A Reckless Witch

CHAPTER 5



Sierra stared out the window, exhausted and numb, as the train chugged through the outlying areas of San Francisco. It had been a really long day of traveling after a short and crappy night’s sleep. She’d woken up hiding under the bed again, and like always, she couldn’t remember why—just a dragging tiredness, and the sense she’d been crying.

She hated waking up under the bed. And she’d learned to do it quietly, so her creep of a younger foster brother didn’t tease her for being a weenie crybaby who missed her momma.

Then she’d had to say good-bye to her foster parents and pretend it mattered. Saying good-bye to her favorite librarian had been harder. Her placement family had been decent, but they’d been taking in kids for long enough to avoid getting too attached. Not that she’d been looking for attachments. It had been a place to sleep and almost enough to eat.

Her caseworker had driven her to the bus station, proud of her graduate. In the files, Sierra knew she was a success story. Finished high school, stayed out of trouble, rode off to a rosy future employed and not yet pregnant.

The bar for success was set pretty low.

She’d waited for this day for six years. It didn’t feel like she’d always thought it would. She’d imagined it would be like riding a funnel—full of joy and speed and freedom. Instead, she was tired, cranky, and missing Momma.

Missing her beach a little, too. She wouldn’t miss much from Oregon—but the beach had kept her sane.

Maybe it was the train ride. She and Momma had ridden a lot of trains together, always looking out the window in excitement as they arrived at a new place, a new adventure.

Sierra looked out the window and tried to get a sense of her new home. Lots of fog—it reminded her of Momma’s ghost stories of Londinium and the friendly beings who lived in the fog and helped you find your way. These days, when Sierra wandered on a foggy beach, she hoped Momma was there, reaching out to touch her face or tickle her toes. Or maybe one of the ghosts of Londinium, traveled across the sea to the wilds of the New World. There had been lots of stories of the New World on the trains as well.

In another time, Momma would have been one of those storytellers that sat by the fire at night, telling long tales of lifetimes past. Or maybe a bard—she’d been a pretty good singer, too.

And then the next morning, she would have strapped on her sword and rucksack and gone off on another big adventure. Momma could never sit still for very long.

Sierra remembered a set of shiny silver swords she’d gotten for her eighth birthday. She and Momma had strapped them on and danced around on a castle drawbridge in Ireland, laughing as all the tourists took their pictures.

She’d give anything to have a couple of those pictures now.

The fog was clearing a bit as they came into the downtown train station. People started shuffling around, getting their belongings together. A small boy dashed down the aisle, clearly ready to be off the train. He tripped over the corner of someone’s bag, and Sierra caught him just before his nose crashed into the arm of her seat.

“Thanks!” he said. “My name’s Joey, and I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, but if you catched me, maybe you’re not a stranger.”

Sierra had always thought that was a really dumb rule. How boring would life be if you never talked to anyone new? She remembered many happy train rides talking to her fellow passengers. “Have you ever been to San Francisco before?”

Joey shook his head, eyes gleaming. “Nope. Mommy says we’re gonna go see a big bridge and ride a streetcar and everything!”

She grinned. Riding the streetcar had always been one of her favorites too. “If you stick your head out just a little bit, you’ll be able to feel the wind fairies playing in your hair.”

His eyes were huge. “There’s fairies in the wind?”

“Of course. Who else do you think does all that blowing?” She pulled just the lightest touch of air magic and tickled his curls.

Joey giggled and ran back down the aisle. “Mommy! We hafta go play with the wind fairies!”

Sierra danced the tiny wind through her own hair. The fairies and ghosts would be there to keep her company, just like always. Time for a new adventure.

~ ~ ~

Nell drove up to the house, trying to page her youngest. Or her brother. Or any mind witch in the vicinity. She had an exhausted and shell-shocked passenger—not what they’d been expecting—and she wanted the party waiting inside to calm to a dull roar.

You called? Lauren’s mental voice landed in her head.

Yeah. Nell cast a worried glance at Sierra. I have a girl here who looks ready for food and bed, not a welcoming celebration. I thought having her ride the train down here would give her some time to transition, but maybe I should’ve just had Aervyn port her. See if you can simmer things down in there a bit?

Oh, sure. Give me the easy jobs. Now Lauren sounded a tad worried too. I’ll see what I can do.

