Witches Under Way (13 page)

Lizard recited her favorite lines in her head as Elsie’s lips mumbled through the words.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,

Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

Or else this heavy heart will burst.

“I don’t understand,” said Elsie, peering at the page.  “What does it mean?  Doesn’t he like the harp music?”

Nobody was that poetry-impaired.  “He wants the harpist to play a bunch of sad music so he can wail and weep and cry and stuff.  Then he can be happy.”

“Really?”  Elsie turned the page almost sideways.  “Where does it say that?”

Lizard rolled her eyes.  Maybe Bronte would be better.  She leaned over and thumbed a few pages.  “Here.  Try this one instead.”

Elsie covered her eyes.  “The words are kind of dancing on the page.”

That was usually a sign you should have stopped drinking half a bottle ago, thought Lizard as she flipped the chicken.  “It goes like this.”  Working from memory, she began. 

“The night is darkening round me,

The wild winds coldly blow;

But a tyrant spell has bound me,

And I cannot, cannot go.”

Elsie frowned—and then comprehension lit her face.  “Oh—she’s being held captive by a witch?” 

The words of the poem still tugging at her soul, Lizard stared.  “No.  It’s a poem about her unhappiness, and how she feels like it’s a darkness holding her captive.”

Elsie blinked.  “Really?  Why doesn’t she just say that?”

Lizard tried to find words for something she’d always just known.  And then she remembered the music.  Reaching for her iPod, she pulled up the Hallelujah song that had yanked on Elsie before and turned up the volume.  “Listen.”

She chopped broccoli, and watched the tears pour down Elsie’s face even before the words started coming.  Elsie might be poetry-deaf, but she totally got the music.  It was a pretty cool song.  An anthem of misery—or maybe one of hope.  It all depended how you listened.

Which was basically what her essay was supposed to be about.  Sweet.  She’d go write the freaking thing—right after she got her sloshed roommate fed and into bed.  Maybe Caro knew a witch cure for hangovers.

~ ~ ~

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To:
[email protected]

From: Jennie Adams <
[email protected]
>

Subject: Nat’s decided to shake things up.

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Dear Vero,

Well, the day went something like this:

… Nat fires Elsie.

… Elsie runs to Knit a Spell for some love and tears.

… Lauren meets Lizard’s cute, sexy client and approves.

… Lizard is in total denial about the cute, sexy client.

… Nat is a more of a wreck than I’ve ever seen.

… Lizard reports that Elsie’s totally sloshed, asleep, and her paper is almost finished.

… Ginia is mixing up some green goo to port over in the morning.

Just another day in Witch Central.  Be gentle with Elsie tomorrow—if memory serves, grand pianos and hangovers aren’t the happiest companions.  Jamie’s taking good care of Nat.

Much love,

Jennie

~ ~ ~

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To:
[email protected]

From: Vero Liantro <
[email protected]
>

Subject: Re: Nat’s decided to shake things up.

––––––––––––––

Lovely Jennie,

Singing will chase away whatever still ails Elsie’s head when she gets here, but I trust it will be unnecessary.  Ginia’s green goo is becoming quite legendary. 

I must say, I wasn’t expecting our Natalia to be the one who turned things upside-down.  Melvin suggests that any of us who are surprised haven’t been paying attention.  He said to tell Nat he’s very proud—she’s a woman of rare courage.  However, I don’t believe he wants her to know that he’s been sitting here with tears in his eyes most of the day.  He grieves for her.

My heart hurts.  For my husband, for Nat, and for my singer who has just begun to find her first notes.  It seems so very early to make her sing a cappella.  Ah, well—this is why we live—to travel up and down life’s currents together, whether or not the timing is exactly right. 

Melvin thinks it’s sweet that a boy has found Lizard.  I want pictures.  And a second opinion—our Lizzie has a long history of being attracted to jerkwads.  Melvin says the pendants would have registered a jerkwad, so perhaps it isn’t really a second opinion I seek—just idle gossip and candy for an old woman’s eyes.  (Melvin is chuckling as I write this.  He said to send a picture of Lizard—that will be far more informative.)

He doesn’t know what it is to have an old woman’s eyes.  And gazing on something pretty has always been balm when my heart hurts.

If the boy isn’t a jerkwad, you know that will cause Lizard some trouble.  She’s not at all ready to admit she deserves the attentions of a good man.

