A Witch Central Wedding

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Retha exhaled, deeply proud of her son—and awestruck by the woman he’d chosen to love.

The two of them were magnificent.

Lauren was mind-broadcasting now, opening the love in her heart to the circle gathered round them. Devin’s mind had always been an open book.

And reading them both, Retha knew the truth. Life had never taken the full measure of Devin Sullivan. Until now. He’d always been a whirlwind of emotion and drive. Her tempest of a boy had grown up into a storm of a man, one bent on changing the world, sometimes just for the pure excitement of it.

She and Michael had planted their wild child into the fertile ground of Witch Central and trusted in the magic of love.

And as Retha watched him stand hand-in-hand with Lauren, mind a single beam of steady joy, she knew his roots would stick.

It would make her next job so much easier.

Edric looked over, mindsending his customary growl. It was time.

She looked across the circle, meeting the eyes of her counterpoint in the east. Moira stood, strong and ageless—palms outstretched. Waiting. An invitation and a dare. Jennie stood at the foot of the circle, hands up as well, eyes dancing in easy empathy.

No Sullivan walked away from a dare. Or the commitments of love.

For the first time in her life, Retha Sullivan reached for the ancient, difficult power of the crone and asked her heart to accept.

And then, palms to the sky, she began the blessing of the crones.

“We ask the power of life well-lived,

Come into this day where souls seek to join.

Bring true sight and wisdom,

Patience and grace,

Grant these two we love

Hearts that sing

And joy for the journey ahead.

We ask this gift, we aged three

As we will, so mote it be.”

When she lowered her hands to her sides, the silence was absolute. And then a gentle, thrumming warmth began to beat in the stone under Lauren and Devin’s feet.

The crones had asked—and the power of life had responded.

Edric raised his staff once again and began the age-old ritual of joining.

Retha watched, eyes full of tears and heart full of joy, as her son and his chosen began their sacred words to each other. The vows were heartfelt and simple—and the story behind them had made the rounds of Witch Central at the speed of cookie-propelled love.

It was tradition—couples wrote their own vows. Together or separately, they found the words that needed to be spoken to the one they loved for all the world to witness.

For some, the words came easily. Others borrowed from those who had come before. For a few, finding them was pure torture.

Retha had not been surprised to see her son join the first group—flow had never been Devin’s problem. It was Lauren who had ground to a halt, her mind the frustrated, unsure mess Retha remembered all too well from struggling with her own vows so many years ago.

For a week, Lauren’s distress had haunted every mind witch in California.

And then one poet fairy had marched into the offices of Berkeley Real Estate and plunked down a crumpled piece of paper that contained the words of Lauren’s heart.

Even in a community used to deeply special wedding gifts, it had been remarkable.

Retha sought out Lizard in the crowd, and tried not to laugh as the highly embarrassed ex-delinquent squirmed in the arms of the man who loved her. This might be the first wedding to use those words. If she was any judge of young love, it wouldn’t be the last.

They were such beautiful words.

And drilled into every head present by the bride.

Retha smiled. Welcomed Lauren to the long list of mind witches whose barrier control had entirely shredded during their vows. And helped Jennie and Caro erect enough of a shield to keep away the headaches. Green goo had no place at a wedding.

She sniffled, overwhelmed by the intersection of memory, power, and a heart beyond full. And, hearing Edric’s closing words, reached for her youngest grandson’s mind. It’s time, sweetie.

Aervyn, feet mostly on the ground, raised his hands.

Devin, in on the second and far more secret surprise, reached out for his wife, and held on tight.

And on the gift of one five-year-old boy’s exuberant love, powered by a circle dozens strong, the newlyweds soared into a beautiful, swooping dance in the sky.

Nat walked over to her husband, two plates of food in her hands, and smiled at the peaceful girl sleeping in a pouch on his chest. “Aervyn’s magic tired her out, did it?”

“For now,” said Jamie, rolling his eyes. “Just wait until she wakes up.”

“We’ll give her to Gramma Retha.” Who had last been seen leading a contingent of witchlings on a bucket raid. No Witch Central event was ever complete without a water fight.

Her husband laughed. “Getting into trouble, is she? Making up for the world calling her old.”

Nat only smiled. And hoped she accepted that far-off moment with half Retha’s grace and spunk. “Did you get all the things moved for the honeymoon?”

“Yup. Transported to one top-secret location, probably by way of Mars.” Jamie grinned over at Aervyn, currently playing tag with a ragamuffin band of sandy kids. “Someone had a lot of magical steam to let loose.”

Leo trucked by, cookie in his hand and chubby cheeks streaked with unidentified goo. Nat smiled. One day soon, that would be her little girl, and Leo would be off playing tag. Life, on an endless, fascinating cycle.

A ripple of conversation began to spread down the beach. The newlyweds arriving. Nat stayed at Jamie’s side. There would be time to hug Lauren and shed a few tears later. She watched as her best friend moved through the crowd in a bright yellow sundress, wildflowers in her hair.

Not a realtor today.

Lauren made her way over to Lizard, cornering her assistant between the amused Josh and a large rock, and said something that turned their resident poet fairy twenty shades of red and had most of the mind witches on the beach chuckling.

“Dunno,” said Jamie glumly. “Can’t hear from here.”

It didn’t matter—they’d hear it in the retelling. And Nat wasn’t really watching Lauren anyhow. It was Devin who had her attention. He kissed witches, collected well wishes, and never took his eyes off his new wife.

Someone was ready for the honeymoon.

“Not quite yet. Look.” Jamie chucked softly, his fingers linking with hers. “The girls found Téo.”

Nat followed his gaze. Three blonde heads had Matt’s cheerful, outgoing partner surrounded, and they seemed to be herding him. “What are they up to?”

Her husband’s eyes lit with amusement. “Apparently it’s time for the bouquet toss.”

“We have one of those?” Nat was fairly certain her own wedding had included no such thing.

Amusement gave way to snorting laughter. “We do now.”

Oh, no. Nat tried to keep her giggles quiet and failed miserably.

Word spread through the waiting crowd, and soon, Téo stood in the middle of all the unmarried females the witching community could muster on short notice, most of them under the age of ten. Sierra stood on the periphery, laughing and weaving a spell. Nat was pretty sure it was intended to repel flowers.

Elsie tucked in behind Sierra, a very sticky Leo in her arms.

Nat grinned. Hard to catch when you had your arms full of small boy.

The triplets went as a group to gather their last victim—Lizard standing against a wall, glaring daggers at anyone within fifty feet. Shay, ever the clever negotiator, took Josh’s hand and dragged him off instead.

Jamie snickered. “Well, at least they’re equal opportunity meddlers.”

Nat just smiled, pretty sure most of the antics were purely for show. She’d seen that look on Ginia’s face before. And all the flowers had come from their preteen healer’s garden. The fix was already in.

Lauren, face bright with laughter, turned her back on the waving, eager arms and tossed her bouquet high into the air. It flew on graceful, witch-assisted flight—straight into Téo’s astonished hands.

Nat wasn’t at all surprised. Sometimes life’s endless, fascinating cycle got a lot of help.