Nell felt Sierra’s muddled surprise as they parked in front of the house and wondered what the girl found strange. Judging from the racket she could hear out the car window, a warning was in order. “There are a lot of people inside waiting to meet you. If it’s too much, just let me know, okay? The party can always wait until tomorrow.”

The effect of the word “party” was astonishing. Sierra’s eyes sparkled, and she jumped out of the car with the eagerness of a small child. She beat Nell to the front door, nearly colliding with the herd of children who rushed out.

Lauren followed close behind, apology on her face. Sorry—I don’t have your noise-management skills.

Nell looked at Sierra and shrugged. She seems to be rolling with it.

Lauren frowned. She’s got images of castles and people in evening gowns in her head. What gives?

No idea. By now, the under-ten crowd had shepherded their new arrival into the house, and Nell followed at the back of the parade. In under two minutes, they had Sierra sitting in the middle of the couch, pink and glittery crown on her head, brownie in her hand, and one of Aunt Jennie’s purple-haired grandsons on her lap. Welcome to Witch Central, girl.

Jamie slid up beside Nell, bearing extra brownies. “She doing okay?”

She shrugged. “Seems to be now. She was running on fumes when I picked her up, but…” They both looked over at the mob of kids.

Someone had started a game of Hot Potato with a brownie. Probably Leo of the purple hair—he finally had enough control over his earth magic to play, and it was his current favorite game. The kids were slowly backing up into a large circle. The adults were more quickly backing up out of the line of fire.

Jamie laughed. “Wimps. I remember way messier choices for the hot potato than a brownie.”

“You aren’t the one that usually got hit with them.” Nell was pretty convinced her spellcasting abilities had evolved as a consequence of losing one too many hot-potato matches with her brothers.

He shrugged. “We had to do something with all that green slime Devin kept making.”

“Just you wait. If there’s any karma in the world, your daughter’s going to be a supremely good mess-maker.”

Jamie tried to look innocent and failed hopelessly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turned back to the game. “Sierra’s holding her own.”

Nell watched more carefully. He was right. Leo wasn’t much competition, but Aervyn was. And Ginia… “Holy crap. When did Ginia figure out how to arm her sisters?” Splitting power streams was complicated. Giving control over a power stream to a non-witch was even trickier. That Ginia could do both and still dodge the flying brownie was very impressive.

“She’s not the only one.” Jamie spoke quietly, but he was intently focused on the game now. “Sierra’s splitting streams, too—she’s helping Leo out.”

He was right. She was using primarily air power to push the brownie around herself, but she was feeding small amounts of fire magic to Leo to speed up his earth power flows. Which was probably good, because slow magics didn’t survive at Hot Potato for long.

Sierra sent the brownie on a swift rolling loop, and then laughed and assisted as Leo tried to copy it. Nell snorted. “Who baked the brownies?”

Jamie grinned. “Aunt Jennie. It’ll survive a while longer.”

Yup. Aunt Jennie was a sweetheart, but her brownies were on the dense side. Nell kept watching, fascinated. It was one of the most complex games of Hot Potato she’d seen in a long time. Ginia feeding power to her sisters, Sierra helping Leo, and Aervyn doing… “What’s my punk witchling up to?”

Jamie shook his head. “Not sure. Some kind of dividing spell.”

Nell watched, mystified, and then grinned in pride as the brownie broke into four pieces. Not a big magic trick for her son, but good witchcraft was as much about brains as talent. Training a four-year-old with fairly unlimited power to use both wasn’t always easy.

The game had shifted sharply now. Four flying objects were three too many for most of the players, and they sat down, laughing. Ginia lasted a few seconds longer and then giggled and dove for the floor as brownie chunks dive-bombed each of her ears.

Jamie leaned in as Sierra and Aervyn faced off, the only two left standing. “Now we’ll really see what she can do.”

They weren’t the only ones paying attention, either. Govin watched intently from across the circle, his eyes entirely on Sierra.

And no wonder. Aervyn had four separate energy streams directing four brownies. He jumped from one to the next, redirecting one chunk at a time. Sierra had a dancing whirlwind of air that was juggling all four chunks at once. Every time Aervyn pushed on one brownie piece, she tossed all three others at him.

