An Imperfect Witch (2 page)

The orb sent out a particularly loud crackle.

Lauren restrained the urge to give it a good swift kick.  Instead, she picked it up off the stand and headed back to the couch—if she had to listen to the darn thing, she was going to get comfortable first.  Fuzzball hissed one last time in protest and crawled under an armchair, mewing quietly.

Deserter.

Dev relocated to the armchair, cat guard and moral support.  They knew the crystal ball objected to his presence any closer. 

Lauren tried to clear her mind of clutter.  On a day like this one, that was no easy task.  She gave up after a fruitless few seconds and just imagined rivers of chocolate instead.  If the orb objected, it could darn well pick a new day to have a conversation.

She got the oddest feeling it was amused.  And hungry.

Lovely.  Just what she needed—an oversized marble with personality.

The vague connection, or whatever it had been, snapped shut.  And the milky white layers on the surface of the orb began to shift.

Lauren tried to imagine sweeping them away with her mind—it was damn hard to see through an inch of fog.

The murky mess shifted long enough to give her a crystal-clear view of a single, haunting image.

And then it was gone.

She stared at the suddenly quiet depths.  Bloody hell. 

Dev was at her side the second the orb went silent.  “That was fast.  You okay?”

Lauren nodded.  Okay enough.

“What did you see?”

“I don’t know.”  She pulled up the image in her head again, trying to capture all the nuance, and shoveled it his direction.

He frowned at the picture in his head.  “What is that—some kind of bad Halloween joke?”

She knew what he saw.  Her young associate realtor, tromping through a graveyard—chased by a ghost and a guy in shadows.  “I don’t think the crystal ball has much of a sense of humor.”

Her husband was still scowling.  “It looks like the cover of a bad demon-hunting novel.  What the heck kind of message is that?”

Exactly.  And if it had been some anonymous person being stalked in the shadows, she could have shrugged and left well enough alone.  “What am I supposed to tell Lizard—to stay out of graveyards?”

“Probably not bad advice at this time of year.”  Dev frowned.  “Maybe we’re not supposed to take it literally.” 

That would be a new twist.  The brief glimpses the ball had offered in the past had sometimes been disturbing, but never mysterious.

He ran his hand down her hair.  “You could go see Moira.”

Visiting the Irish matriarch of the Nova Scotia witching community was always high on the list of Lauren’s pleasures—but it wasn’t faith in hocus-pocus she needed right now, or wise green eyes.  And it was the middle of the night there.  “Maybe tomorrow.” 

Devin’s mind echoed her own unease.  Witch Central didn’t ignore warnings, even from crystal balls.

Lauren picked up her phone and pinged Lizard. 
Where are you?

Under a foot of flour.  Cupcake invasion.  Aren’t you supposed to be kissing some sexy guy tonight?

Lauren chuckled.  Good.  Nowhere near a graveyard. 
Working on it.

Go away.  Or bring cleaning supplies.  Your choice.

Lauren leaned back into her husband’s strength, choice made.  Whatever had just begun, it wasn’t happening tonight.

And Witch Central also believed deeply in evenings steeped in love.  She and Lizard just had slightly different versions in mind.

-o0o-

Lizard blew aside a cloud of flour dust.  Good thing cupcakes weren’t all that particular about ingredient quantities.

Mia, in charge of the flour sifter, grinned.  “Mama’s going to be so surprised.”  Her triplet sisters nodded in agreement, handling joint aim of the flour bag into the sifter.

Cupcakes for the multitudes.

And somehow Witch Central’s resident ex-delinquent had been recruited as leader of the stealth-baked-goods squad.  Lizard thought of the letter from the parole board and snorted—at least this kind of trouble wasn’t in the criminal code.  “I don’t think anything surprises your mom.” 

Three blonde chefs giggled. 

Nell was mother to the world’s most powerful witchling, three generous and bossy girls, and a newly minted teenager with the baddest baseball arm in the West.  A few cupcakes, even topped with dried blood and cracked eyeballs, weren’t going to make her blink.

