A Witch Central Wedding

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Moira tipped her face up to the sun. Early spring in Nova Scotia never came with such lovely weather.

Nell chuckled and sat down beside her. “Ginia’s been doing that all day.”

Aye. Their young healer had done yeoman’s work teasing all the flowers into bloom for the wedding. They’d all had a hand in Lauren’s bouquet, though, showering it in magic, beauty, and shared laughter.

Might Lauren and Devin be blessed with all of it every day of their lives.

And old women weren’t the only healers who should be taking a rest after the morning’s activities. Moira gazed over the busyness of Witch Central preparing for joy. “Have you seen Sophie?” Very pregnant women needed to put their feet up. Aaron had Elorie tucked into a chair next to his kitchen empire, but Sophie was a less-biddable witch than her granddaughter.

And not quite as round, just yet. Elorie’s twins would be coming any day now.

“I’m right here,” said a dry voice behind her shoulder. Sophie slid into view, three glasses of lemonade in her hands. “Waddling along just fine, thank you.”

Nell grinned. “I hated the waddling part.”

“Don’t we all?” Sophie settled into a chair with a sigh. “Aaron said I’m to sit down and delegate, so I’ve decided to humor him for a bit.”

Moira hid a smile. Aaron was getting very adept at maneuvering grumpy, pregnant witches. “I believe we’re nearly ready.” And even for an old woman, patience was ebbing low.

Sophie chuckled. “You’ve been saying that for two hours now.”

Possibly. It wasn’t every day she had a wedding to look forward to. “The witchlings are getting restless.”

“Not only the witchlings.” Nell looked over at her husband, currently playing catch with their oldest son—and winced as the ball nearly brained Elsie, video recorder in hand. “She’s taking her responsibilities as wedding documentarian very seriously.”

A development that pleased Moira greatly. She sensed a witch historian in the making—a lover of details and a blossoming appreciation for the threads that tied them all together. However, it wouldn’t do for the girl to get a concussion. “Where’s young Kevin? I taught him a lovely spell for warding off swords that might help our Elsie keep her head on her shoulders today.”

“Protecting all our witches-in-a-fog, are you?” Nell shook her head. “We have quite a few who could use that. Ginia walked right out into the street last week, muttering spells under her breath.”

“I’m glad she wasn’t injured.” Witch intuition hadn’t quite evolved to include cars just yet.

Nell snorted. “Aervyn got to do a rescue by broomstick. It was the highlight of his week.”

“We could use his help in Fisher’s Cove.” Sophie bloomed the mint sitting in her lemonade. “The girls have been working out some tricky spells, and Ginia isn’t the only witch not watching where she’s walking. Lizzie tripped right into a tidal pool last week, with Sean two feet behind her giggling.”

And young Lizzie, deeply offended, had nearly turned him into a toad. “Earned him a cauldron scrubbing, it did.” Moira looked around for their most incorrigible troublemaker.

And saw what they’d all been waiting for instead.

Edric, their oldest water witch and the man who would preside over the joining, walking toward the marriage rock.

It was time for a wedding.

“Only one left.”

Retha looked over at her husband and smiled. “Pretty sure Matt’s running for the hills right now.”

Michael grinned. “Yeah, but he took Téo with him.”

Téo had shown up at the medical center in Costa Rica one day, computer and stethoscope in one hand, newly minted medical degree in the other, and had simply started to work. He’d been a treasure from day one, shouldering a sizable portion of the weight on Matt’s shoulders.

It had taken her sensitive, focused son a lot longer to see what else Téo offered.

And if she read the stars in her granddaughters’ eyes right, the two men had probably timed their quiet escape to the hills rather well. The girls had a serious case of wedding fever.

She only cared that her son had found someone who loved every inch of the man he was—and knew how to make him laugh.

Sweet, true love had found all her boys, and it was a lovely thing. And it had always been the one getting married today who had worried her the most. Retha leaned her head on Michael’s shoulder. “They’re going to be happy together. Lauren’s exactly right for him.”

His chuckles shook both of them. “Is that mom or witch speaking?”

A little bit of both, but she knew what he asked. Her spotty and unreliable precog talents most often showed glimpses of her children’s futures—and it generally struck on days of import in their lives. “I haven’t seen much yet—just glimmers.” Touches of contentment. A splash of laughter. Good ingredients in a strong marriage.

“Lauren’s got tough insides, just like Nat. She’ll do fine.”

Her husband was one of the very few people who had seen Nat’s core of steel from the very beginning. Interesting that he saw it in Lauren as well. “She’ll need it. Being married to our tornado isn’t going to be an easy task.”

“Pretty sure she knows that.” Michael’s lips twitched. “Any woman who requests body armor as a wedding gift knows what she’s getting into.”

The gift list had been hilarious—and revealing. The actual gifts were likely to be both as well. Retha had cursed a blue streak knitting the pattern of interlocking circles, but she’d sent her square for the wedding throw, duly blessed in a rare quiet moment with her husband.

She’d added photographs to the album Jennie and Caro were assembling.

And she’d refrained from contributing any recipes to the cookbook that would be Nell’s gift to the couple. Devin was smart enough not to eat anything his mother had concocted, but dear Lauren might try.

Retha lifted her face up to Michael’s for a kiss. “Ready to be married to a crone?”

This spring solstice marked her passage to the witch equivalent of old woman. Wise, revered old woman. She kept trying to remind herself of that. All while planning revenge on the son who had very carefully timed his wedding for this day.

It was the crones who would perform the most powerful wedding blessing. And Devin’s mind had contained far too much glee when he’d casually mentioned the date they’d picked.

Michael grinned, reading the thoughts flowing through the light mind connection between them, and squeezed her shoulders tighter. “You can always wait until next year.”

In the witching world, “old” was a mantle you picked up by choice. She sighed. Some choices were heavier than others. She wasn’t ready to be old.

Her husband chuckled again. “I believe the correct response to that is ‘pants on fire.’”

She blinked, surprised by the gentle chiding in his voice. “What have I done now?”

“It’s not the ‘old’ part that has you bothered.” He touched her cheek gently. “It’s ‘wise’ you don’t think you’re quite ready to be.”

She stared, and felt the truth of his words slide over her bones. “When did you get so smart?”

He grinned, shades of Devin’s glee tingeing his mind. “Since I woke up this morning married to a crone.”