A Reckless Witch

CHAPTER 16



Lauren glared at Jamie. “See? She just kicks you out!”

He feigned innocence. “What? It’s hardly my fault.”

Nat rubbed her belly. “I think everyone’s in agreement that all her difficult genes come from you, love.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Then they don’t know you very well.”

Lauren leaned back, amused. “I think it’s illegal to insult your wife when she’s this pregnant.” They’d been conducting another short magic lesson before breakfast, trying to teach Nat and Jamie’s unborn baby how to mind barrier. They were getting exactly nowhere. “She’s pretty determined to figure stuff out for herself already.”

Jamie groaned. “She’s just like Devin. We’re cursed.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Devin, walking into the room. “Just for that, I’m eating all the food Nell sent over.” He leaned over and casually rubbed Nat’s belly. “Except for yours, sweet girl. You need to come out soon and play with me.”

“If you can make that happen,” said Nat, grimacing as she shifted positions, “you’ll be my favorite brother-in-law forever.”

He grinned. “Much as I’d like to have that to hold over Matt’s head, I got nothing for you. Sorry. Well, except for French toast with some pink stuff on it.”

Nat’s eyes gleamed. “That’ll do.”

Lauren revised her opinion of Devin yet again. In two minutes, he’d managed to reduce the frustration level in the room ten degrees and Nat’s tension along with it. Baby magic lessons weren’t easy on the mama, either.

Do we try again? she mindsent to Jamie.

Either that, or you’re going to have to barrier her for however long Nat’s in labor. He sounded glum.

Nat stared pointedly as Devin laid a plate on top of her belly. “Feel free to have that conversation out loud, you two.”

Devin looked over. “What’s up?”

“Our baby’s got your stubborn, I-want-to-learn-it-by-myself gene,” said Jamie. “We’re trying to show her how to mind barrier. She’s not cooperating.”

“She’s hardly the first stubborn witchling in the history of the Sullivans.” Devin scooped a forkful of Nat’s breakfast.

Which earned him giggles from Nat—and more points from Lauren. Her best friend had grown up with none of the normal fun of siblings and close family. It seemed like Devin was taking personal responsibility for filling in the gap. He got a lot done for a guy who looked like he wasn’t up to much of anything.

Devin plunked into an armchair and looked over at Lauren. “How are you showing her?”

“Mental hand over hand.” It was the only way she knew, at least the only way that didn’t require words. “I can’t exactly tell her to watch.” Or at least, not without being a lot more invasive than she wanted to be.

Devin looked pensive for a moment. “I wonder if that tracing thing Sierra does would work.”

Jamie’s fork stopped halfway to Nat’s plate. “Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Devin grinned. “You got the looks, I got the brains.”

Lauren was smart enough to duck as the pillow left Jamie’s hand, since she apparently wasn’t yet smart enough to keep herself out of the line of fire in the first place. “Are either of you going to explain what tracing is?”

“Nope. Sierra can show you.” Jamie looked out the front window. “That’s her now—she just ran back to her house for more clothes. It’s gonna be cold out at Govin’s this morning.” He laughed and got up as the doorbell rang. “Somebody needs to tell her witches don’t have any manners.”

Truth. Lauren still wasn’t used to people bursting in her front door at all hours of the day. She’d come home more than once to a gathering in her living room, quite comfortable to raid her fridge and chat while they waited for her to arrive.

Jamie came back into the room, Sierra on his heels. She looked contagiously happy. “Good morning, everyone!”

Witch Central strikes again, thought Lauren. Sierra’s new apartment had been put together with generosity, love, and unique decorating flair—and clearly it had totally hit the mark.

“How’s The Monster treating you?” Jamie handed her a plate of food. “Lost anyone under the cushions yet?”

She giggled. “I think Mia and Ginia slept on it all night, but we can’t find Shay. Maybe The Monster’s a cannibal.”

Devin snorted. “If it wanted a witch to eat, there’s been plenty of opportunity.”

“Maybe it was waiting for a small and tasty girl.” Sierra stabbed a piece of French toast. “You guys are kind of old and stringy.”

