Witches on Parole: Unlocked

Chapter 3
Jennie considered the plate of bacon and eggs in front of her and hoped her stomach was up to this. Meeting at the diner had been Lizard’s idea, and Jennie wasn’t convinced the motives were all pure. Puking mentors were less likely to be looking over your shoulder. She glanced across the table at her favorite delinquent. “So, are you ready to start school today?”

A scowl was pretty much the answer she’d expected. “I didn’t think I was going to have to start so soon.”

Jamie had wrangled Lizard permission to register late for the current round of summer school classes, and she clearly wasn’t thrilled. Jennie forged ahead anyhow. “What are you taking?”

“Intro to Computers and some class on dead poet dudes.”

The first was a Berkeley College requirement, and one that her student could ace in her sleep. The second astonished Jennie. “Dead poets?”

The embarrassed shrug communicated a lot more than Lizard probably intended. “Had to take something. That one looked less boring than most of the others.”

Big words. Dead poets. Kicking Jamie’s butt at rhyming word games. Jennie mentally whacked herself for being so slow. Her favorite delinquent was a poet. A very well-disguised one—and clearly intending to keep it that way. So Jennie did the smart thing and decided to totally change the subject.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast enough—and Elsie didn’t get the message. “You like poetry?”

It was a polite, interested question. Just the kind that would make Lizard dive for cover and never come back out. Jennie could see the delinquent armor snapping on. “It’s just a stupid course I have to pass. No big.”

Jennie watched Elsie’s eyes and saw the hurt—and then, wonder of wonders, the empathy. “If you need the house quiet so you can study, just let me know.”

Lizard stared. And then she let go of her armor a little and grinned, mischief in her eyes. “How do you feel about rap music?”

Elsie managed to curb her shudder, but her mind spewed distaste. “It’s not my preferred musical genre. Why?”

“It’s how I study best.” Lizard scooped a forkful of eggs. “Preferably really loud rap music.”

Don’t mess with her, sent Jennie, amused. She’s trying to be nice.

Lizard rolled her eyes, but her mind had loosened up considerably. She eyed Jennie with a tongue-in-cheek version of her scowl. “So, are you just being my truant officer today, or does this meeting have an agenda?”

It warmed Jennie’s heart when Elsie snickered. Not too long ago, agendas had been very serious business for the more uptight of her students. “Well, the first item for today is that I have good news for you, Elsie. Vero is ready to start your singing lessons.”

The last thing she expected was overwhelmed tears. Or for that matter, Lizard leaning forward, holding out a napkin.

Jennie tried to sort out the tangled threads in Elsie’s outer mind. “It seemed like you enjoyed singing with Vero. Do you not want lessons? She’s a very good teacher.”

“A good teacher?” Elsie’s voice climbed an octave. “Veronica Liantro could have students lined up around the block if she wanted—around the state. Serious opera students, the kind who’ve been taking professional voice lessons for decades. I’m just someone who liked to sing a little as a child.”

Jennie was still trying to find her way to the core of the problem, but that last bit she recognized as complete falsehood. “You love music. I imagine singing brings you great pleasure, even as an adult.”

Elsie looked down at her hands and sighed. “I don’t truly know. I haven’t sung for years.” Her voice firmed. “But Veronica Liantro is a legend. She sings like a goddess. I’m not remotely worthy to be her pupil.”

She had two students having a crisis of confidence this morning? Jennie picked up a piece of bacon, hoping she had the energy to navigate the suddenly choppy waters, especially since she was fairly certain most of Elsie’s iceberg was still under water. Layered under Elsie’s certainty that she wasn’t opera material was the glint of terrified desire.

For the moment, however, the deeper issues could wait—all she really needed to do today was to chase her student to Vero’s living room. And then Jennie caught an edge of a thought and realized she wouldn’t have to do even that.

“Oh, bull.” Lizard stabbed an unsuspecting egg. “She chose you. That makes you plenty worthy.” She scowled at her astonished roommate. “Does this mean you’re going to have to play some of that screechy opera music in the house?”

Elsie’s mind snapped out of wallowing. “Certainly. It’s the only way to properly learn.” Her eyes sparked in defense of her beloved music and the woman who would teach her.

Game, set, match. Jennie sat back, chewing on her bacon, and mentally applauded Lizard. Well done, girl. I couldn’t have done that nearly as quickly.

More scowls. Didn’t do anything. Do I really have to listen to that opera crap?

Jennie knew better than to answer a question like that. And she didn’t plan to stick around to see if Elsie figured out how neatly she had just been herded.

Much to her surprise, her plate of bacon and eggs had managed to disappear without causing serious stomach upheaval. A good morning’s work all around. “I know you’ve both got things to do today, so I won’t keep you.” Jennie reached into her bag. “But I have a small gift for each of you before I go.”

