Witches on Parole: Unlocked

Chapter 4
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To: [email protected]

From: Vero Liantro <[email protected]>

Subject: Re: They’re friends.

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My dearest Jennie,

It’s Melvin this time. I’m trying Jamie’s new toy to see if I can perhaps answer your email myself. I must admit, it’s faster when Vero does it—but there’s some satisfaction in doing things myself.

Of course you didn’t know Lizard was a poet—she wasn’t ready for you to know yet. Do you think she picked her courses accidentally? That young lady is a master of teasing others into pushing her where she wants to go. The very good news is that her desired destination this time is much improved over some of her past choices.

I knew a young woman once who begrudged every last picture I “made” her take—but never let a clunky old camera out of her sight. That woman would understand our Lizard very well.

As for Elsie, Vero is already preparing. Pass on a message to your student, please. Tell her she’s to bring three favorite non-opera songs to her first lesson.

She’ll be in good hands. My lovely wife will be both temptress and steamroller, I think, and the incomparable Natalia will be the soft landing. Quite the pair the two of them will make. And it seems we have cuddly babies and seasoned knitters rounding out the team nicely.

As for your “unofficial” report—most certainly Lizard and Elsie are friends. Your single greatest moment of genius was in setting their feet on that path the day they arrived. No one else would have dared, daughter of my heart. When it comes time to take that picture of them journeying together, I hope you see yourself in the center of it.

I hope the words on your screen approximate the ones I tried to type. If they resemble Klingon instead, let me know, and I’ll resign my seat to its rightful owner.

Walk in the light,

Melvin

~ ~ ~

Lauren looked up as Lizard blew in the office door at a dead run and skidded to a stop in front of the water cooler. “Morning. How was school yesterday?”

“Homework.” Lizard spoke between gulps, waving her phone. “I have like a bazillion pages to read before class in an hour, and some stupid essay thing to write, and I have to figure out how to make a table in Excel.”

Lauren blinked. Even she could do that, and her assistant was a wizard on a computer. “You know how to make tables.”

Lizard pulled a book the size of a small bus out of her backpack and slammed it down on the desk. “Yeah, but I probably don’t do it the right way. I just make stuff up on my computer, and it’s probably all ass-backwards or something.” She started thumbing through pages like a librarian on speed. “I need to find out what the book says so my professor doesn’t think I’m stupid on the second day.”

This probably wasn’t a good time to object once again to the word “stupid.” Maybe she could help with some of the rest of Lizard’s load instead. “What’s the essay on? Some dead poet?”

“Nah. That’d be easy. I already did all the reading and homework for that class. We only had to come up with a list of five poets we like and a favorite quote from each.” Lizard snorted. “Like that’s hard.”

Lauren knew which assignment would have caused her the most trouble. Now probably wasn’t the time to mention that, either. “So what’s the essay on, then?” It was clearly the thing causing the most mental distress.

Lizard rolled her eyes. “Some crap on the role of technology in society. How it’s changed our lives and stuff. Like I have any freaking clue.”

Lauren tried not to laugh. Really tried. She pulled out her iPhone, snapped a picture, and handed it to Lizard. “Maybe this will help.”

Lizard looked at the snapshot of herself, laptop in one hand, phone in the other. And finally cracked a grin. “Okay. Got it.”

Lauren took back her phone. “Here’s one big hint about school. They don’t usually ask the really hard questions on the first day.”

“They get harder?” Lizard looked horrified.

Sigh. That hadn’t landed the way Lauren intended, but who would have predicted that her computer-genius assistant would be terrified by Computing 101 and breezily ace a course on dead poets?

She needed coffee before the morning got even more weird. And she wanted her day back on track. “Can you be here at two tomorrow? I have a new client I’d like you to meet.”

Lizard’s fingers never stopped moving. “Yeah. So long as I don’t have to read anything first.”

Lauren quietly shoved the client profile back in her bag. “Nope. No reading.”

“Seriously?” Lizard whacked on the monster book. “Why would anyone want to do tables with apples and bananas?”

Bravely, Lauren ventured into the breach. “Maybe it’s just an example.” Not that she’d want to make fruit tables even as examples, but people who wrote Excel textbooks for a living probably had numb imaginations.

“Okay, but couldn’t they at least use an interesting example? So people want to try this stuff?”

Lauren was pretty sure no one actually wanted to make Excel tables. “What got you interested in doing things like that on the computer?”

“Porn. I showed some jerkwad at a bar that satellite TV was cheaper than the pay-per-view crap he’d been buying.” Lizard turned the page, still speed-reading. “Way cooler than apples and bananas.”

