Witches Under Way

Witches Under Way

by Debora Geary

Copyright 2012 Debora Geary

Fireweed Publishing

Kindle Edition

IMPORTANT NOTE
for readers of
my main series …

This trilogy takes place in the
timeline between A Hidden Witch and 
A Reckless Witch.  Without giving up any
spoilers, Devin & Kenna are not
with us yet ;-).
So, mentally slide yourselves back in time
six months… and enjoy!

And two quick dedications.  To the wild
and unruly members of my Facebook page—
I trust you will recognize the contents
of Elsie’s Silly Jar.  And to Ashley,
who found Elsie’s anthem.

Chapter 1

Jennie slurped a couple of spoonfuls of soup, full of trepidation.  If it stayed down—and she was rather skeptical about that—it would be the first food she’d successfully consumed in three days.  However, she felt obliged to try.  It had been sitting on her counter when she’d stumbled down to make some tea, along with an “
Eat it. Don’t argue.
” note written on hot-pink paper by one nine-year-old healer who was obviously up to her neck in grumpy, uncooperative patients.

It was hard to argue with a note—and the soup had smelled rather good.  Her nose was one of the few parts of her body that hadn’t been infected by whatever dastardly bug little Leo had picked up.

Her grandson had seemed fine at karaoke night—laughing and singing and crawling onto everyone’s lap.  Which had been very welcome until he woke up puking the next morning.  And just like clockwork, two days later, pretty much all of Witch Central had followed in his footsteps.  As her husband said, toddlers were germ-warfare machines in a cute package.

The young ones had recovered quickly, which was good—somebody needed to take care of all the cranky adult witches.  Ginia’s talents had been in high demand, and judging from the teleported and tasty soup, both Lizard and Aervyn had been commandeered to her nursing team.

Witch Central, shut down in the middle of summer by the flu.  It was positively embarrassing.

Jennie picked up her spoon again.  The soup wasn’t causing anything too drastic to happen in her belly.  Maybe she was on the road to recovery.

More likely, the soup was spiked.  Oh, well.  At least it didn’t
taste
like medicine.

She fingered the pendant hanging around her neck.  It was vibrating slightly, something it had been doing several times a day since karaoke night.  Darned if she knew what it meant.

It was surely connected to the fact that her two students wore their pendants now.  She’d expected to feel a light connection, and as a mind witch, that wouldn’t have bothered her—she was well used to the felt presence of others taking up temporary residence in her brain.  But this vibrating was a mystery, and as yet, she lacked the energy to do more than give it a passing thought.

Nor had she given her two students much attention.  Nothing like issuing a bold, music-filled invitation to take the next big step on your life journey—and then climbing into bed for several days.

Jennie realized with some surprise that she’d finished her soup.  Maybe she could actually get back on the mentoring horse soon.  Just as soon as she felt a little bit more human.

In the meantime, Lizard would be just fine making soup for the sick.  And according to the witch grapevine, Elsie was one of the hardest hit, so it was unlikely Ginia had let her out of bed yet.

She’d get back to the business of guiding witches.  Right after her nap.

Jennie got up gingerly, carrying her bowl to the sink.  And wondered, if she asked very nicely, if they would send a biscuit with the next delivery.  Lizard’s biscuits were delectable enough to tempt even queasy bellies back to full health.

Chapter 2

Lizard looked up, more than a little shocked to see Elsie actually on her feet.  “Hey, you’re alive.  Congrats.  Want some soup?”  She’d been dishing out bowls for sick people all morning with the help of her little-dude delivery service.

Elsie gripped her belly.  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Try a little.”  Aervyn got off his barstool and carried a bowl toward the table, contents sloshing dangerously.

Lizard grinned and hoped the teleported deliveries had actually arrived with soup still in the bowls.  She grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and delivered it to the table, remembering all too well the moment when her belly had first contemplated if it was capable of actual food.  “The soup will help.” 

The soup was working miracles.  Ginia had put stuff in it.  Lizard had been smart enough not to ask what the “stuff” was.

Elsie picked up the spoon and dipped it into her bowl, nose wrinkling slightly.  “What kind of soup is it?”

“Eye of newt and toe of smelly little boy.”  Aervyn giggled.  “At least, that’s what Mama said I should tell anyone who asks.”

Only a four-year-old could be impossibly cute two days after he was at death’s door.  Elsie’s grinned response made her look almost human.  She took a careful spoonful of soup.  “Yumm.  Your toes must taste really good.”

“Maybe right after my bath.”  Aervyn clambered into a chair beside Elsie.  “I can put salt on them for you if you want to try a couple.”