Her son was fast, precise, and strong. And he was barely holding on.

Then Aervyn switched tactics, and Jamie grinned. “He’s learning. He’s trying to do what she’s doing.”

With your average four-year-old, learning was a bit of a process. With her son, a couple of wobbly pushes and he was air-juggling brownies almost as well as Sierra. Nell saw their new arrival’s eyebrows wing up. “She’s just figured that out.”

“Does she know she’s facing the baddest witchling in the west?”

Nell snickered as two brownies collided in mid-air and crumbled. “She will now.” With only two chunks left in play, Aervyn’s four-year-old-boy disadvantages were going to evaporate.

In a bet, she would have given Sierra thirty seconds, max. And been very impressed if the girl lasted that long.

Two minutes later, Sierra was still standing and had earned the serious respect of everyone watching. He’s stronger, but not by much. And she’s got better control. Jamie was probably the most impressed witch in the room—he’d faced off with Aervyn in training more than everyone else combined.

Nell watched as Sierra tugged and shaped power lines on the fly. Lots of witches could toss power around. To do it with that kind of precision took countless hours of practice. Maybe Amelia had trained her daughter more responsibly than they’d all assumed.

In a lightning-quick move, Sierra grabbed a trickle of firepower and superheated her air currents, spinning them into a funnel. Nell winced—even Aunt Jennie’s brownies weren’t going to make it through a mini tornado. Aervyn and Sierra busted up laughing as brownie crumbs flew everywhere.

Most of the adults joined the mirth, well used to the messes that were the usual price to pay for witchling antics.

Except for one. Govin’s face was awash with concern. And he’d lived through plenty of hot-potato messes—something else was up.

~ ~ ~

Govin thunked into the Realm meeting room, grateful he landed on a couch. Even being a gamer for as long as he could remember, it was still a very odd sensation to actually land in-game.

He laughed at the balloon-festooned sign hanging over his head. “What’s up with the new name?”

Jamie grinned. “Our child-labor force has decided that ‘Realm meeting room’ isn’t a cool enough name for our hangout here. I vetoed several choices. Apparently this one is boring, but acceptable.”

Govin wasn’t sure how “Witches’ Lounge” in gold-glittered letters qualified as boring, but he was definitely not the expert on nine-year-old girls. “Nell said to come at three o’clock—am I early?”

“Not at all, dear boy,” said Moira, freshly landed on the couch beside him, cup of tea in her hand. Govin was impressed—no way was he comfortable transporting while holding hot liquids. He kissed her cheek and settled in, figuring Nell and Sophie weren’t far behind.

They were three of his favorite women. And he was only beginning to understand the depths of the mess they’d thrown him in.

Nell beamed in, a big plate in her hands. “Quesadillas—I know it’s dinner time for some of you.”

“Seedling thanks you.” Sophie laughed, rubbing her belly.

Jamie reached for the plate. “It’s never too early for dinner. Hang on, and I’ll ping Ginia to send us some drinks.”

A tray materialized on the coffee table in front of him. Drinks, apples, and napkins. Nell grinned. “Do you really think I’d miss a detail like that?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “No cookies?”

“Time-delayed transport.” Nell rolled her eyes. “Ginia’s brainstorm. She has this weird idea we should eat our veggies first.”

Jamie laughed and bit into his quesadilla. “Since when is cheese a vegetable?”

“It’s what I hide in the cheese.” The whole room laughed as Jamie looked at his dinner in not entirely faked horror.

Govin chuckled and handed Moira an apple and a plate. He’d run tame in the Sullivan house growing up. He knew that bickering was a sign of love, Jamie really was fairly allergic to vegetables, and Nell did most of her serious negotiating over food. He bit into a quesadilla and waited.

“How is our Sierra doing?” Moira asked. “I was surprised you wanted to meet so soon after the wee girl arrived.”

Nell passed out napkins. “She’s sound asleep on Aervyn’s top bunk. The kids were playing hide-and-seek after the Great Brownie Cleanup, and she conked out waiting for someone to find her.”

Her brother grinned. “She’s an extrovert. They gain energy from being with other people. As soon as the kids abandoned her, boom. Out like a light.”

Everyone in the room shook their head, amused. Jamie had taken a recent interest in trying to find patterns in witch talents and personality traits. As a result, they’d all been filling out a lot of multiple-choice tests.