The guys had her upside-down, shrieking with laughter, in two seconds flat. Without moving from their chairs.

Lauren just shook her head, amused and impressed—by both the magic and the obvious message of brotherly love behind it. The Sullivans had taken in another stray. Don’t break her, she sent to Jamie. We need her to help teach that little girl of yours, remember?

A couple more shakes, and they dropped Sierra in a giggling puddle on the floor and resettled her neatly rescued plate of breakfast in her lap. Devin sat down beside her. “While you eat and mock your elders, can you tell Lauren how you trace magic spells?”

“Sure.” Sierra cocked her head, her mind suddenly jittery. “Why? Do I do it wrong?”

Devin’s mental curses rang in Lauren’s ears, but outwardly, he just rolled his eyes. “No. Because us old, stringy witches don’t know how to do it.”

Her eyes got big. “Seriously?”

“Yup. You said Aervyn does it, which explains how he picks up magic so fast.”

“Hmm.” Mouth full, Sierra thought for a moment. “Maybe he learned when he was a baby, just like I did.”

Lauren caught the sudden interest in the room. Jamie leaned forward, eyes intent. “You were born with magic?”

“Uh, huh. Just water magic at first. That’s why Momma went into the ocean while I was born.”

Jamie nodded slowly. “If she didn’t have a circle to help her, that was smart.”

Sierra grinned. “Momma was really smart. And she said I wanted to play with magic right away after I was born, so she gave me a tiny bit of her spell and let me follow it around.”

“And that’s how you learn magic, right? You start at one end of a spell thread and feel your way through.”

Sierra nodded, mouth full again. “Yup. It’s totally easy.”

Lauren tried to wrap her head around a newborn following spell threads. Weren’t they just supposed to eat, sleep, and poop?

You think that when my girl already kicks you out of her head? sent Jamie dryly. Can you monitor Sierra while she traces a simple spell of mine? See how she does it?

No rest for weary witches. Yeah.

Lauren mindwatched as Jamie created a simple fire globe—fire lines were easiest to visualize. And watched as Sierra gently untangled the end of a small spell thread, kind of like finding the beginning of a ball of yarn.

Then she jumped in shock as another mind reached for the dangling thread. You’ve got company, she sent carefully to Jamie.

His mind was full of wonder. I know.

Lauren watched, fascinated, as a small presence traced the lines of the spell—and then her eyes flew open at Nat’s sudden intake of breath.

Suspended over her belly was the twin to Jamie’s fire globe. Their little girl had done her first magic.

From the baby’s mind—pure joy. And from her teenage teacher—astonished pride.

~ ~ ~

Moira set three cups of hot chocolate on her table. It was a wondrous gift in her old age that people from thousands of miles away could just pop in for a visit. And there were few guests she loved better than her girls.

Even if they were being mysterious.

Giggles from the front of the house suggested they’d arrived. “In here, my lovelies.”

Three girls, bigger every time she saw them, bounded into the kitchen and joined her around the table. Ginia picked up her cup, sniffing. “What did you put in here?”

Moira’s eyes twinkled. “That’s for you to guess, my dear. An earth witch doesn’t give up all her secrets.” Truth be told, Ginia could probably worm it out of her, but they’d both have more fun if she offered at least token resistance.

Mia’s headshake suggested there was more serious business at hand. “We came because we need your help, Aunt Moira.”

That much she had gathered from their message. “And how can I help my three girls?”

Ginia’s eyes had that look that made Moira fiercely wish she’d be around to see the witch this one would become. “We want to find out what happened to Sierra’s mama.”

Oh, my. Moira paused a moment, shaken. This, she hadn’t expected—but maybe she should have. “Has Sierra asked for your help?”

“No.” Shay was usually the quietest of the three—and the most thoughtful. “But her heart asks.”

Aye, it did. “I’m sure it’s extremely difficult for her, not knowing.” But answers weren’t always comforting, either. She reached out gently for small hands. “You know the answer is likely to be very sad.”

“We know.” Ginia looked down at their joined hands, then tipped her head back up, eyes fierce. “But if something terrible happened to Mama, we would find out. At least then we could be sad about the right things, instead of scared of all the things that might have happened.”

