “So, sounds like we have ‘modern, well-designed kitchen’ covered, then?” He glanced over at Kate for confirmation.
“Yes, I think so. I like the feel of the space so far. Let’s live dangerously and skip down the list to the master bathroom, shall we? I’m hoping there’s a big, jetted bathtub with a view of the lake.”
Lauren took that as her cue and stepped forward to lead the way into the master suite.
“Again, honey?” She stopped at the concern in Mitch’s voice.
He moved to his wife’s side with impressive speed. “Are you sure you’re not getting the flu? You looked really peaked at home this morning, too.”
“I’m fine. Too many cups of coffee and not enough food today, I guess. Let’s look at the rest of this place, and then you can take me out for a nice dinner. I’m ravenous.”
Mitch shook his head. “Dinner now; you look like a ghost. Lauren, can we come back in the morning to finish the showing?” He put a hand on Kate’s arm to silence her protests.
Hmm, the sexy accountant takes charge, Lauren thought. “Not a problem. The property is vacant, so I’ll just give the listing realtor a quick call and meet you here tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock?”
“Sounds good.” Mitch led Kate toward the door. “I promise we’ll both eat a good breakfast first.”
Kate rolled her eyes at Lauren and waved. She leaned into her husband as they walked toward the elevator. “Will you wash behind my ears, too?”
Lauren didn’t need to hear Mitch’s reply to know it had nothing to do with food. She could feel the sparks of heat and humor from Kate as the elevator doors closed. It looked like there would be time to get to yoga class after all.
…

“Aunt Moira, the Internet was not created by black magic; I promise you.”
“Sure it must be, Sophie, or why won’t it do what I tell it with this wee mousie?”
Sophie reminded herself to brew a little patience tea before Moira’s next long-distance computer lesson. “Let’s try it again. This time, don’t start the login spell until I tell you.”
“Sophie, surely a scrying bowl would be easier, no? Or I could send you Uncle Sean’s two-way mirror—it’s lovely for a cozy chat.”
“I can chat with you that way, Aunt Moira, but we can’t add in Nell, or any of the other witches I hope will join us soon.”
“It’s a wonderful idea,” Moira said, “this community of witches you want to build, but are you sure that the Internet is the best place to do it? Witches have managed to find each other without it for thousands of years, you know.”
Sophie grinned. Moira was a hereditary witch, and her sense of tradition ran strong and deep. “I know it’s new and different, Aunt Moira. I wish it were easier for us to find each other these days. How long has it been since you had a student who wasn’t family?”
“You’ve the right of it there, Sophie.” Moira sighed. “We’ve only had a couple since you.”
Sophie often forgot she and Moira weren’t actually related. Her childhood summers at Moira’s cottage on the Nova Scotia coast, learning the craft and traditions of witching, had created a family of the heart. “I miss you too, Aunt Moira. I’ll come when I can this summer, to visit and to help.”
“There’s always room for you, sweetling. If you had mind talents, I’d be asking you to join me here in Ireland. We’ve just discovered my great-nephew Murphy can mind read, and we haven’t anyone close by to show him how to stay out of where he isn’t invited. He’s hearing all manner of things that aren’t meant for the ears of small boys. He’s too little to send elsewhere for training just yet.”
“That’s why we need an online community. Jamie’s a mind witch; perhaps he can visit our chat room and help you out with Murphy. Modern witches need to use modern tools.”
“Didn’t I just get on a plane and fly all the way across the ocean? That’s modern enough for this old witch. It’s a good idea, though, asking Jamie for help with the wee scamp Murphy.”
“I hope we can use chat to help with the witchlings, and beyond that, too.” Sophie played her trump card. “So many gifts are going to waste. Not everyone comes from a family that recognizes and nurtures power. You always told us an untrained witch is both a danger and a loss.”
“Aye, Sophie, I know. It’s why I agreed to help you.”
“Indeed. So let’s get started. We need to get you into the chat room. Go up to the bar where I showed you and type in www.amodernwitch.com.”
Moira huffed. “I’m not a total nimwit, Sophie; I can get to your lovely little store. Didn’t I buy some of your chamomile lotion just last month?”
“Aunt Moira, next time you want some lotion, just ask. You don’t need to buy it.”
“I like to support witch commerce. Your chamomile lotion is magic for my arthritic hands in the winter.”
Sophie laughed. There was no point trying to move Aunt Moira when she was standing on high moral ground. “I give up—buy lotion as often as you like. Right now, let’s get you logged in to Witches’ Chat.”
“Haven’t we been trying that for twenty minutes now? So, I put my wee mousie over the yellow button, there. Then what? This mouse creature keeps wanting to go somewhere else. I’m thinking Murphy or one of the other small ones must have magicked it on me.”
Sophie grinned. It was entirely possible. “I can imagine several who might try, Aunt Moira, but you’re stronger than any trainee-witch pranks, I’m sure. Click on the yellow button first, then start the login spell. That will take you into the chat room. I’ll be waiting there for you.”
When she heard Moira’s lilting spell begin, Sophie crossed her fingers and clicked on the yellow “Witches’ Chat” button herself.
“I seek the ones who share my gifts,
To talk, to learn.
This portal will my power discern,
And let me in, as one of three.
As I will, so mote it be.”
Sophie: You did it! Can you read this?
Moira: My eyes are fine, Sophie.
Sophie: Indeed, they are. Well, now you know how to work the login spell. We’ll meet Nell here later today and find out if the fetching spell is up and running yet.
Moira: That will be tomorrow morning for me. I’ll see you then, dear. Is there an exit spell too?
Sophie: No, just click on the little X in the top right corner. Sleep well, Aunt Moira.