Lizard surveyed the remaining ingredients and handed the baking soda to Shay, triplet most likely to actually measure.  The cocoa canister went to the far more exuberant Mia—there was no such thing as too much chocolate.  Ginia, the third triplet, reached for the small stainless-steel bowl.  The only one of the three with magic, it was her job to convince the pile of shredded orange rind to turn bright red and gloopy.

One batch of cupcake blood, coming up.

Lizard handled the more mundane task of cracking eggs and creaming sugar and butter.  Oceans of it—baking in Witch Central was never done on a small scale, but this particular offering was getting served up to half the neighborhood too.  Halloween outreach.

The cracked eyeballs would draw the kids like flies.  And probably most of the adults, too.

Mia glanced over from her cocoa-sifting duties, mind coated in impish glee.  “Don’t worry about Josh.  I bet Uncle Jamie and Uncle Devin are going to keep him totally busy and he won’t miss you at all.”

Jamie and Devin had kidnapped her usual Friday-night date with threats of world domination and soul-crushing.  Lizard wasn’t sure if that meant gaming or basketball, but either way, Josh Hennessey would be having fun.  And likely not losing, either—everything the guy touched turned shiny.

Maybe even her. 

However, she had a rep to maintain.  Lizard scowled in the direction of the three grinning demon children.  “You guys had this all planned, huh?  What makes you think I wanted to spend my Friday night baking cupcakes?”  She tossed in a touch of whining for good measure.  “I have four showings and two open houses tomorrow.”

Ginia’s eyes gleamed.  “We could help you make signs after we finish the cupcakes.”

Lizard snorted.  “Not a chance.”  Pink-and-glittery open-house signs were one of those things you’d just never live down.  And they’d be lucky to finish the baking by midnight, which meant yet another giggly girl sleepover in her miniscule living room.

Having the smallest home in all of Witch Central made not the tiniest impression on anyone—they just invaded anyhow.  Wedged themselves and plans for three hundred cupcakes into a kitchen that had been built for single guys and TV dinners.

Shay slid down the bench seat, eyes thoughtful.  “Are you okay?  We can ask Josh to come back if it’s making you sad.”

Crap.  Lizard looked down at eyes that were observant and wise and still those of a young girl with feelings easily hurt.  “Nah.  He’s a lousy cook.”  He was rapidly becoming a better one—her galley kitchen had seen a lot of action lately.  “I was just thinking that this apartment needs a bigger kitchen.” 

Mia laughed, oblivious to the undercurrents at the table, and streaked flour down her sister’s cheek.  “Or a cleaner one.”

Ginia, catching on faster, elbowed her ebullient triplet.  And cornered Lizard with the kind of stare that didn’t belong on an eleven-year-old’s face.  “Maybe you need a bigger apartment.”

She did not.  The scruffy little place and its eccentric neighbors totally suited her.  Close to work, close to the hole-in-the-wall diner, and far away from cookie-cutter suburbia and white picket fences.

“You’re a real estate agent.  You could have any house you like.”  Mia dumped her cocoa and flour mix into the monster bowl, oblivious to details like actual recipe directions. 

Lizard handed over the equally monster wooden spoon.  “Houses need money.”  Which she was accumulating an astonishing amount of lately.  She focused on a more pressing constraint.  “And you have to mow the grass and stuff.”

“I bet Josh would do that part.” 

Right.  And after that came 2.4 kids and a dog.  Lizard was really happy with her life exactly as it was.  “He already has his own grass to mow.”  She reached out and paused the next pair of hands readying to take over stirring duties.  “That’s enough.  You don’t want to mix up the batter too much.”

Ginia stared down at the sea of chocolate goo.  “How come?”

Just because.  “The cupcakes get all gunky and stuff.  They don’t like to be messed with a whole lot—they’re happiest if you mostly just leave them alone.” 

