A Reckless Witch

CHAPTER 18



Nat looked over at Sophie. “How did two totally pregnant women get roped into helping with this kind of subterfuge?”

Sophie held up a bag full of baby clothes. “Officially, we were just out shopping for more newborn stuff.” She sniffed. “Do I still smell like linguine?” They’d picked up two take-out helpings of Roman’s insanely good signature dish at the request of some very determined triplets—and had been obliged to sit down and consume two more plates while they were at it. No one in their right mind sent hungry pregnant women to pick up takeout.

Nat leaned over and sniffed. “Maybe. But Jamie swears I can smell cookies coming out of Moira’s oven five thousand miles away.”

Sophie giggled. “Pregnancy will do that. Elorie can’t stand the smell of onions, or basil, or fifteen other things. Poor Aaron has suffered trying to cook everything without half the ingredients he normally uses.”

Nat looked down at her belly. “I’m pretty sure our guys get the easy end of this deal.”

“You have no idea.” Sophie contemplated whether or not to change the subject. Most women about to experience labor for the first time didn’t want to hear any more stories. Nat was as centered as anyone on the planet, but pushing a baby out into the world was life-changing. And sitting on the cusp of life-changing wasn’t all that comfortable.

Nat paused, leaning against a wall, and Sophie’s eyes sharpened. “Braxton Hicks again?” The small, mostly painless contractions helped prepare a woman’s body for what was to come. They could also be really annoying, keep you awake at night, and totally punish an already tortured bladder. She reached out a hand in healing comfort.

Nat caught her wrist and started walking again. “It’s okay. Let them happen.” She smiled wryly. “Feel free to come fix the ones at 3 a.m., though.”

Sophie was pretty sure Nat wasn’t going to be pregnant for many more middle-of-the-night stretches. And a good night’s sleep now would make the birthing far easier. “Have Jamie use a small sleep spell on you and the baby tonight.”

She grinned as Nat stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “It’s safe to do that? Now you tell me.”

“It’s not a good idea to do it too often—we try not to mess much with a baby’s natural rhythms—but it will be fine for one night.” And now it was really time to stop talking about babies. Nat’s mind needed to spend some time elsewhere. “So, what do you think the girls are up to?” Sophie had her theories.

“What do you think?” Nat grinned. “They’re meddling.”

Yeah, that was pretty much her theory. “And how do you feel about that?”

The look Nat gave her was pure mischief. “Know any good eavesdropping spells?”

“We’ve totally corrupted you, haven’t we?” Sophie hooked elbows with her friend, laughing. “Sadly, none that work through walls.”

~ ~ ~

It was time to make a witch squirm. Moira sat in her favorite chair in the Witches’ Lounge and waited for Lauren to arrive.

Nell grinned. “Be gentle. Remember, she didn’t grow up with all the hocus-pocus.”

Moira snorted. “Show a little more reverence for your roots, my dear. Lauren may not know any better, but you do.”

That little speech had no effect at all on Nell’s amusement. “Is this what my girls have been all whispery and giggly about lately?”

An old witch never told. “Aren’t all nine-year-old girls giggly?”

Nell’s sharp look was interrupted by Lauren’s arrival—holding her crystal ball, as instructed. And a glass pitcher of something vaguely yellow. “What’s that, my lovely? Some sort of potion?”

Lauren looked mildly horrified. “It’s eggnog. It’s been popular in my office lately, so I brought some to share.”

Yummy. “Did you know that eggnog started as an old witch remedy? It’s easily digested for those weak or ailing, and the spices can cover a wide array of noxious tastes.”

Lauren cuddled the pitcher to her chest. “No spiking my eggnog.”

Moira tried a stern look. “Do your magic like a grown-up witch, and I won’t have to.” Both members of her audience cracked up laughing. Ah, well. It had been worth a try.

“I brought the crystal ball.” Lauren set it down gently on the couch and started pouring eggnog. “Is it really the best way to do this?”

“We won’t know until we try now, will we?” The old magics could be powerful, but they were a tad unpredictable, especially in the hands of a still-somewhat-skeptical witch.

Nell shrugged. “Jake came up blank. He has records of some unusual energy spikes about that time, but Amelia probably wasn’t the only witch at Mardi Gras.”

Moira took a sip of her eggnog. It was truly delicious. “Is it your young Lizard that made this?” She’d developed a strong fondness for Lauren’s assistant.

“It is.” Lauren grinned. “We had one guy buying a house yesterday who asked for lifetime rights to drop by for eggnog as part of his deal.”

Nell laughed. “Did he get it?”

“Of course.” Lauren sat down on the couch and grinned. “We aim to please.”

Such a creative, enterprising woman. No wonder Great-gran’s crystal ball had chosen her. Moira smiled. “Have you figured out the question you’re going to ask yet?”

Lauren scowled at the innocuous glass ball on the couch beside her. “No. It never answers the first thing I ask it anyhow.”

“It’s Irish, child. We like to lead into a conversation slowly.” The crystal ball was old and not used to the forthright ways of modern witches.