“She has bad dreams,” Mia said.

Moira was well aware of that. “I know, sweet girl. And she still might, even if we find the answers you seek.” Because none of those answers would bring Amelia back. That much, her heart knew.

Shay traced one of the petals embroidered on the tablecloth. “Will you help us?”

“Aye.” It would hurt all of their hearts, but she would. “Where do you think we should start?” She was certain the girls had a plan.

“With the old and the new.” Ginia sipped her hot chocolate carefully. “We’re going to ask Jake to help us with the new part.”

Jake was the new head of Sentinel, an organization that attempted to find and help witches in distress, particularly young ones. It had a bit of a spotty history, but Jake was as good as they came. And Sentinel’s magic alert system—and long record-keeping of witch incidents—was second to none. It was smart thinking. And it suggested the girls knew more than they were letting on. “You think there was magic involved when Amelia disappeared?”

Ginia’s chin jutted out. “Don’t you?”

Yes, she did. Moira tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Jake’s a good man. If there are records at Sentinel, he’ll be able to find them. You’ll need some times and dates, though, and it would hurt Sierra to ask. Your mama might have that information from the foster-care files.”

“We already know all that stuff.” Shay spoke for her sisters. “It was on the third night of Mardi Gras when she was twelve.” She grinned. “We pay attention.”

They certainly did. So far, they were taking the adults to school.

Ginia sniffed her hot chocolate again, still trying to figure out the mystery ingredient. “Jake’s the new part. We need your help with the old part.”

Didn’t that just figure. “Well, I’m certainly old, child. What do you want me to do?” Scrying probably wouldn’t help here, but she was willing to try.

Mia giggled. “You’re not the old part. We need you to convince Lauren to use her crystal ball.”

“Oh, my.” Moira paused, savoring their quick minds. “What a very good idea. Not an easy task, mind you…”

Ginia grinned. “We know. Lauren’s still a scaredy-witch on the hocus-pocus stuff.”

She was indeed. They’d had a few quick lessons on how to use Great-gran’s crystal ball, but unless Moira was mistaken, Lauren hadn’t asked it a serious question since the day before her stroke.

Mia reached over to pat her hand. “You can do it, Aunt Moira. Lauren’s a sucker for people with sad hearts.”

Moira chucked, thinking the very savvy, professional Lauren might be surprised at that particular description, apt though it was. “I’ll do my best.”

Three smiles of approval on three identical faces. They’d gotten what they’d come for.

Moira closed her eyes, suddenly hit by the full import of the moment. She had always been matriarch of the witching community. Her granddaughter Elorie had stepped into a large part of those shoes—organizing training and service and generally gluing the community together. But she’d never had a true heir for her meddling talents.

Until now.

~ ~ ~

Jamie grimaced as Sierra’s intricate air streams tangled and blew up, collapsing her spell. And then winced as, eyes fierce, she pulled on power to begin the whole thing over again.

Devin stepped back, shaking his head. “She’s going to kill herself working this hard.”

Or kill her trainers. They’d been out at Govin’s place for four hours, and Sierra had been doing magic almost non-stop. Jamie was tired just from watching. And judging from the amount of food Govin and Dev had consumed in the last hour, they were flagging as well.

Hungry bellies, they could fix. Solving Sierra wasn’t going to be as easy. “Kind of the opposite of reckless now, huh?”

“Can you blame her? We all ganged up on her, trying to convince her she was a danger to humankind. Then ganged up on her again, telling her she has to use her magic.” Devin’s voice carried judgment Jamie wasn’t used to hearing.

He frowned. “Well, both those things are pretty much true.”

Devin snorted. “If she keeps going at this pace, she’s going to be the safest, most overworked witch in the west by Winter Solstice.”

Which was in two days. Point taken. “You think we’re pushing too hard?”

“Not anymore. She’s doing all the pushing now.” Devin paused, sadness in his eyes. “We all assumed she’d be hard to convince.”

Jamie picked up the thought his brother didn’t voice. They’d all assumed she was like her mother. And they’d steamrolled her because of it.