Oh, to have been a fly on the wall. “Did he believe you?”

“Yup. Paid me half the difference for three months.” Lizard grinned. “I had a pretty good gig going doing spreadsheets for some of the guys until the cops busted me and said I couldn’t hang out in the bar any more. Stupid rules said I had to be twenty-one first.”

Lauren stared, too afraid to ask how old she’d been. And realized, one more time, what a foreign planet Lizard had grown up on.

~ ~ ~

Jennie walked out of yoga class feeling like she’d finally tossed off the lingering shadows of sickness. She dropped a sweaty kiss on Nat’s cheek. “A lovely class, sweetheart, although I still have no idea how you bend a pregnant body into those shapes.”

Nat grinned, dropping a hand to her belly. “Our girl’s pretty little yet.”

This was true. Smaller than some of the spare-tire bellies in the class, truth be told. Jennie cast a glance over at Elsie behind the front counter. “How’s she doing?”

“I don’t really know.” Nat’s shrug seemed troubled. “We’re trying to find our way. I’m not sure either of us knows what her purpose is here.”

Jennie frowned. She’d have thought the answer to that was easy. “Her purpose is to spend time with you.”

Nat smiled gently. “That’s your intent for our time together.”

“It’s not working for you?” Jennie felt like a particularly slow student.

“It’s not working for her. Elsie doesn’t know how to just be. That’s the fourth time today she’s folded the towels. It’s become an obligation. She’s just trading chains right now—old obligations for new ones.”

Jennie watched as Elsie’s precise hands folded yet another white towel into exactly the same square as the last. Even through the crowd of slowly departing students, she could feel the earnest mental tightness—and Nat’s distress. She sighed. “Let me talk with her.”

Nat’s mood shifted. She grinned lightly and turned to head down the hall. “Be prepared—I think she wants to recruit you.”

That was an interesting warning, one that had Jennie approaching the front desk with a touch of trepidation. “Good morning. It’s almost lunch time—care to eat with me?”

“I have lunch with me, but thank you.” Elsie’s hands continued to fold, her brain weeping with boredom. “I have some things I need to attend to here.”

Good grief, how had she missed the girl’s state of mind on the way in? Jennie pulled rank. “Come. A quick walk around the block, at least. I have another assignment for you.”

Elsie’s eyes brightened. “Just let me leave a note for Nat in case she needs me.”

Jennie grabbed her arm. “I already told her I was carting you off.” Not precisely true, but Natalia Sullivan was a smart woman. “Come get some sunshine.”

She waited until they’d cleared the studio to shift into amateur detective mode. “So, tell me what your schedule looks like for this week.”

“Well, I have my work at the studio.” Elsie looked puzzled. “My first lesson with Vero is tomorrow, and Jamie’s going to send me through Realm.” She shivered. “Have you ever done that? He promises me I’ll come out the other end, but I’m not sure I like being a guinea pig.”

Jennie grinned. “I’m old-fashioned. I go on an airplane.” She touched Elsie’s hand, speaking to the real fear she could feel, one that had nothing to do with witch transport devices. “Don’t worry—Vero’s bark is far tougher than her bite. And she’s absolutely delighted to have a student again after all these years.”

“She should have chosen one who can actually sing,” said Elsie quietly.

“She did.” Of that much, Jennie was sure. Vero loved a lot of witches, but she’d never taken a student from their ranks before. Somewhere in Elsie’s love for music was a talent Vero had been unable to resist.

“She’s just being kind.” Elsie smiled. “Singing with her was a gift I’ll never forget, but lessons are simply unnecessary.”

Again with the tip of the iceberg. Self-confidence wasn’t Elsie’s real problem—she was bone-deep scared about what might happen if she sang again, terrorized by what it tugged on deep inside her.

And Jennie was well aware she wasn’t the woman best equipped to win that fight. “You feel free to tell Vero that when you see her.” She’d have to suggest a bit of quiet eavesdropping to Melvin—it would be a conversation that shouldn’t be missed. “And she’s sent a message. She’d like you to bring three of your favorite songs to your first lesson.”

Elsie stopped dead in the sidewalk, nearly causing a pile-up behind her. “I can’t do that!”

Jennie pulled her ghost-white student under an awning, confused. “I don’t think she means opera, dear. Any three songs you like will do.” Feeling the panic still rising in Elsie’s mind, she took a shot in the dark. “Don’t worry if you can’t narrow it down to three right away. You have all day to think about it, and I’m sure Vero won’t mind if your list is a little longer than three.”