She handed the first two pictures to Elsie. One taken the day she’d arrived—professional, polished, and empty. The second was from karaoke night, sitting in befuddled happiness with her knitting in her hands, flanked by Caro on one side, Nat on the other. Witch Enveloped.

It touched Jennie deeply when her student’s fingers reached toward the befuddled Elsie’s face. They were indeed making progress. She waited for Elsie to look up. “These pictures are mileposts on your WitchLight journey so far, a visual record of the path you walk. Your assignment for this week is to think about what the next picture looks like.”

A small smile teased Elsie’s face as she nodded, still touching the photo of the happy knitter.

The next two pictures were for Lizard. The first was the tattooed blonde fairy the morning after she’d arrived, all tough exterior and sad eyes. Jennie was well aware it was one of the best portraits she’d ever taken—but it was the next picture that truly delighted her. The second captured the young and hip professional in strappy sandals, asymmetrical skirt, and shiny pendant—nose to nose with Ginia, rocking to some raucous karaoke rap song. Metamorphosis of a Delinquent.

“Same assignment for you—find the next picture. And a second thing.” Jennie tapped the photo of the confident, in-your-face rap singer and the unshakeable message on her face. “When you go to school this morning, remember—it’s this girl who’s going.”

Jennie waited for the predictable scowl. And counted it a major victory when it didn’t come.

~ ~ ~

Lizard walked out of the diner and nearly tripped over Aervyn. “Hey, little dude. What are you doing here? You hungry?” Feeding small witches was probably a good excuse for being late to school.

“Nuh, uh.” He took her hand. “We came to walk you to school.”

Belatedly, Lizard realized he wasn’t alone. Lauren stood right behind him, innocent look on her face. “Seemed like a nice day for a walk.”

Yeah, right. Apparently she had truant officers after all. “There’s no hurry. My first class doesn’t start for a while yet.” Lizard looked at her small sidekick. “Want to go to the park or something?”

“Nope. We hafta get you school supplies and stuff.”

She patted her snazzy new bag. “I have my laptop and a couple of pens. I’m good to go.”

He looked alarmed. “You can’t go to school like that!” He carefully took off his small fire-engine-red backpack and undid the zipper. “Here. I brought you a snack and my best pencil crayons.”

Lizard looked at the handful of colorful pencils and the slightly squished cookies and swiped at her eyes in horror. She never cried in public. It was a rule, even when four-year-olds were being ridiculously sweet. With solemn ceremony, she tucked the gifts into her bag—along with the heavy weight of his innocent expectations. “Thanks, superboy.”

He grinned in approval and took her hand again. “Which way do we go?”

She pointed down the street, resigned. “This way.” No way she could run off with his best pencil crayons.

Lauren fell into step beside them, looking way too pleased with herself. Lizard smelled a conspiracy. What, was that little pencil-crayon trick your idea?

Nope. He came up with that one all by himself. Lauren grabbed Aervyn’s other hand and helped swing him down the sidewalk. I’m just admiring his ingenuity.

I was going to go. Really. Lizard tried to sound as convincing as possible. She was almost sure it was true.

Aervyn was practically floating, which wasn’t ideal when you were on Main Street in broad daylight. Lizard pushed down on his head and he put his feet back on the ground, grinning. “What are you gonna do on your first day?”

“No idea, dude.” When you moved around as often as she had as a teenager, you got a lot of first days at new schools, and pretty much all of them had sucked. “I’ll probably just get a lot of homework or something.” And this time around, she might actually have to do it.

“There’s no homework in kindergarten.” Aervyn looked oddly saddened by this. “Maybe I can help with yours.”

She grinned. “Know anything about dead poets?”

He considered for a moment, and then shook his head. “Nope. But if you need help, Mama’s really smart at homework. What’s a ‘poet,’ anyhow?”

Cripes. She should have had more coffee instead of the extra bacon. Bacon didn’t help you think faster. “Someone who puts words together into kind of a mini-story. Like a song, but without any music.”

Aervyn tried to wrap his head around a tuneless song. “What kind of words? And how does a poet know how to put them together?”

“Well, they’re kind of like spells—sometimes they rhyme, and sometimes they just sound good next to each other.”

Superboy’s eyes brightened. “Are poets witches?”

There was a question she wasn’t going to ask in class. And she was way done talking about poetry, even with adorable witchlings who shared their pencil crayons. Which seemed like a reasonable stance until Aervyn’s eyes clouded with hurt. Damn—she kept freaking forgetting how powerful a mindreader he was.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the only mind witch on duty. You’re going to owe me for this. Lauren sent Lizard a brief glance and then looked down at their small sidekick. “Some poets write about witches. There was this one guy, Shakespeare, who wrote some pretty famous stuff. This one’s from a play about a crazy king named Macbeth.”

