An Imperfect Witch (14 page)

Lizard turned.  “There’s a whole lot of people telling me I’m tromping all over their feelings today.  I’m going someplace where that isn’t going to keep happening.”

Lauren watched the tiny, feisty spirit who was her friend shuffle down the walkway, soul dragging.  “Wait.”  She shrugged, helpless.  “I have ice cream.”

“It’s not a boss I need right now,” said Lizard, eyes eons distant.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Lauren closed her eyes, the words slicing deep and mean and hard.  Felt awful for the friend who had needed to say them.

And then just felt really sorry for herself.

-o0o-

“Whoa there, mini.”

Lizard stopped a hairsbreadth before she plowed into Trinity’s chest.  “What the hell are you doing standing there?”

“It’s my alley.”  Trinity’s eyebrows shot up.  “Who twisted you up the wrong way?”

“Maybe I finally got untwisted.”  Lizard waved her head in the direction of dumpster number three.  “You live over there.”

“What, you selling real estate in the alley now?  I was talking to Marco.”

A vibe of strange made it past Lizard’s lousy temper.  She frowned at Trinity.  “Who the hell’s Marco?”

Something that might have been actual embarrassment tinged the street tough’s cheeks.  “You know, Rocky.  Big muscles, nice eyes?”

There was only one guy remotely fitting that description anywhere near this alleyway.  “Rocky the bouncer?”  Nice guy working his way through school bashing heads at the local pub.  She suspected he didn’t bash too many—probably talked them to death instead.

“Yeah.  Can’t blame a girl for looking.”

The weird vibe was back.  Lizard stared.  “You were talking to him, or something else?”

Trinity snorted.  “What are you, my mother?  None of your business.”

Like hell it wasn’t.  “If it was one of your girls, you’d be asking.”  Even nice guys didn’t always have pure motives.

A seriously riled face landed an inch from her nose.  “I’m not good enough to leave the alley—is that what you’re saying?”

No—but it had fracking sounded that way.  “No.  Sorry.”  Lizard kicked a dumpster.  “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“He’s a good guy.  Likes to talk.”  Trinity shrugged.  “Asks about my crew.  Took Missy to the doctor last week.”

Lizard’s throat closed.  “Sometimes gifts have strings.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”  The voice was low and mean and crusted in shards of glass.  “You come in here, carrying your noodles every week, and you think it gives you the right to lecture me on how things work out here in the real world?”

Words.  Totally.  Gone.  

“You walked in here pissy and looking for a fight, and you got one.  Now take your sorry ass out of here before I get really mad.”  Trinity’s eyes were black daggers.  “This isn’t your world, girl, and I’m not gonna let you pretend that it is.”

The blows landed, leaving fist-sized bruises on Lizard’s soul.

She turned before Trinity could see the tears.  That much street, she still had left.

“He tells me about his nona’s lasagna,” said the voice behind her quietly.  “He’s got that cute shy thing going on, and he makes me believe something different might be out there.  Don’t kick at my dreams, mini—I don’t have very damn many.”

Lizard walked, eyes gushing waterfalls of sadness.  And hoped she plowed into a dumpster.

It would serve her right.

Chapter 12

Well.  If the reports flooding in from the west were any indication, one very unhappy witch was on the rampage.

Moira took down one of her more potent tea blends and Great-gran’s favorite pottery dish.  The dish, she lined with cinnamon-and-honey scones that had just come out of the oven.  The smell was delightful—and cinnamon and honey were an age-old remedy for indigestion of the soul.  Grounding herself in the beautifully ordinary, she carefully laid them out on the table.  Added pretty things—a wee sprig of winter moss.  Hand-woven napkins, sent by Hannah only last week.  A spiraled purple shell she’d found on one of her beach meanderings.

An altar, Gran would have called it.  To Moira, it was simply a way of deepening the power of hearth and home.

She sat down at the table to await the kettle’s call.  And hoped the watering of a certain poet soul had been enough.

It delighted her to no end that Lizard arrived before the water boiled. 