He let out a sigh. Time to try to unflatten a witch.

Jamie focused once more as Sierra’s latest attempt hit crux—and this time, nothing tangled. He watched, with impressed respect, as she threaded the narrowest of air currents through 169 lit candles and blew out the one exactly at the center of the square—without so much as a flicker in any of the other flames.

With almost thirty years of practice, he could only handle a 9x9 square of candles. And he was one of the most talented air witches on the west coast. Sierra had just mastered a 13x13 square.

She looked over at Govin. “Add another row.”

Crap, thought Jamie, reading exactly the same reaction on Govin’s face. He stepped forward, cookie in hand. “I hereby name you Queen of the Candles. Take a break, wonderwitch.”

She took the cookie but shook her head. “It still took four tries. I can do better.”

“I can’t.” Govin’s voice was quietly commanding. “There’s no such thing as perfection in magic, Sierra. Not one of us here can do what you just did. It’s enough.”

“The more I practice, the safer I’ll be.” It was obvious she had no intention of stopping until she fell over from exhaustion.

Jamie looked at his brother. Your turn, dude. If anyone understood extremes, it was Dev.

He breathed a sigh of relief as Devin slid over to Sierra. And blinked in shock at his brother’s mental tone.

“You’re wrong.” Devin’s voice was hard, unyielding. “You keep practicing like this, you’ll be as dangerous as you were.”

Jamie shook his head as Govin started to move. He had no idea where his brother was headed—but no way was he beating up Sierra for sport.

Sierra’s eyes blazed. “I’m using groundlines, training circles, doubled spell barriers, protective layers, failsafes, and I have better control than any witch here.” She hurled each word at Devin. “What more do you want from me?”

“Forgiveness.” Devin’s one quiet word carried deep apology. He reached for Sierra’s hands. “When you came here, we looked at you and saw the lacking in your magic. We’ve yet to truly acknowledge your biggest gift.”

Nobody moved.

“You know how to partner with your magic, little sister. To ride with it and to trust.”

Sierra nodded slowly, still lost. “Momma taught me that.”

“Yes, she did.” Devin grimaced. “And because she left out a few of the usual safety features, we missed the strength of what she did teach you. Don’t make us live to regret that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you listen too carefully to us and abandon what your mom taught you, you’ll still be dangerous, but in a different way.” He pointed at the candles. “You know your limits. Deep inside, you know. Can you do another row?”

It was a long moment before Sierra shook her head. “No. I barely made it at thirteen.”

“Right. Groundlines and failsafes are there for the emergencies.” Dev waited until he had everyone’s complete attention. “They’re important, but the most important way to stay safe is to know what you can do—and be a good judge of what you can’t do.” He touched her cheek. “Just like your mom taught you. And just like you taught that little girl in Nat’s belly this morning.”

Jamie felt the band around Sierra’s chest loosening and wondered how his brother kept getting ten steps ahead of the rest of them.

And he wasn’t done. Devin leaned in one more time, tipping up Sierra’s chin. “You’re as safe as you need to be. Now we just build on what you already know. When you’re working with a team, you need to know everyone else’s limits too.” He grinned. “Except me. I’m invincible.”

Sierra’s smile was slow, but it came. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Jamie knew it was his turn. Time to trust their new witch—his brother was insisting on it. “Devin’s tough. I’m kinda fragile, though.” He grinned. “And you have to be really careful with Govin. Fire witches are kinda moody and unpredictable.”

Sierra laughed as the square of candles whooshed into a tail of flames that stopped an inch short of his belly. Jamie rolled his eyes at Govin. “Show-off.” And a message as well—no better proof of trust than not flinching when a guy tried to scorch your favorite T-shirt.

Sierra sobered. “It sounds complicated, working together like that.”

Devin grinned. “That’s because I suck with words. You just need a little practice. New magic lesson. Tomorrow. Eat a big breakfast and bring a broomstick.”

Jamie picked up enough of his brother’s thoughts to know where tomorrow was headed. He trusted Dev with his life—but he was still bringing a helmet.