Elsie continued to smile, but her mind was oddly wistful.  “I’m not a very adventurous eater.”

Aervyn patted her hand, all small-boy comfort.  “Maybe you just never learned how.  We could be food ’splorers together.  We can start with cookies—Mama makes about a hundred different kinds.”

Lizard felt Caro’s presence just before she spoke.  “That boy is even better medicine than whatever’s in the soup.  Good to see her up and about.”  She looked at Lizard, assessing.  “Have you eaten?”

The huge growl her belly let loose probably answered that question for both of them.

Caro shook her head.  “The healers are going to be in worse shape than the patients soon.  Take some soup with you and go sit.”

“There are biscuits in the oven.”

“I could smell that all the way from my place, girl.”  Caro’s eyes twinkled as she turned toward the stove.  “Why do you think I’m here?”

A week or two ago, Lizard might have believed it was for the food.  By now, she was well aware their landlady’s no-nonsense exterior covered a heart the size of California.

“Go on, sit down.”  Caro waved a spatula.  “I even brought over some bacon—I’ll just warm it up a little.  I think some of our stomachs might be up for that now.”

Lizard walked over to the table and sat, grateful.  Bacon meant her life was getting back to normal—at least as normal as her new life got.

Aervyn looked over from coaxing Elsie through her bowl of soup.  “Do you get to go to school soon, Lizard-Blizzard?”

She had to laugh.  “I think you have to save the Blizzard thing for winter, dude.”

“Nuh, uh.  It just has to rhyme.  Those are the rules.  Know any other big words that rhyme with Lizard?”

That was a tough one, but she was learning that four-year-olds didn’t actually want answers to their questions half the time.  Anything interesting would do.  “Nope.  But did you know that ‘masticate’ is another word for chew?”  She stood up again—maybe helping Caro would avoid any more rhyming questions.

“I can’t matiscate soup,” said Aervyn, cheerfully mangling his new word.  He grinned, biting into the biscuit that suddenly appeared in his hand.  “But I can scatimate this!  Want some, Elsie-Belsie?”

Elsie started to shake her head, and then stopped.  “You know, maybe I do.”  She grinned.  “I had no idea little-boy toes were so good for yucky tummies.  I should have had some before now.”

Aervyn giggled.  “I had to get them really smelly first.  Mama said the fresh ones don’t work very well.”

Lizard watched the two of them together, amused—and a little weirded out.  Two weeks ago, Elsie never would have permitted any toes in her soup, real or otherwise.  The whole nice-Elsie thing was still kind of creepy.  Not that she was complaining or anything.

Good,
said Caro’s mental voice. 
She’s working very hard to discover who she is.

She’s been lying in bed puking,
replied Lizard dryly.

Sometimes change happens when you least expect it.  She’s a bird in a cage, that one.  The cage door’s open now, but the bars are still big and shiny.  Contemplating the open door is work, and it can be done in a bed. 
Caro reached past Lizard for plates. 
How many pieces of bacon do you want?

Lizard snapped out of the lines of poetry swirling in her head, full of caged birds and shiny things.  Not enough sleep. 
A biscuitful, thanks.
She looked at Caro’s solid back and realized that was a pretty big change too.  She’d eaten plenty of bacon biscuits in the past few years—but very few of them had been served to her.

You’ve been serving plenty of folks lately.  We take care of our own.

Yeah.  She’d just never expected to be anybody’s own.  Lizard wandered over to the table, plate in hand, discomfited by the sudden feeling of belonging.

“So?”  Aervyn was looking at her expectantly as she sat down.  He repeated his question when she looked blank.  “When do you go to college?”

Cripes.  The kid had a mind like a steel trap.  “I’m supposed to start on Monday, but I don’t know if I’ll be feeling well enough by then.” 

It wasn’t a good sign when all the other people in the kitchen gave her the eye.

Aervyn patted her hand, just as he’d done with Elsie earlier.  “School’s not too scary, and if you get lost, you can always ask the big people for directions.”

It was the big people that worried her.  She leaned over and touched her nose to his.  “Thanks, Aervyn-Scarevyn.”  That one made him giggle.  “We’ll see.  I might still have germs.”

Caro plunked her own plate on the table and snorted.  “If you’re well enough to eat a bacon biscuit, you’re well enough to go to school.”

There was no bullshitting Caro.  Lizard contemplated her plate and decided it was no contest.  She hadn’t had bacon for days.  “Fine.  But if half of Berkeley College starts puking, I’m not making them all soup.”