“Well, I’m not Irish. If it chose me, it’ll have to get used to not beating around the bush.” Lauren picked up the ball and peered into its depths. “Tell me what happened to Amelia Brighton.”

It surprised Moira mightily when the ball hazed a bit. She’d have expected it to entirely ignore such a question. Lauren had more power than she knew.

“See?” Lauren shrugged. “It’s got a mind of its own.”

Nell looked over at a picture on the wall, clearly stifling giggles. Moira wasn’t having an easy time containing her own. “You might try a different question, dear. In general, crystal balls like to express their opinions. It rather bores them to just be asked for a quick fact or two.” Or at least, so Great-gran had said.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Why do I get the witch tool that’s temperamental?”

“They’re all temperamental, child.” Moira chortled in delight. “Why do you think witches end up with white hair?”

Now Nell’s laughter rolled through the room. “Oh, a witchling or two is enough to do that. No tools needed.” She grinned at Lauren and motioned at the ball in her lap. “Pretend it’s Aervyn, and you’ll do just fine.”

An odd look crossed Lauren’s face. “That’s actually helpful, I think.” She studied the ball a moment longer, and then spoke quietly. “Show me the most important thing I need to know about Sierra’s mother.”

The surface of the ball misted instantly, swirling with a strange light. Lauren looked up, eyebrows raised, and motioned to them. “Come on over. It wants to speak to all of us.”

Moira’s heart caught. For over seventy years she’d asked questions of her family heirloom, and not once had it ever so much as acknowledged she existed. She reached for Nell’s helping hand up out of her chair, not taking her eyes off the crystal ball.

Sitting down beside Lauren, she reached a trembling hand to the stirring globe. And squeezed her eyes shut as a river of images started flowing in her head. Too fast at first to make out, and then the flow slowed, and Moira began to pick out faces she knew.

There was Great-gran, sitting in the ancient family rocking chair, holding two babes to her breast.

Elorie, nestled in the arms of her mama.

Her departed sister, with Marcus and Evan cuddled up at her feet.

An exhausted Amelia, floating on her back in the ocean, holding a naked, howling babe to her chest. The love flowing from mother to child was big enough to fill the sea that surrounded them.

Then came Nat, her bundle hard to see. Sophie. Sierra. The faces started flowing faster again. And then the river ceased.

Moira sat, her hand resting in awed thanks on the now-quiet crystal ball. Seventy years she had waited. And what an answer it had given. She opened her eyes, holding the magic tight to her heart. “Sierra was loved. That’s what it wanted us to know.” The most important thing. Amelia had loved her child with all the passion of the best mothers—past, present, future.

“Yeah.” Nell nodded slowly, sniffling. “Sorry. I’m sure that’s the important part.” She smiled. “But I saw my girls. They’re going to be mamas one day.”

Hmm. That was very interesting. Moira patted the crystal ball in approval. She hadn’t seen any of the triplets. It must have shown them all something different. “I saw my great-gran. And our Sierra.”

Lauren just stared at the ball in her lap. “I only saw Amelia.” She looked up sharply. “Did either of you see Nat?”

Moira smiled as she and Nell both nodded. It might be a bit of a wild ride to get there, but Nat would cuddle her babe. “They’ll be just fine.”

“Okay.” Lauren’s relief was palpable. Then she frowned. “But this doesn’t really answer what we wanted to know.” She frowned down at the ball. “Should I try again?”

Ah, these young ones who thought questions and answers were linear. “We got the answer we needed, sweet girl.” She patted Lauren’s hand. “We know that the love they shared while Amelia lived is far more important than how she died.”

Lauren nodded slowly. “Sierra already knows that.”

“Aye. She does.” Moira sat up straighter. “It was the rest of us who needed a reminder. Whatever happened to Amelia, it was not a lack of love that caused it.”

A musical ring scattered their attention. Lauren grabbed for her bag. “Sorry. Lizard’s still trying to finalize that deal, and I told her I’d stay available.” She glanced at the messages on her phone. “Gotta go.”

Waving goodbye, she carefully picked up the crystal ball. And ball in one hand, iPhone in the other, whisked out of Realm.

Great-gran would have been highly amused.

Nell scooped up the pitcher of eggnog, refilling Moira’s glass. “I’ll take the rest of this back with me. It’ll be a good excuse to drop in on my three girls and see if I can find out what the heck they’re up to.”

Moira tried to look innocent, which was difficult. She was in this one up to her neck.

Nell laughed. “They came to the champion meddler for lessons, did they? I thought so.” She shook her head. “I just hope you thought things through a little more than they did.”

“A good witch always thinks.”

Nell was still laughing as she vanished.

Moira smiled, well satisfied. Somewhere in that river had been Lauren with a babe in arms. She was sure of it.

~ ~ ~

Devin frowned again at the message from Sierra on his phone. I need you to come to my place. 6 p.m. Bye!

Not exactly informative. But when a sister, of the real or honorary kind, paged him, he usually went. Part of the big-brother handbook. Didn’t mean he couldn’t give her a little grief, though.