She had no idea what to make of Elsie’s spiked panic—or her frenzied dash back toward the studio.

Jennie fingered her pendant and sighed. So much for lending Nat a helping hand. Being a WitchLight guide did wonders for an overinflated ego.

~ ~ ~

Jennie walked into Berkeley Real Estate prepared for pretty much anything after her impromptu stroll with Elsie, and was rather relieved to find Lizard sitting at her computer. “Morning—care to join me for lunch?”

“Can’t.” Lizard didn’t even look up. “Gotta study.”

It wasn’t usually this hard to find a witch who wanted something to eat. And after several days sick in bed, Jennie was eager for company—her husband was still in the cranky-recovering-invalid stage. She walked past Lizard and knocked on Lauren’s door. “I’m looking for someone to come eat with me. Are you going to turn me down too?”

Lauren looked up, puzzled—and then caught the edge of Jennie’s mental frustration and grinned. “Nope. I have a craving for Romano’s linguine, if that works for you.” She lowered her voice. “We’ll bring back takeout for Ms. Workaholic out there.”

Not a title anyone would have applied to Lizard a few weeks ago, but the change didn’t seem like a terrible thing. “She’s got a lot on her plate right now.” And she was stepping up to the challenge, which could only be a good thing.

“Yeah.” Lauren didn’t seem convinced. “But nobody’s asking her to work quite this hard.”

Jennie had spent a lifetime pulling three-day stints in her darkroom with little sleep and less food. “She’ll live. Come on, grab your coat—I’m starving.” These days, even her darkroom marathons involved breaks for something to eat. Old people needed regular sustenance.

Lauren snickered. Don’t let Vero catch you calling yourself old. She gave Caro an earful on that subject at karaoke night.

Was I thinking that loudly? The growl of annoyance as they slid past Lizard answered Jennie’s question well enough. Clearly Lauren hadn’t been the only mind-witch picking up her leaking thoughts. Jennie tightened up her mental barriers—it was bad practice to leave them that sloppy.

Lauren waited until they got outside and then elbowed Jennie. “See, I told you. She’s been growling at me all morning.”

“All this for dead poets?”

They stepped into the street, dodging traffic—not the safest route to Romano’s, but definitely the most direct. Lauren shook her head. “Nah. She’s got the dead poets nailed. It’s Excel spreadsheets causing her trauma. Someone needs to tell her that so long as the answer is right, generally nobody cares how you got there.”

One wry glance confirmed that Lauren wasn’t volunteering for the job. And Jennie wasn’t doing it without proper food intake first. She dashed across the last lane of traffic and cyclists, stepping onto the curb right in front of the best Italian food in Berkeley. She inhaled the yummy aromas leaking out the open door. “I don’t do this nearly often enough.”

Lauren flashed a grin. “I do.” And then she walked in the door and cracked up laughing.

Jennie stepped inside and hugged her nephew, who was lounging at the front counter. “Is everybody craving noodles today?”

Jamie chuckled. “That’s what happens when every witch in town is sick for a week. Aervyn ate his bodyweight in waffles this morning. Carb-loading for the big fight, I think.”

She’d missed something. Jennie frowned. “What fight?”

Lauren grabbed her arm. “Wait, didn’t Lizard talk to you?” She pushed a hand against Jamie’s chest. “Back off, buster—I saw her first.”

He held up his hands and grinned. “Okay, but I have no idea what you guys are up to, bringing a pack of mind witches to a water-balloon fight.”

Jennie was catching on quickly. Water-balloon fights were a Witch Central summer tradition. Is it worth trying to play the old-lady card? Or applying to be the official event photographer?

Both her companions snickered. Jamie wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I know one four-year-old who would be happy to set a waterproofing spell on your camera. He does good work.” He grinned. “And the old-lady thing won’t fly either…”

He stopped talking, mind barriers slammed down, and whistled at the ceiling.

Lauren scowled. “You’re awfully perky about this fight. Ginia and Aervyn have most of the useful witching talent on their team.”

Jamie just grinned. “We have Elsie.”

Jennie was getting left behind again—and Jamie’s mind was no longer leaking any hints. “She’s a fire witch, Jamie. She’s going to fizzle the first time somebody drenches her.” A very brave somebody—most fire witches didn’t appreciate being wet.

“It’s not her magic that’s going to carry us to victory. It’s her brain.” He looked far too sure of himself. “So if you want to join the winning team, it sounds like you haven’t been officially recruited yet.”

Lauren casually picked up a menu from the counter and glanced his way. “I hear your teammates always end up the wettest.”