Lizard grinned as Lauren produced a credible witch cackle, and said the words along in her head.

“Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder’s fork and blindworm’s sting,

Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing.

For charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Aervyn grinned in delight. “That one’s funny, but I don’t think that Shake guy’s a witch—he got too many things wrong. He should go talk to Aunt Moira. I don’t think she puts any frogs in her cauldron.” He giggled. “Or any ‘Lizards’ either.”

“Well, poets get to make things up. So he could make witches be however he wanted.” Lauren winked at him. “Even creepy women who boil frogs and lizards.”

He bounced on the sidewalk beside her. “More!”

Lauren shrugged. “That’s about all I know. Sorry, munchkin. I had to memorize that one for high school English.”

Aervyn looked up, all innocent curiosity. “Maybe Lizard knows another one.”

The words blossomed in Lizard’s mind, popping up despite her best attempts to keep the lid on. She remembered the first time poetry had danced in her soul—and the Silverstein poem that had done it. They’d stood on the end of the sidewalk, she and Grammie, looking down at the first blades of grass and imagining a world of possibilities. That dog-eared book had been one of her most prized possessions. She’d hidden the words down deep after Grammie died—they were way too freaking hopeful.

Far too late, she heard the echoed words dancing in Aervyn’s mind. He grinned up at her. “What’s a moon-bird?”

First-day-of-school fear paled in comparison to the terror of having words stripped from her heart. Lizard’s teeth practically chattered as she pulled down the Fort-Knox-version of mind barriers. And heard Aervyn’s sorrowful knocking anyhow.

Crap, crap, crap. Lizard ran through her entire vocabulary of sailor curses, and then reached for his hand. He was only four, and he’d shared his favorite pencil crayons. A piece of some dead guy’s poem seemed like a fair trade, even if it was sewn into her heart. “That’s the cool thing about poetry. A moon-bird can be whatever you want it to be.”

It wasn’t until they’d walked another half a block, Aervyn chattering about imaginary birds and boiled frogs, that Lizard dared to cast a careful glance over at her boss.

Lauren just grinned and looked up at the sky, whistling. “Yup. Definitely a nice day for a walk.”

Frack.

~ ~ ~

––––––––––––––

To: [email protected]

From: Jennie Adams <[email protected]>

Subject: They’re friends.

––––––––––––––

Dear Vero,

Lizard and Elsie head back out into the world this morning, well fortified with bacon and eggs. It was a most interesting chat we had as we ate—particularly the parts that weren’t said.

Lizard is a poet. I’m sure of it—and rather embarrassed I’ve missed it for this long. I’ve always known she has depths that she does a very good job of hiding. I’d gotten lazy and assumed I’d caught at least the edges of all the important stuff.

How could a woman who loves words the way she does not be a poet? (And yes, I’m done kicking myself now.)

An update on Elsie requires backing up a little. Via the knitter grapevine, I discovered we had a bit of a jailbreak yesterday. Elsie escaped bed rest—and, much to everyone’s delight, bolted straight for Caro’s knitting store, where she proceeded to rock a cranky baby to sleep and then cuddle him for hours, while chatting about nothing in particular with ladies old and young. All fairly shocking behavior from our rule-bound, schedule-laden psychologist.

Rumor has it she even sang a lullaby to little Sam when she thought no one was paying attention. She’s terrified to come sing with you, however.

We’ll get her there—but know that Elsie holds you in no small amount of awe. She’s convinced she isn’t worthy—and terrified by the grip music has on her soul. Elsie Giannotto isn’t used to having demanding passions. Or, I suspect, teachers who require that she explore them.

I can’t imagine Vero Liantro would ask anything less.

That’s the official report. The unofficial one? My girls are friends—their connection was a living thing in the diner this morning. I don’t know yet where it’s headed, but their importance to each other grows. I asked them today to think about what the next picture on their journey looks like.

My prediction? Very soon, they will be in each other’s pictures.

The photographer in me already has an itchy finger.

Much love,

Jennie
~ ~ ~

Nat watched as Elsie folded the studio’s towels for the third time in an hour, and sighed. The robotic precision felt far too much like the home of her childhood—and spoke far too loudly of the state of her intern’s heart. Clearly neither of them knew exactly what to do with themselves this morning.

Time to confront the elephant in the room.

She carried two cups of tea to the front counter, paused a moment, debating—and then dove straight in. “I see you’re wearing your pendant this morning.”

“I’m still getting used to it.” Elsie’s fingers touched her necklace. “Sometimes I can believe it’s only a pretty piece of jewelry.”

Nat had been around witches too long to try that kind of denial. She sat down, fingering the trio of crystals at her own neck. Her collection was growing. “What did it mean for you, putting it on?”