Govin smiled. He was a bigger fan of data than most, but clearly not everyone was in love with Jamie’s latest venture.

Nell handed her brother another quesadilla wedge. “You might be right. She was barely sitting up on the car ride back from the train station, but our mob of kiddos turned that right around.”

“That’s interesting.” Sophie tilted her head. “Sierra’s eighteen, but it sounds like she was more attracted to the young ones than the adults.”

That hadn’t failed to escape Govin’s notice, either. On its own—no big deal. Coupled with what else he’d noticed, and he was nervous. It was why he’d asked Nell to call a meeting.

Jamie shrugged. “Well, the kids kind of swooped down on her. But if I remember correctly, Amelia spent a lot of time playing with us when she came to visit, too. Maybe Sierra inherited her mother’s love of kids?”

“For Amelia, it was more than that.” Moira sipped her tea pensively. “In many ways, she was forever a child—she shared their joy in laughter and a life of fun and games.” She looked over at Govin. “And their lack of concern for the consequences of their actions. You’ve seen something of her mother in our Sierra, I think.”

Moira had always been a very perceptive witch. He nodded slowly, not sure where to begin. “She was playing Hot Potato with the other kids just after she arrived.”

Jamie reached for more food. “She held Aervyn to a stand-off. That was some pretty impressive control she had.”

Nell tossed an apple hand-to-hand and looked at Govin. “Tell them what you told me.”

“She did have impressive control.” He laid down his plate. “She was essentially using storm magic to control the flying brownie chunks. The little funnel at the end? Make that a hundred times bigger, and your house would have been doing a pretty good imitation of Dorothy and Toto in The Wizard of Oz.”

Sophie blinked. “You think she’s that strong?”

“No idea.” He shook his head. “Or at least, no quantifiable data. But unless she played an awful lot of Hot Potato with her mother, she had to develop those skills somehow. And they’re easier to learn moving bigger streams of power.” It was one of the ironies of magic that small spells were often more difficult than large ones.

Jamie was frowning now. “You think she learned on house-sized funnels?”

“I suspect so.” Govin nodded. That wasn’t the part that had him most concerned, but it was a start. “At the very least, it’s a strong possibility—and she controlled three power streams at a time like it was child’s play.” For her, it had been exactly that.

Moira sat up straighter. “That kind of power might be enough to disturb planetary weather patterns.”

Exactly. They all sat silent for a moment as Moira’s words sank in. Most witches could only impact very local weather. The few with more power than that had to be extremely careful. A butterfly flapping its wings in Berkeley might not really be able to create a hurricane in the Gulf—but a witch with enough power could. Govin had thought he was aware of everyone who had that kind of talent. He made it his mission in life to find them.

“You’re the best one to test her.” Jamie nodded at Govin, distracted by a plate of cookies landing on the table. “Do you want help?”

Govin shook his head, ignoring the cookies for a moment. “It’s not the testing that concerns me. It’s figuring out what to do if she does have that kind of power.”

Sophie frowned. “I feel like I’m still missing something. It sounds like she has excellent control, so her training must be pretty solid, no? Wouldn’t another strong weather witch be an asset?”

Govin looked down at his hands for a minute. “Yes. She’s a skilled witch, likely just reaching the peak of her power.” The rest was pure conjecture, which didn’t sit well with his data-based mind—but it was really bothering him. “And she didn’t ground.”

Jamie looked blank. “Didn’t ground what?”

“Her power streams. She played Hot Potato with no grounding.”

Now he had everyone’s full attention. There were basic precautions every witch with decent power learned—and one of those was running a groundline to deal with power flashes and kickbacks. It was as automatic as breathing.

Nell tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch. “To play devil’s advocate for a minute, it’s possible she just wasn’t grounding for Hot Potato. It was tricky magic, but the power flows weren’t big enough to require a ground.” She looked at Govin. “But that’s not what you think.”

He shrugged. “I’m a pretty cautious guy, so this might just be my inner scaredy-witch talking.”

She scowled at him. “No one gets to call you that but me. You’re right—every witch I know with any decent power grounds every time they do magic.”

Jamie nodded. “That’s how we teach it, so it’s habit.” He paused. “Maybe Sierra wasn’t taught the same way—maybe she only grounds when it’s really necessary.”