The arm around Jennie’s shoulders gave another squeeze. “Ah, but she’s my favorite aunt. She’d never let me down.”

“Such wonderful offers,” said Jennie, more than a little amused. Ah, it was good to be out of bed and back in the world again. She kissed Jamie’s cheek. “But I was on your team last summer. I’ll see if Lauren can give me better odds at avoiding drowned-rat status.”

Whatever retort Jamie might have come up with got derailed by a waiter arriving with his bag of takeout. “Gotta go. Pregnant woman waiting.” He gave Lauren a quick hug and then shook his head at Jennie, eyes twinkling. “Pretty sure you’re going to live to regret that decision. I think Elsie was a general in a previous life. She’s a strategic genius.”

That sounded oddly possible. Jennie watched his retreating back, bemused. Not that it mattered a whole lot—nobody emerged dry from a water-balloon fight, and there really wasn’t all that much difference between soaked and drowned. She turned back to Lauren. “So, do we have a strategic genius in our camp?”

“Sure.” Lauren grinned. “Why do you think I worked so hard to recruit you?”

~ ~ ~

Elsie clutched her new purchase, staring at the miniature instructions in distress. Even if she could squint and read them, none of it seemed to match the parts of her new iPod. The last music player she’d owned had possessed two slots for cassette tapes and buttons clearly labeled On, Play, and Stop.

She’d gone into the Apple store armed with all the latest research, determined to find a way to explore the world of music. The salesperson had been very nice. He’d found her the kind of earphones you could use and still hear traffic noise and not ruin your hearing. He’d helpfully explained storage and screens and something about mixing music up while you played it. And she’d tried not to panic when he’d shown her how many songs were on iTunes for her to choose from.

How was she supposed to remedy her musical idiocy when there were eighteen million songs and she couldn’t even get her darned iPod to turn on?

“Cool iPod.” Lizard walked into the kitchen. “New?”

Elsie swallowed her pride. “Yes. Do you by any chance know how to turn it on?” She was eternally grateful when Lizard didn’t laugh, and even more grateful when a magic touch or two had pretty lights coming to life on her screen.

Two minutes later, her new toy was all hooked up and blaring one of Lizard’s favorite songs. Elsie was pretty sure their musical tastes weren’t going to overlap very much. “Is there a way to turn it down a little?”

Lizard grinned. “I can probably find some old-lady music for you, if you like.”

That she could probably manage to do on her own. Elsie tapped her computer, feeling frazzled and more than a little grumpy. “I’ll just look around a little. The man at the store showed me how to use the iTunes site.”

“It might have been more useful if he’d shown you how to turn on your iPod.” Lizard opened the laptop’s lid, hit a few keys, and looked up. “So, you’re not into rap. What kind of music do you like?”

Was there no such thing as personal space in Witch Central? Elsie squirmed and then straightened her spine. Trying to remedy a personal weakness wasn’t a reason to be embarrassed. “I don’t know, exactly. My mother always played classical music in our house. I’m fond of opera.”

Lizard raised an eyebrow. “Opera rocks your socks, girl. Weird, but true.”

Elsie sighed and gave up. “Yes, it does. But I want to figure out what else I like. Normal music—the stuff most people listen to.” She waved at the computer. “How can I do that when there are eighteen million songs to choose from?”

“You were just going to get online and start shopping?” Lizard grinned. “Don’t they teach you shrinks anything in school?”

Elsie was pretty sure nothing as incidental as personal musical taste had ever graced the hallowed classrooms of Harvard. Time to throw herself on her roommate’s mercy. “If you were me, what would you do?”

Lizard rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “If I find you some good music, will you write my essay for me? It should be easy for you.”

It was shockingly tempting. For just a moment or two, and then sanity prevailed. “That would be highly unethical. What’s the topic for your essay?”

“How technological illiteracy can be a handicap in modern society.” Her roommate snickered and held up the iPod. “But don’t worry—I’ll change names to protect the innocent.” She stood up and headed for the hallway. “I have forty-three hours of homework to do. I’ll have some music stuff for you tomorrow.”

Elsie felt oddly empty. “Have you eaten?”

Lizard stopped dead, thinking. “Crap. No wonder I’m hungry.”

“You can study down here.” Elsie didn’t stop to examine why this was suddenly so important to her. “I’ll make some dinner, and you can work on your essay.” She picked up her new iPod. “Here. You can even listen to that really loud rap stuff if you want.”

She had no idea what the strange look in Lizard’s eyes meant. And no idea what she was going to make for dinner, given her limited repertoire and their empty fridge. But it felt… nice.