Witches on Parole: Unlocked

Chapter 11
Jennie snuck quietly into Berkeley College’s classic poetry appreciation seminar and took a seat in the back row. She glanced around for her tattooed fairy, hoping she’d picked the right dead-poets class. The last place she expected to spot Lizard was smack in the middle of the front row—scowling and taking copious notes.

Good morning. Jennie was surprised when her student jumped—it was usually fairly difficult to sneak up on a mind witch. Care to grab a coffee with me after class?

Can’t. Lizard was still scribbling. The professor wants to talk to me about my essay. Probably thinks I got my thematic emotional context all wrong or something.

Jennie opted not to ask exactly what “thematic emotional context” might be. Not a problem—I’ll wait.

Why?

I want to see how your assignment’s going.

Alarm flared in Lizard’s mind. What assignment? Crap, did I forget to do something I was supposed to do?

Jennie disconnected from the ride through Lizard’s mental Rolodex and tried to offer a quick reminder. Breakfast at the diner last week, karaoke photos, figure out what the next picture looks like?

Oh, yeah. Mental scowls and more scribbling. No idea—I haven’t really had time to think about stuff like that yet.

Jennie grinned, impressed by the mad multitasking. That’s why I’m here. Consider this your gentle reminder to come up with something. She jumped as the bell rang—it had been a very long time since she’d voluntarily been in a classroom.

She watched as Lizard flowed against traffic, working her way up to the guy standing at the front of the room. Curious, Jennie cast out, scanning his outer mind—and smiled. Whatever was coming up, she was pretty sure it wasn’t a discussion of anything Lizard had done wrong. The professor’s mind radiated approval and a healthy dose of curiosity.

Deciding regretfully that her ethics didn’t stretch to eavesdropping, Jennie pulled out her camera and captured his curious eyes instead. Then she turned her lens on Lizard and watched the emotions flowing on that volatile face. Suspicion. Worry. Defiance.

Professor Guy smiled in welcome and reached out a sheaf of what Jennie assumed was Lizard’s essay. A bit of small talk, a raised eyebrow, and then he said something that hit Lizard like a small bomb—and followed it with total nuclear annihilation. Lizard stood, arms hugging her waist, horror on her face, and brain keening in terror.

A pat to a tattooed shoulder and Professor Guy walked away, leaving a completely flattened pupil in his wake.

Jennie scrambled down the steps to the front of the class, eyes glued to her catatonic student. She knew all too well what a few misplaced words from a professor could do. And was getting a sharp reminder of the anger that had led her down the path to Melvin’s living room almost three decades ago. Dammit.

Huffing a little, she laid a hand on Lizard’s shoulder. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Idiotic question, given the mess rolling off Lizard’s mind. “What did he say to you?”

“He…” Lizard’s breath lurched. “He wants me to take a different class.”

“A different class?”

“His advanced poetry class.” Terror clattered through Lizard’s mind. “It starts next week.”

Jennie shook her head, trying to undo the brain jam. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that good news?” As soon as she said it, she realized that was her second idiotic question in fifteen seconds.

“I can’t take it.” And every fiber of Lizard’s body clearly believed it.

Jennie pulled her gently down into a seat, rapidly putting the picture together. “Why not?”

“It’s a third-year class. I don’t have the prerequisites. I never even finished high school. And it’s at the same time as my computer class, so I can’t even go.”

But she wanted to. Jennie had given her ethics a swift kick sideways and probed deeply enough to be sure. “You could reschedule your computer seminar. Heck, you could probably just skip class and take the final.” Jennie was pretty sure Computers 101 wasn’t the real problem here. “And you don’t need prerequisites. You just got a personal invitation.”

“It’s only because he liked some stupid thing I said in my essay. He doesn’t know I’m a delinquent high-school dropout.”

Jennie’s heart ached—and her eyes blazed. “You’re right. He doesn’t know. He invited the person he does know—the woman who wrote the essay you’re holding in your hands.” The obviously very good essay. She tilted Lizard’s chin up. “Think about what you want the next picture to be. Think very, very hard.”

And then she walked out, holding the reins of her meddling soul with both hands. Picture framed—but it was up to Lizard to push the button.

