An Unlikely Witch (25 page)

It took a while for that to sink in.  But when it did, small shoulders sat up a little straighter.  “I promised her I could handle this part.”

A very big promise from a girl who had meant every word—and had no idea what it really meant.  “Yup, you did.”  Nell squeezed her girlchild a little tighter, so very proud of those small shoulders.  “But trying to do it all by yourself would just be dumb.” 

She stroked blonde curls, remembering when they had belonged to someone much tinier.  “Your sisters are downstairs, making glitter snowflakes.”

Ginia cuddled in, considering.  “I bet they drank the rest of the eggnog.”

“Probably.”  Not a chance.  “But I bet you guys could trade Lizard some snowflakes for more.”  She gave the shoulders one last hug and let go.  Mission accomplished.

The child who slid off her lap wasn’t smiling yet.  But she would be.

-o0o-

So many things still frothing in her soul.  And no amount of breathing or tongue-twisting asanas was quieting them down.

So Nat had come to wisdom’s source.

She wrapped herself in layers of wooly warmth and took a seat on a bench in Moira’s dormant garden, trusting that the presence of a thin-blooded Californian wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

Moments later, a soft green blanket descended over the ones she already wore.

She looked over at the old witch who had brought it.  “We can go inside if you like.”  The wind was snappy.  Biting.  A little bit like her insides.

“Not at all.”  Moira took a seat beside her.  “Winter comes to balance the warm glow of summer and to teach us to cherish it.  A few minutes outside in the cold helps me to remember that.”

They weren’t just talking about the weather.  Nat tried to stem the twist of bitterness rising in her throat.  “I thought cherishing things was a lesson I already knew.”  Not one that needed to be beat into her heart again.

Oh, how she felt the absence of her small boy this morning.  It was somehow all the more piercing for having let him go.

“Much is demanded of you on this journey.  And it began back with the courage you used to tie Kenna to your heart.”  Two weathered, strong hands reached for hers.  “Hold on to that courage now, if you can.” 

She laid her head on the offered shoulder.  “I only did what every mother tries to do.”

“Aye.  But you had more to give than many do.  You did something quite miraculous for your daughter, you know.”  Moira smiled, her eyes a place of warmth in the brisk day.  “In that moment, some would have called you a witch.”

Somehow, that tickled Nat’s sense of humor.  “I’m an awfully unlikely witch.” 

“Oh, we’ve given the name to those with less.”  Moira held up a hand as Nat’s breath began to protest.  “I know it’s not a label you wish for yourself.  And you do great good in our community by refusing to wear it.”

Nat blinked—and felt annoyance spurt.  “That’s an interesting accusation.”

Moira’s chuckles held the lilt of Ireland.  “It’s a high compliment, my dear.  It’s only your inner turmoil that hears it as anything but.”

Words Nat had said a thousand times in yoga classes over the years.  She raised one eyebrow at the woman she’d come to visit, amused despite herself. 

Moira’s hands touched the blanket she’d laid around Nat’s arms.  “The witching community is richer because you stand in our midst and insist with every breath that you are important and needed and true.”

That
was a compliment—and one Nat would treasure.  She tucked away the beautiful words and let them balm her abraded heart.  “I don’t stand alone.”  Witch Central embraced those without magic flowing in their veins.

Moira touched a dormant flower head and smiled gently.  “No, you don’t.  You’ll often hear me say that I am a weak witch, one of very small powers.”

“Yes.”  Another tangent that likely wasn’t.  “And every time you do it, the witches with small magics feel represented and valued.”

“Aye.”  Green eyes twinkled.  “And some days I pretend that’s the only reason I do it.”

There were very few people in the world who understood themselves better than Moira Doonan.  Nat waited, still a little lost.

Moira caressed the flower again.  Ever so slowly, it began to come to life under her fingers.  “As a child, I wanted to be one of the greatest witches the world had ever seen.  I would do magics that would be talked of for centuries.”