Pulling open the door to her building, he grinned. Who was he kidding—he’d cut her a mile of slack tonight. The ride he’d taken on her corkscrew train, his broomstick wedged in line between Jamie and Aervyn, ranked as one of the coolest experiences of his life. And he’d have been a cinch for photographer of the year if he’d had a camera when the pink-caped Govin had been pulled through his first loop, clinging to his broom and laughing like a banshee.

They’d had fun today—and one teenage witch had been utterly generous with her magic. So if she wanted to be a little demanding tonight, he’d deal. That’s what brothers did.

He knocked on the door to Sierra’s apartment, and then turned at footsteps in the hallway.

“Hey!” Lauren waved, halfway down the hall. “How was broom flying?”

He grinned. “To quote Sierra, ‘awesome cool.’ You gotta try it.”

She laughed. “I’m in line right after Moira. I figure if she comes back in one piece, I might too.”

He was pretty sure he could convince Moira to sit on a broom with him. Or with Aervyn. She had a serious soft spot for the little dude. He’d put Lauren on his broom. “Deal.”

She blinked. “Moira’s going to fly on a broomstick?”

“Sure.” He winked. “I can be very persuasive.”

Lauren stared a long minute and then snorted. “No wonder Nell does such a great job with Aervyn. She’s had three brothers’ worth of practice with that ‘I’m cute, so give me a mile’ look.” She turned to the door and knocked. “How come you’re here, anyhow?”

He was pretty sure he’d just been complimented and insulted in one short sentence. She was good. “Sierra messaged me.”

“Really?” She frowned. “Me too. Cryptic message about being here at 6 p.m.”

His Spidey senses started tingling just as his phone beeped again. Incoming message. Open the door, silly. Mia.

Lauren, phone in her hand, started laughing. “Open it carefully. They probably have it booby-trapped or something.”

He grinned. “You’ve been hanging around witches too long.”

“Tell me about it.” She studied the door. “Can you do some kind of scan for spell traces or something?”

There was apparently still a thing or two he could teach a newbie witch. “It’d be faster if you just scan for the perpetrators and mindread their devious plans.” He had visions of four girls hiding behind The Monster, giggling.

“Good point.” She paused a moment, and then frowned. “The apartment’s empty. There’s no one in there.”

Huh. The Monster didn’t really eat girl children, even ones who deserved it. “What are they up to?”

Lauren grinned. “We could just walk away.”

“I don’t think I’m genetically capable of that.” He shook his head at his phone. “And those little punks know it.”

She waved at the door. “After you.”

He laughed and pushed the door open. “Mom taught me better than that. Water magic’s not much good for shielding, but I can cover you better in front of me.”

She rolled her eyes, but stepped forward, leading the way down the dark hall. He followed—and then ran smack into her as they reached the living room and she stopped dead.

His fast hands kept them both upright. At least until he took a good look at Sierra’s living room.

Cozy table.

White tablecloth.

Two flickering candles. A single red rose.

And the smells of Romano’s signature linguine steaming from two plates.

Uh, oh.

His phone beeped again. Don’t make us lock you in. Shay.

Punk girl children. He knew exactly what they were trying to do. And no way in this lifetime was it going to work.

Then he looked over at Lauren, still staring at the table in shock—and realized it just might. Damn.

~ ~ ~

Lauren stared at the flickering candles, strains of Puccini echoing in her ears.

This should be funny. Nine-year-old matchmakers should be a joke. Except it didn’t feel that way. There had been another moment, less than a year ago, when she’d stood in an apartment with Jamie and known her life had changed forever.

Her gut said she’d just hit another one of those moments. And there was another Sullivan standing beside her.

She looked over at Devin. He wasn’t laughing either. “What do we do now?”

He met her gaze—and she felt her bones melt. “We eat. Those punk girls left my favorite food.”

Lauren closed her eyes in one last-ditch effort to find the control mechanism on her heart. “No. They left mine.”

His laugh was low and long—and reached deep into her belly. Uh, oh. She felt her brain trying to resist. This was Devin Sullivan, world traveler and adrenaline junkie. No way this worked—even if he did love linguine.

She could feel the panic beating in her ribs. Small deals could be made on the fly. Big ones—well, big ones needed time. And thought. And sanity.

None of which were going to happen in a room with Puccini, linguine, and the gravitational pull of a man she still needed to think about really, really hard. Lauren reached for coherent words. “I think I need to go.”

He caught her hands, words soft and inescapable. “You don’t want this?”

“I don’t know.” Honesty fought with the fluttering panic. “Maybe.”

He grinned, and the intensity in the room plummeted. “Then eat some linguine with me. We’ll have dinner, curl up on The Monster later. Watch a movie. Plot revenge on those nieces of mine.”

Lauren just stared. She knew expert negotiating tactics when she saw them. Devin Sullivan was a very dangerous man. No way was she going to hold onto “maybe” through linguine and a date with the Monster.

Her phone beeped. There’s tiramisu in the fridge for dessert. We love him. You could too. Ginia.

Oh, God. She was in really serious trouble.