~ ~ ~

Jennie wasn’t at all sure what to expect from her second stop of the morning. Without her regular hours at Spirit Yoga, Elsie’s life had very little structure to it at the moment, and that made tracking her down for a surprise visit a little difficult.

Ah, well. If Elsie weren’t home, she could always drop in on Caro. Or any one of the two dozen other witches who lived within six blocks.

However, judging from the sudden banging in the kitchen, she’d managed to track down her quarry. Jennie walked down the hall, resisting the temptation to cover her ears. Clearly Elsie was past any negative effects from her hangover. Hopefully no one in half a mile was suffering from one either.

When Jennie walked in the kitchen, the first thing she did was look for Aervyn. Or any other witchling who might possibly be responsible for the unholy mess.

All she found was Elsie, hips jamming to the beat of the racket coming out of her computer, covered in flour and other unidentified food substances from head to toe, and surrounded by an avalanched mountain of pots and pans. Jennie tiptoed through the disaster on the floor and tried to find the volume buttons on the computer, only to be nearly deafened by the scream when Elsie turned around and discovered she’d been invaded.

Damn. Clearly Elsie wasn’t used to Witch Central’s open door policy yet. Jennie rubbed her ears, trying to dull the vibrations. “Vero’s obviously been teaching you breath control.” The scream had been worthy of a trained opera singer.

“I’m so sorry.” Elsie looked like a contrite flour pixie. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jennie finally found the mute button. “That’s probably not a big surprise. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You can thumbs down that song. I gave it a good chance and tried to find its soul, just like Vero suggested, but I don’t think I’m drawn to that one.”

“Vero suggested that song?” Jennie could feel her eyebrows fly up. Vero had wide and eclectic musical tastes, but Jennie was pretty sure none of it extended to tortured cats.

“No. She told me to pick a few songs at random and see where they led me.” The timer on the stove started beeping, and Elsie spun around, looking a little frantic. “Do you happen to see an oven mitt around here anywhere? I might have lost it.”

Jennie tried very hard not to laugh. “I don’t suppose you know what color it is?”

Elsie giggled, grabbing a towel. “The flour got away from me a little. The recipe neglected to mention that you should slow down the mixer before you pour in the dry ingredients.”

Even Jennie’s rudimentary culinary knowledge could work out what happened if you mixed dry flour and a high-speed mixer. “Fire magic’s not much use for cleaning spells, but I could probably borrow a witchling to help, especially if you have cake to offer.”

Then she spied the pan coming out of the oven. Oops. Aervyn had better bring his own cake.

Jennie’s amusement fled when she caught the sad helplessness on Elsie’s face. It matched the look on her grandson Leo’s face when his beloved purple birthday balloon had floated away in the sky. She reached out to touch Elsie’s shoulder. “Why were you baking a cake, sweetheart?”

“For Helga.” Elsie shrugged, wrapping her arms around her waist in an uncanny imitation of her roommate standing in front of Professor Guy. “It’s her birthday today. It’s okay—I’m sure Caro will bake her a cake.”

Jennie felt her pendant vibrating. And ignored it, rejoicing, as a searing empathy welled in her heart. Lizard had been hers from the moment they’d met, all defiantly lovable five feet of her—but somehow, she’d never quite been able to feel that same connection with Elsie. Jennie had no idea why a flour explosion and a miserable excuse for a cake had finally done it, but they had. She didn’t need pendants, emails, or bat signals in the sky. Her heart would know the way now.

She closed her eyes in gratitude—and beamed a bat signal of her own to Caro next door. Elsie and I will bake Helga’s cake. Put away whatever gorgeous creation you’ve made.

It was a measure of true friendship that Caro instantly agreed—no questions asked.

Jennie opened her eyes. “A cake can’t be all that hard. How about I be your intrepid assistant, and we give it another try?”

Elsie looked askance at the cake in her hands. “Are you a good baker? I think I need more than an assistant.”

“No, my dear.” Jennie felt the laughter rolling up from her toes. “I’m an awful baker. But I can absolutely, totally promise you—in these parts, it’s the thought that will count.”

~ ~ ~

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To: [email protected]

From: Jennie Adams <[email protected]>

Subject: A fascinating morning.

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Dear Vero,

I met with both my students this morning, and you are already correct. Today will not go quietly.