That ran so counter to the image of the old woman they all knew and loved.  Nat decided it was time the compliments flowed both ways.  “When did you decide that being small and persistent was as great a power as any?”

Moira plucked the single pink flower bud and held it to her cheek.  “I believe it’s a lesson I’m still learning.”

Nat smiled.  She knew a fib when she heard one.  “I don’t believe that.  You know exactly why you matter.”

The old witch chuckled.  “Aye, my dear—and so do you.  Don’t let that faith waver.”  Green eyes grew solemn.  “You have a rare, beautiful, and courageous heart.  And you know how to wield it.”

Nat was pretty sure her face wore a pout that would have done a teenager proud.  Nothing about this felt strong or brave.

The old witch chuckled.  “We all have our weapons, my dear.  And you may not feel the truth of it today, but you use yours beautifully.”

Nat stared, caught by Moira’s choice of words.  Ones of power.  Agency.  Intent.

Her
power.  Her
choice.
 

A choice made by her body, her very cells, to protect her daughter and her family.  A woman walking her journey, not being dragged kicking and screaming down the road.  On the mat, there were always choices.

In life, too.

Nat’s heart spilled over.  “Thank you.”

Moira slipped a bright pink flower into Nat’s fingers.  “You have let go of something very dear to you, and it’s left a gaping space in that glorious heart of yours.  I don’t know what will fill it.”  The flower petals gently unfurled.  “But I trust it will be magnificent.”

Nat looked down at the fragile petals, braving life in the dead of winter.

And drew strength from their courage.

-o0o-

So much sadness.  The orb wished mightily for the days when it had easily been able to block out the petty, troublesome emotions of the pitiful humans.

It was messenger only, not one of their kind.

But it could not help but be impressed by the way they chose to do battle with such sweeping currents of grief.  By how each of them tended most to the heart of someone else.  And by their depth of feeling for something not real.

A figment, a brief image—less a part of this world than even a cranky orb.

The last time the orb had been pressured to send a message, at least there had been a happy ending.

Not that tools of magic concerned themselves with such things.  Managing the energies of the universe trumped puny human emotions.  Nudging the world in the direction of the greater good.  The forces didn’t yield to the protests of cracking hearts.

The forces didn’t have to live amongst those hearts.

Feeling something akin to that gloriousness the small girlchild did, the thing they called “temper tantrum”, the orb kicked in annoyance at the great global energies who owned its existence.  It didn’t expect them to listen—they cared no more for an oversized marble than they did for a puny human heart.

And then it caught the edge of a ripple, disappearing into the edges of infinity.

An event of the past-that-had-not-happened.  Outside the caring of the forces now.  They looked only to the future.

Very carefully, the orb collected up the ripple’s remnants.  

It thought of the old woman of ancient lineage, sobbing into her flowers.  Of the wrenching, tear-soaked fury of the young girl with the magic hands who had tried to find the small boy into existence. 

The faint, fading ripple was very clear—she had almost succeeded.

And that would have been very bad.

The orb thought back to the words of the one who listened. 
Find something that doesn’t seem important to the powers that be.  Give me that.
 

It considered, well aware that the forces were not overly permissive.  And then something akin to peace settled on its milky waters.  The orb sent up a gentle signal to awaken the one who listened.

It had found a message the forces didn’t care about.

A gift within its power to give.

-o0o-

This was insane.

Lauren clutched the crystal ball under her arm and knocked on Moira’s door.  Quietly, hoping deeply that the inhabitants were sound asleep.  Knowing that they weren’t.

Sophie and Moira looked up as she entered.  Two witches, trying desperately to ease their sadness and guilt.

Lauren wished terribly for something to say to help with either.  The orb rumbled again.  She tried to send it a gentle message.  No way was this a good idea.  Way over the pay grade of glass paperweights.

Moira frowned, eyes on the crystal ball.  And then nearly dropped her tea cup.