“Maybe.” But that wasn’t the possibility that had put the lead weight in Govin’s stomach. “And maybe she was never trained to ground.”

He turned to Moira, who was looking pale. “I assume you taught Amelia the way you teach every witch.”

“We did.” She nodded slowly. “But she got hit with power backlash at least twice that I know of. We never could get a good read on whether it was accidental or intentional, but she didn’t take magical safety nearly seriously enough. Whether she’d have been foolhardy enough to skip that step teaching her child, I can’t say.”

Sophie rubbed her belly, eyes deeply concerned. “So we’re saying it’s possible that Sierra was trained to do magic without the proper safeguards in place—and she might have enough power to mess with planetary weather?”

Govin shrugged helplessly as the worry levels in the room went up substantially. “I hope not, but I think we’d better find out quickly.” He had a very bad feeling about this.

~ ~ ~

Sierra stared at the ceiling, disoriented and cranky, as she blinked awake from her nap.

She was always cranky when she hadn’t had enough to eat. Should have eaten the brownie instead of making a big mess in Nell’s house.

Not that Nell’s home was anything like she’d expected. Momma’s stories had made it sound like Nell was a rich movie-star witch. Ha. She was a mom with five kids, a messy living room, and socks that didn’t match.

Movie stars didn’t even wear socks.

She froze as the door squeaked open. “See, she’s awake. I told you.”

Aervyn. Well, he wasn’t a movie star, but he was kind of cute. She sat up—and discovered her witchling visitor wasn’t alone.

“Hi, I’m Lauren.” The stranger smiled and held up a tray. “We got sent to see if you were hungry.”

Aervyn scrambled up the ladder and plopped himself at Sierra’s feet. Then he waved his fingers, and the tray in Lauren’s hands vanished and reappeared on the bed.

Wow. “You can really teleport?” Porting had been in Momma’s stories too.

Lauren grinned. “Just be glad he ported the food up, instead of you down.” She put a hand on the ladder. “Okay if I come up?”

He could port people? Sierra stared at Aervyn, wide-eyed—then realized she was being totally rude. She looked back over at Lauren, apology in her eyes. “Sure—sorry. Come on up.”

“No worries. I remember my first few days here in Witch Central. It’s a lot to take in.”

Sierra took a bite of the cheesy-pasta goodness on her plate and nearly groaned in delight. Who needed rich movie stars?

Aervyn giggled. “Caro’s not a movie star, but she’s a really good cook.”

Sierra had no idea who Caro was. “Are there lots of witches who live here?” Momma had made it sound like a whole city, but she was beginning to think Momma might have exaggerated a little.

“Uh, huh. Well, not all in this house.” He giggled, eyeing her pasta. “They wouldn’t all fit.”

She held out a forkful, knowing exactly how magic could make your belly gnaw.

Lauren snorted. “He had three platefuls while we were in the kitchen.” She sobered and spoke more quietly. “There’s always enough food for a witch in this house. If you want more, just ask.”

Sierra blushed—and then realized she hadn’t been talking out loud. “You’re a mind witch?”

“Yup.” Aervyn nodded, eyeing her noodles again. “She’s a new one, though. Caro says she’s still freshly hatched.” He grinned at Lauren. “Maybe you’ll grow up to be a rooster one day.”

“Roosters are boys, silly.” She tweaked his nose, laughing. “Maybe you can go ask Caro for another plate of noodles, since you’re obviously growing.”

Sierra tried not to stare as he ported himself off the bed to the floor and raced out the door. “How does he do that?”

Lauren laughed again. “I have no idea. But you get used to it. Mostly. He ported into my kitchen the other day and scared the living daylights out of me.”

As pasta warmed her tummy, Sierra’s curiosity was coming online. “So you’re really a new witch?”

“I am.” Lauren smiled. “You know the spell they used to find you? I was the first witch they ever fetched, about nine months ago. The only problem was, I didn’t know I was a witch.”

Sierra blinked. “How could you not know?”

Lauren leaned back against the wall. “It’s a long story…” One she was clearly prepared to tell.

Sierra ate and listened to the tale of a grown woman who had no idea she had power. And thought that maybe life in Witch Central was pretty interesting after all. Even without the movie stars.