But oh, such a sad face.  Moira got up from her chair and simply wrapped the poor wrecked girl in her arms.  It was a measure of Lizard’s plight that she didn’t move. 

A long while they stood, young witch and old one, soaking in the only thing that had ever held the lonely, unhappy world at bay.  Moira let a sweet Irish lullaby float in a quiet corner of her mind, trusting that Lizard’s magic would hear it.  Simple comfort.

And when the kettle whistled, she pushed her forlorn visitor in the direction of a chair.  “Ah, lovey.  Let me make the tea, and then we’ll talk, you and I.”

Lizard’s eyes were dark, blue vats of misery.  “Don’t let me be mean to you.  I’ve been mean to everyone today.”

An old witch knew how to withstand a harsh word or two.  “I’m sure you won’t call me anything worse than some of my patients over the years.  Healers are tough creatures—don’t you worry about me.  We’ll have our chat, and then you can set about to making amends with those you’ve hurt.”

It surprised her when Lizard managed a chuckle.  “Setting me on the straight and narrow even when I’m a whiny brat, huh?”

This one wasn’t nearly as far from the straight and narrow as she thought.  “You might listen to some good Irish ballads one day—there’s some fine whining being done in those.  You’re on a journey.  Those don’t always rest light on the soul.”

“It doesn’t feel like a journey.  There’s no solid ground under my feet.”

“Ah.  What’s it feeling like, then?”

“An ocean storm.  The kind that swallows stuff.”  Lizard touched a hand-woven napkin and added the last words under her breath.  “The kind you drown in.”

Moira had always wondered if their young poet had Irish blood in her veins.  Tonight, she had little doubt left.  No one else took such a fine dunk in self-pity.  “Well, you’ve come to a water witch, sweet girl—there will be no drowning on my watch.  Have a wee scone and tell me about your troubles.”

The poet slumped in her chair, eyes glum.  “Which ones?” 

When peeling an onion, it was always easiest to begin at the outside.  Or in this case, the thing that had sent the onion rolling off the produce cart in the first place.  “How are things with our ghost?”

“Raven’s fine.”

Somehow, Moira doubted that.  “All set to get on with her life, is she?”

“No.”  Lizard looked pained.  “But she’s working and fed and she has a bed to sleep in.”

“All fine things.”  And all confirmed by the intelligence network that had informed this night.  “But she can’t keep living in a house you’re about to sell.”

Spiking frustration.  “She doesn’t want help.  And she doesn’t need anyone messing in her business.”

“I’m sure that’s how she feels,” said Moira calmly.  “But you feel too much for the child she is.  You need to look beyond to the woman she can become and help her get there.  You do her no favors letting her pout in a paint pot.”

Lizard scowled.  “Are we talking about Raven or me?”

Moira leaned over and planted a kiss right on the scowl.  “Whoever the shoe fits.” 

She got up to check on the tea.  And ran a hand over her window-box herbs as she did, calling on a chosen few to wake up.  Chamomile, lemon verbena, and a hint of feisty mint.  She smiled as their scents began traveling the airwaves of her cozy kitchen.

Help came in myriad forms.

“I got so angry today.  So mean.”  Lizard shuddered.  “I could feel my words hurting people, and I just kept rolling.”

A potent kind of fuel for a mind witch on the warpath—and a torture once the flames faded to embers.  “You’ve the kindness and the humility to make things right, child.  But first you must find the thing within you that created the need to hurt.”

Lizard hugged her knees up under her chest and looked entirely bereft.  “I don’t know how to do that.”

The very hardest job for any human soul was to take a long and honest look in the mirror.  “Well, some people will tell you to go find a place of safety, and there’s wisdom in that.”

Blue eyes met green ones.  Asking.

There was bravery still left tonight.  “I go work in my garden.  If I take a shortcut too many, or I don’t look carefully enough, my flowers let me know.”  Moira studied the young woman at her table.  Chose to believe she was ready.  “It’s the place that demands the best of me.  That I be real and honest and true.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe.”