Sophie was at her side in an instant.  “You need to rest.  You’ve been using magic on people all morning.  Come—I’ve enough power left for a sleep spell.”

“No.”  An old witch shook her head, eyes wide with awe now.  “It wants to speak to me.”  She looked at Lauren.  “I can hear it.  How is that possible?”

Lauren had no freaking idea.  Stupid Irish hunk of glass.  “It asked to come visit you—that’s all I know.”  Asked nicely, no less.  Which probably should have been a clue.  She sent a warning, pithy and short, to the sphere in her hands. 
Hurt her more, and I’ll let the seagulls at you.
  She’d seen what they could do to a clamshell, dropping it from the heights.

All she got back was a haughty huff.

Moira’s hands reached out, shaking slightly.  “The last time it spoke to me, I was but a girl, and it bade me cross the wide ocean waters.”

Oh, hell.  Lauren met Sophie’s eyes above the old witch’s head.  The younger healer paled.

And then they both watched, silent, as the woman with the courage of a thousand nestled the crystal ball in her lap.  Cozying it. 

The orb swirled under her touch.

Moira’s breath hitched.  Carefully, she settled a hand on each side of the glass sphere, cupping it in her palms, and spoke to it in a tongue old and ripe with magic.  Lauren understood not a word—but the reverence was entirely clear.

A peasant in the presence of magical royalty.  Or a young priestess, perhaps.

Sophie’s eyes watched grimly.

And then the orb glowed, a rich, radiant yellow that bathed an old witch’s face.

Moira’s smile, as she stared intently at the clear surface, was one of pure joy.  And Lauren wondered if perhaps she’d misjudged her cranky orb.  

When the light finally dimmed, the old witch gently patted the ball in her lap.  “It misses the hills of home, just as I do.”  She looked up at Lauren.  “You’ll have to take it for a visit one day.”

At this moment, feeling the peace rolling off Moira in waves, it didn’t seem like such a crazy idea.

Sophie knelt down, eyeing the crystal ball from a respectful distance.  “What did it say?”

“If we had succeeded in what we tried to do, Nat would have had another child.”  Moira’s voice echoed in the silence.  “And Kenna wouldn’t have survived the birth.”

The image of her small niece, engulfed in a wall of flames, turned every bone in Lauren’s body to water.  And yet, she could feel the two healers.  Settling.  Grounding.  “How is this good news?”

The power in an old witch’s green eyes nearly knocked her over.  “Healers have always had to make impossible choices.  Today Ginia will know that her doubts were wise ones.”  Her voice wavered.  “We will all know.”

A boy and his snowman—not lost in vain.  Lauren felt the tears pricking.  Her darned orb had found a loophole.

Moira picked up the crystal ball and held it out.  “Thank you.”

Lauren remembered words of reverence and the yellow glow.  “It speaks to you now.  Maybe it’s supposed to stay with you.”

The last thing she expected in reply was laughter.  “Oh, no, my dear.”  Moira’s eyes twinkled merrily, even as they shimmered with tears.  “You can’t escape your destiny that easily.”

Chapter 21

Lauren looked up as Nat burst through the door of Berkeley Realty, broadcasting excitement.  And thanked whatever deity had lit her best friend’s happiness.

“It’s ready.”  Nat slid to a stop, slightly out of breath.  “Where’s Lizard?  Edric called—Helga’s on her way over to the cottage.”

Trinity’s reveal.  Damn.  That was a hell of a punch on the side of good.  Bless Witch Central a million times over.  “Getting noodles.”  Lauren closed her eyes and pinged her assistant, who was standing in line at Romano’s across the street.  “She’s coming back.  Trinity’s at the cottage?”

“Yeah, she’s waiting at the gate.” 

Unfettered pleasure.  It was
so
good to see Nat wearing that again, even if a lot of people were clearly moving mountains to make it happen.  Surprising Helga wasn’t going to dim the light any—the old woman
adored
presents, and she’d nearly turned herself inside out waiting for this one.