And dammit, she was turning into one of those witches who tried to sneak life lessons into cupcake marathons.  Lizard slid down the bench and elbowed Shay out of the way.  “Come on, let’s toss a batch of these in the oven and go find the blow-up mattresses.”  No one could talk while they were blowing things up.

Mia grinned.  “We brought our jammies.”

Of course they had.  Invader demons, all of them.

-o0o-

It came, every year.

And every year, Moira waited with both anticipation and anxiety.

She held up her hands toward the night sky, an old witch communing with a late-fall Nova Scotia moon.  Crisp air touched her naked fingers, a harbinger of winter’s arrival, and a reminder that she was still alive.  She inhaled deeply of chilled salt mists and gave thanks for yet another year to breathe them.  Her magic had emerged on just such a night, so many years ago.

Pulling a trickle of magic up from the earth under her feet, she wrapped her thick wool cloak a little tighter.  The eve of Samhain approached, and with it, the thinning of the veils between the worlds.  A time that often pushed on the cycles of life.  She would send blessings to those who had come before, and leave words of hope for those yet to come.

But mostly, she would stand sentry for those now living.  Samhain’s pushes were not always gentle.

Once more, she reached up to the star-shimmered sky and opened her ears.

The old magics grew stronger this night, and with them, the whispers in the brisk fall breezes of her garden.  All carrying a sole message.

Change loomed.

Chapter 2

Nell Sullivan Walker carried the last of the bowls of butter chicken into the dining room and grinned.   It had been a very lazy Saturday until about an hour ago.  Family dinners weren’t getting any quieter or any less manic.

Her brother Jamie took the bowl and settled it possessively on his left.

Nell couldn’t blame him.  Daniel had been on an Indian-food kick lately, and he must be doing something right—the little old lady down the street had started doling him out shares of her special spice shipments from back home.

She sat down in the last empty chair, surveying the table.  It looked like enough to feed a hundred people, but she was pretty sure the twelve present would do considerable damage.  Feeling benevolent, she sent her brother a warning. 
Beware of the biryani—Daniel hides vegetables in that one
.  Which her children willingly ate.  Maybe they were changelings.

Jamie snorted and eyed her six-year-old son Aervyn, currently floating a purple feather toward the back of his closest sister’s neck. 
Nope.  Pretty sure that’s genetic.

Nell sent a quick air-current spell to intercept the purple feather. 
No bugging your sisters at the dinner table, punk. 
Especially when they were still hungry, grumpy, and holding a big ladle full of spicy red curry.

Aervyn grinned and held out his plate instead.  She passed down his favorite sweet potatoes—in the Walker household, potatoes were exempt from vegetable status, along with raw carrots, corn on the cob, and tomato sauce.  Anything else was regarded with suspicion, especially if it approached any shade of green.

Across the table, Nat smiled and captured Kenna’s fingers before they snuck into the bread rolls.  The busy toddler shifted gears and swiped her mama’s roll instead.  Nat only laughed and offered up a spoonful of peas, which her daughter consumed with relish.

Jamie shook his head.  “If you eat any more of those, munchkin, you’ll turn green.”

His wife snorted and offered Kenna more peas.  “Like you’d know.  When’s the last time you consumed more than an accidental pea?”

Nell grinned.  She knew exactly when.  He’d been seven, and he’d
totally
deserved it.  It had taken four hours to perfect the spell that had turned the pea milkshakes brown and chocolate-flavored.  One of the better illusion spells of her life.  And watching her triplet brothers consume a whole glass of vegetables each had been awesome payback. 

They’d painted her bike pink.  PINK.

Jamie’s mind flashed amusement.  “I’d forgotten what we’d done.”

She glared his direction.  “I think it was one of the worst things you ever did.”

Devin chuckled from the other end of the table.  “You sure?  We have a pretty long list.”

Mia giggled and looked up at the uncle who most shared her personality.  “Mama says you guys were more trouble than a whole city of caffeinated zombies.”

The entire table busted up laughing.

Devin grinned and picked up his phone.  “Gotta text that one to Matt.”