One of Lizard’s professors has noticed her talent, and she’s ready to run screaming into the night because of it, holding tight to her chains with both hands. Which might sound less empathetic than I mean it to be. I was there—she’s scared down to her toes.

I pushed as much as I dared. I know all too well that nothing makes you cling tighter to those chains than someone else trying to cast them off for you. If Melvin’s got a bravery-boosting spell in his back pocket, Lizard could use one right about now.

I know I often leave Elsie until last in these updates. Today, it is finally for the right reasons. Whatever sat in my heart and made it hard for me to truly love this girl has fled, chased off by one marginally passable cake and enough flour to turn half of Berkeley white. I guess I can finally stop being ashamed of the guide I’ve been for her.

I know I’ve done well enough by her. And by any standards I know, that’s not nearly good enough. She deserves my best—and now I know I’ll be able to give it. Today, we were magnificent.

All my love,

Jennie

~ ~ ~

It was the first time she was jumping on Freddie’s bus without fare in a long time. Maybe he’d take money instead of biscuits. Lizard dug in her pocket, hoping she had some change chasing around somewhere.

“Since when do you pay to get on my bus, girlie?” Freddie looked seriously indignant.

Oops. “Sorry. I don’t have any biscuits today. I can afford to pay, though—I have a good job now.”

“Course you do. And that ain’t gonna change the rules any at all. You go have a seat and tell me a story or two, same as always.” He pulled the door shut behind her and grinned. “You can bring me two biscuits next time. And a word. I haven’t had a new word in weeks.”

That much she could give him. “‘Vacillating.’ It means someone who can’t make up her mind.”

“One of those days, huh?” He waved her back. “Out of my doorway, girlie.”

Lizard sat in a seat just off to the side, glad the front of the bus was empty. She was well aware she’d come to the guy who’d always given her straight advice, most of it pretty decent. “So I’m taking a class at the college now.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow. “You get that high school diploma while I wasn’t looking?” It had always been a point of contention between them.

“Nope. But a friend of my boss helped me get into the campus downtown. Taking a couple of classes.”

“That’s good, girlie. Real good. You come ride so I can help you with your homework?”

He’d helped with plenty in the past, right after giving her grief because it wasn’t done. “No, I’m keeping up with it all, so far.”

Freddie just drove, whistling patiently. He’d done that for hours the first time she’d climbed on his bus. Just waited her out, figuring she’d talk eventually. And much to her surprise, she had.

Jeebers, she was getting all nostalgic today. Lizard tapped her fingers on the bus window. “I’m taking this class about dead poets.”

“Dylan Thomas dead, or Shakespeare dead?”

“Somewhere in the middle. Snuck Dylan in to one of my papers, though.” Dylan was one of Freddie’s favorites.

He chuckled. “Well, the man’s dead, ain’t he?”

“Yeah.” Lizard paused, pretty sure the next part was going to sound stupid. “So I wrote an essay about Dylan and Byron and emotional context and stuff, and my professor said I should come take this other class he teaches. This totally hard class.”

Now she had Freddie’s complete attention. “Somebody finally figured out you’re a smart cookie, did they?”

She just shrugged. Freddie would kick her off the bus if she called herself stupid. She had the boot marks on her butt to prove it.

“When’s the class start?”

She blinked. Of all the things she’d figured he would say, that one hadn’t been on the list. “Next week sometime. Why?”

“You find out where, and you find out when, and you let me know.” He looked at her in his big mirror, pride shining in his eyes. “I haven’t never been to college, girlie, but sometime next week, Freddie Grenadine’s gonna sit on this bus and know you’re walking into that class. And you better be walking big and tall so I can be proud of you.”

Well, frack. Apparently somebody was going to get to see her cry after all.

~ ~ ~

Elsie nudged through the door of Knit a Spell, arms precariously laden with supplies. The plates and cups were pretty—the cake, not so much. And while she couldn’t entirely shut off her embarrassment at bringing something far less than perfect to share, she could also feel pride bubbling up.

It was a truly ugly cake—but she’d made it herself. And somehow, in the wildly incompetent hour she and Jennie had spent assembling it, Elsie had managed to find an important truth. The cake wasn’t the message. The love that made it was.

“Need some help there?” Marion bustled over and reached for items sliding off the top of Elsie’s pile. “Jodi, come take some of this, would you? Helga will be here any minute.”