Elsie stared out the window a moment. “It was a promise.” She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “My WitchLight experience hasn’t been a very smooth one so far. I guess I saw it as a promise to keep going, even if it’s stretching me. A lot.”

The simple bravery in that sentence tugged at Nat’s heart. There were a lot of rubber-bandy people at Witch Central who had no idea what it was to feel that stretched. She smiled, offering what she could to support a turbulent journey. “I don’t think the stretching’s done just yet, but perhaps we can change how it feels a bit.”

That got a genuine laugh from Elsie. “Is this going to involve standing on my hands again?”

“Not today.” Nat picked up her tea. “I’m not sure I could get up into handstand today. I’m still feeling pretty weak and feeble after three days in bed.”

Elsie looked over, eyes hopeful. “Do you need me to take care of something? I have time—just tell me how I can be helpful.”

And there they were at the crux of the problem. Nat resisted the urge to contort herself into some distracting pose. “You’ve folded the towels, rearranged the store, scrubbed all the mats, and vacuumed the studio already this morning.” All done in a spirit of efficient drudgery that was numbing Nat’s soul just watching. She sighed. “The truth is, being an intern here isn’t a very demanding job. And you’re someone who appreciates a lot of demands.” Needed them, if Nat was reading the situation right. “Can I ask you something?”

Elsie’s brow furrowed. “Sure.”

“What do you need from me?”

Now Elsie looked entirely flummoxed.

Nat fingered her pendant. “It wasn’t only you who made a promise. As you step out again on your WitchLight journey, part of my promise is to walk beside you. To help you. I’m not sure how to do that, but I suspect it’s more than giving you the chance to become a world-class towel folder.”

Elsie’s hands fluttered toward the towels and then stopped. “I thought you said anything could be a form of meditation.” Traces of lightness teased her face. “Even moving little bits of green tape on the studio floor.”

Nat smiled. “Is Jamie still teasing you about that?” Her husband delighted in many little-boy things, and he’d been gently using some of them to work Elsie out of her shell.

Her intern’s face flushed. “It’s okay. It was a pretty stupid idea. I was out of my element and trying to figure out how to be helpful.” She looked at Nat, a little sad and lost. “I think I still am.”

Nat had a lovely little speech prepared about how to be okay with not knowing for a while. About moving and exploring and being open to possibilities. She’d practiced it for three days.

And she might have had a chance to deliver it if Jamie hadn’t come crashing in the door. He skidded to a halt in front of the desk, glanced briefly at his wife, and focused on Elsie. “You’ll be perfect. I need help.”

The transformation in her intern was almost instant. Nat tried not to thump her head on the desk. Her husband usually had much better timing. The last thing Elsie needed right now was a new project.

Jamie froze, surveying her face. Sorry. What’d I step in?

Sometimes having a husband who could mindread was a very good thing, even if it was a little too late. Long story. Just don’t give her anything serious to work on. Or at least anything too comfortable.

Damn. Okay. Jamie turned back toward Elsie, who was still watching him, increasingly puzzled. “I need a team. By six o’clock tomorrow night. Ginia and Aervyn have issued a challenge.”

Now Nat was totally confused, too. “A challenge for what?”

“They’re challenging my title as Water Balloon Fight King.” Sorry. It was the best I could come up with on really short notice. And they really do want to have a water fight.

Nat tried not to giggle. It wasn’t like Witch Central needed an excuse for total goofiness. And her husband’s instincts were gold. Joining in monumental silliness might be exactly what her intern needed.

Forget “joining in.” I’m going to put her in charge. He put on a sad-puppy face and grabbed Elsie’s hands. “You have to help me. They’ve already claimed most of the good water and air witches.”

“You want me to help recruit a team for a water-balloon fight?”

Jamie winced—Elsie’s tone was at its stick-butt best. “Not if you’ve got other stuff to do.” Nat held her pendant lightly and tried to keep her eyes off the towels.

Elsie stared a moment longer—and then cracked up laughing. “I have such a strange life now.” She tried, fairly unsuccessfully, to sober up. “Do you have a strategy? Some guidance to help with recruiting?”

Nat committed the gobsmacked look on Jamie’s face to memory—it was classic. Then, remembering her marriage vows, she tried to help him out with a little translation. “Do you have a plan to win this fight? Preferred talents for your team members?”

His eyes brightened. “Magic would be good. For the rest—good aim, fast feet, and hopefully they don’t mind getting wet.”

“I think that last one’s a given.” Elsie snickered. “If I might suggest you think a little beyond the obvious?”

Nat’s pendant felt oddly warm for a second. She squeezed it and waited, curious.

“You have an idea?” Jamie pulled up a stool, doing an impressive job of rolling with Elsie’s lightning-fast shifts of mood. “Okay, shoot.”

Nat listened. Added a couple of suggestions. And made a mental note never to underestimate her intern.