“It’s not, entirely.”  Although an old witch had always found much solace there.  “But if you want to find the very best of Moira Doonan, it’s to my gardens that you should look.”

Lizard sat so very still.

Content to let the cauldron bubble, Moira got up and fetched two mugs of tea.  Slowly, letting the rich and complex aromas glide into the night.  Not a simple tea, this.  One full of character and demands.  One that fit the woman she fully believed her young guest could become.

She set down a travel mug in front of the poet.  “Go to your words, Lizard Monroe.  They’ve always demanded the very best of you.  And be brave enough to hear what they have to say.” 

-o0o-

What a totally crappy day.

Lauren climbed into her couch, pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand, glass of wine in the other.  Usually it was a client who earned her that particular combo.  Today it was the prickly, talented woman she’d somehow managed to share an office with for more than two years now.

And not once in all those days could Lauren remember Lizard being plain mean.  Or so completely afraid.

In the early days, there’d been plenty of pissiness, and it still raised its head when Lizard’s world shook.  But this was more than rumbling. and Lauren had no idea what to do about it other than getting herself out of the line of fire.

She peeled the lid off her ice cream.  Time to drown in a river of cold, creamy chocolate.

Her head snapped back up at the sound of several people landing in her living room.

Mia dashed over for a kiss and plopped herself on Lauren’s feet.  “Hi.  We’ve come to cheer you up.”

Ginia held up something that looked suspiciously like a cucumber.

Shay wrestled one of Nell’s plastic outdoor lounge chairs into the middle of the living room.  “We brought all kinds of goop and stuff.  Auntie Nat says you’re gonna totally love it.”

The woman in question smiled from behind the triplets.

Something glad rose up in Lauren’s heart.  “Is Auntie Nat getting the royal treatment too?”

“Not tonight.”  Nat held up two bags.  “I’m on snack procurement and fancy-drink duty.”

“She brought a
blender.
”  Mia’s eyes were twice as big as normal.  “And some of the stuff that Mama uses when she makes the really special drinks that only the adults can have.”

Trust Nat to turn some frozen fruit and ice into preteen joy.  Lauren levered her way up from the couch.  “I bet I have some fancy glasses to put those in.”  Some crazy person had gifted them eight insanely expensive martini glasses for their wedding.  This seemed like an excellent time to unpack them.

Mia tackled her around the waist.  “Uh, uh.  You hafta sit.  We’ll do all the work.  Well, and maybe Auntie Nat, because we’re still kind of short and Mama says we have to stop climbing on counters.”

Lauren sat, suddenly feeling a little blubbery at all the love.  She looked up at Nat.  “Cupboard over the fridge, in a blue box.”

“One box of fancy glasses, coming right up.”  Nat leaned over and rescued a slightly squished container of Chunky Monkey from Fuzzball’s clutches.  “And some more spoons.”

“We brought treats for the kitty, too.”  Ginia reached into her voluminous backpack and pulled out a ball of scrunched tinfoil.  “I put catnip in the middle, and Uncle Jamie spelled it so it’ll wiggle around on its own.”

Lauren watched her ridiculously excited cat pounce on the silver ball.  And giggled along with three girls as it shot out behind him and hovered in the air.  Points for Uncle Jamie.

“We brought five kinds of nail polish and some really silly movies and enough popcorn for a platoon of teenagers.”  Mia bounced to punctuate the most important words.  “All that stuff is for after we put the cucumbers on your eyes and the gunk on your face, though.  We have to make sure you’re good and happy before the popcorn.”

They’d done a fairly stellar job of that already.  “Sounds like a pretty awesome evening.  You hatched this all up in the last few hours, huh?”  Word traveled fast at Witch Central—that part didn’t surprise her anymore.

“Yup.”  Ginia looked determined.  “And then tomorrow we’re gonna see if we can help Lizard.”

Lauren tried not to wince.  That might take more than cucumbers and silly movies. 

“Lizard’s gonna be harder.”  Shay looked a little glum at the possibility.  “But we’re thinking hard about what to do.  Auntie Nat says that when you have a big mess, it’s easier to clean up the little parts first.”