“Oh, the napkins are pretty.” Jodi neatly evaded her son’s grasping hands. “You can have some cups to play with, silly boy. Just give Mama a minute to get things set up.” She grinned. “This is his first birthday party, so he’s a little excited.”

Elsie juggled the cake dish and freed a hand, quickly forming a small fireglobe and pushing it over to Sammy. The baby babbled in delight and made a small light of his own.

Jodi giggled. “Don’t encourage him. He sleeps in a cradle next to our bed, and every time I open my eyes at night, he’s floating one of those light balls around.”

“Practice is good,” said Caro, coming out of the back room. “It might look like a game, but he’s getting some nice control.”

“Uh, huh.” Jodi’s eyes twinkled. “He tried to chase the cat with a firelight yesterday. She might not come out from under the couch for a week.”

“That’s nothing.” Caro set down a teapot and cups. “When Jamie was little—he’s the trainer I introduced you to—he made a full-sized dragon illusion, complete with flames, and sent it into his sister’s bedroom.”

Waking up to a fire-breathing dragon would have sent Elsie hiding under the couch with the cat, but she was pretty sure Aervyn’s mama was made of tougher stuff. Then again, maybe there was a reason she seemed impervious to magic tricks.

“You’re a fire witch.” Marion raised an eyebrow at Caro. “What stories would your mama tell us about you?”

“She’d tell you I was an angel of a child—never gave her a moment’s pause,” said Caro, pouring tea. Then she winked at Marion. “Didn’t come into my power until I was a teenager. You might not want to ask her about that part—I think it still gives her the shakes.”

Elsie set down her cake, caught by the unexpected tendrils of sorrow growing out of her belly. She was a fire witch—and if her mother had any stories to tell, she’d never heard them. She didn’t have the magic to make a dragon, and they’d never had a cat. But maybe she’d at least made a firelight dance in the night.

Good grief. She was jealous of a baby. Elsie shook her head, trying to toss off the momentary gloom. They had a birthday girl coming. Carefully, she pulled the aluminum foil off the top of the cake plate. Darn. It had gotten a little squished on the way over. Not that it probably mattered a whole lot—when they’d tried to draw a picture with icing on the top, she and Jennie had discovered their artistic talents were well matched to their cake-baking skills.

She looked up, apologetic. “It’s supposed to be Helga, holding a water pistol.” It looked like a stick figure holding a mangled state of Georgia.

“Of course it is,” said Caro, lips twitching. “You can be on my Pictionary team any time you like.”

Elsie stared at the cake and the poorly concealed amusement of her friends—and cracked up laughing. “We tried. We really did.” She held her ribs as the giggles poured out. “I should have brought the photograph we worked from and just put that on top of the cake instead.”

Caro had a decent case of the giggles too. “Just tell me that Jennie took a picture of this fabulous cake.”

No, they hadn’t. But as Elsie looked around at laughing women, a mangled cake, and Sammy’s dancing fireglobe, she knew it wouldn’t have been the right picture anyhow. This was what she wanted the next picture to be.

~ ~ ~

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To: [email protected]

From: Vero Liantro <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: A fascinating morning.

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Lovely Jennie,

It’s Melvin again.

You’re wrong—you’ve done far more than “well enough” for Elsie. You’ve done as much as we might have imagined. But now I can see we didn’t dream big enough, because I know the power that sits in the heart of Jenvieve Adams.

You’ve asked your students to find their next picture. They might still be flailing a bit, but I believe you’ve found yours, and it’s a truly lovely one. You’ve got a rich and beautiful soul.

And now that I’ve completely embarrassed you, let me admit to some giggles at the idea of the two of you bonding over an activity at which neither of you possesses a smidgen of skill. How delightful.

As for Lizard, you have chosen rightly, as you already know. Her chains are hers to cast off—and mighty though you are, I don’t think I’d want to be in a tug-o-war with that one. She’s got a warrior’s heart beating inside, or rather, a warrior poet’s. I’m delighted that you’ll have some help enticing the poet into the light. The strongest warriors are the ones who truly know their own hearts.

One day, I hope to hear the words she holds so close. I’m sure they will be magnificent—just like Elsie’s cake. Pure treasure.

Much love,

Melvin