Melvin, who is finally looking at me with something other than sad eyes, would like to know if there are any more water fights planned.  He will polish his pistol.

Love and light,

Vero

~ ~ ~

Elsie wandered the streets of downtown Berkeley and marveled.  The night air was cool, with hints of the warm day still rising off the pavement beneath her feet.  A full moon hung low in the sky, and she could almost hear the ocean waves over the voices humming from sidewalk cafes and streaming through open windows.

The music of a summer night.

She wondered if she’d ever been up this late in her entire life.  How had she missed this?  She’d woken less than an hour earlier to beams of moonlight streaming across her pillow and a bedside clock that had said just past midnight.  Which was a truly strange hour to be wide awake and ravenously hungry.

She had vague memories of Lizard shoveling her into bed after a plate of insanely yummy broccoli trees and chicken.  The little green trees had made her giggle.  Which was good, because she’d spent way too much time both before and after dinner crying over sad songs on the iPod.

Even the one about the man who lost his horse and cowboy hat.

Here in the breezes of a summer night, even lamentable country songs didn’t seem all that silly.  The wine earlier had clearly gone to her head, but sleep appeared to have rejuvenated everything except for her very hungry stomach.

She was out in search of food.  A quick poke around in the kitchen hadn’t turned up any more broccoli trees or edible leftovers, and cooking required full daylight and a recipe book.

Elsie laughed at herself and spun slowly around under the moonlight.  It was the moon that had teased her outside. 
Walk this way,
it had seemed to say. 
Everything you desire can be found if you just follow the light.

“You’re a pretty sight tonight,” said a deep voice behind her.

Elsie spun around—and goggled at the stranger standing there wearing a cowboy hat.  She pinched herself, wondering if he’d lost his horse and his pickup truck, too.  “I was just dancing with the moon.”

The big man stretched out his hands.  “Would you like a partner?”

On a late summer’s night, anything was possible, even dancing with a sexy cowboy.  Elsie stepped forward into strong, flannel-clad arms and moved to the music shimmering in the air around her.  Her mysterious new partner never missed a beat, spinning her around on the sidewalk in a seductive moonlight waltz.

She leaned back against his arm, face tilted at the night sky.  “It calls to me, the moon.”

Her cowboy chuckled, low and deep.  It did funny things to her belly.  “As it should.  Cool light to balance out your fire.”

Tonight she could feel that inner flame tickling happy inside her chest.  Her witchy powers had always seemed more content in the summer heat.  More full, more alive.  She leaned back further, delighting in the forces pulling on her, body and soul.

“Elsie Giannotto.  What in heaven’s name are you doing outside in your bathrobe and slippers?”

“Momma.”  Elsie’s spinning stopped abruptly, her cowboy gone in a flash.  Suddenly she was a girl on the edge of puberty, snuck out into the back yard on a warm summer’s night to dance under the moon.

“What will the neighbors think, child?”

Younger Elsie knew better than to laugh.  “They’re all sleeping, Momma.  I was awake.”  Thinking of fairies and moon dust, but she wouldn’t say that either.

Her mother glanced up at the sky.  “Probably the moon keeping you awake.  Come, we’ll pull your curtains shut.”

Elsie squished the small, rebellious voice that wanted to sleep with moonlight on her face, just as she squished so many things that made her mother unhappy.  Moonbeams were irresponsible, just like silly girls who danced in their bathrobes and fathers who left in the dark of night and never came back.

She curled up in the stifling darkness of her bedroom, the curtains now firmly closed.  And felt the pounding in her head.  Maybe she’d had too much wine after all.

Chapter 10

Lizard walked into the kitchen, brain totally bedraggled on four hours of sleep and a really weird dream about cowboys and bathrobes.  Her essay was done, though—and it totally kicked butt.  A sampling of the best totally depressing poetry through the ages, from Lord Byron to Dylan Thomas.  No wonder those guys were all dead.

She pulled open the fridge, hoping some kind of food had magically materialized overnight.  And saw two huge smoothie glasses and a note. 
Hey, Lizard.  Give the green one to Elsie when she wakes up.  It will help her head.  You drink the other one—it’s just a basic energy drink.  Tastes way better than the green goo.  Promise.  Ginia.

She picked up both glasses—and then caught a whiff of the green one.  Ugh.  It smelled worse than two-hundred-day-old pee.  Fetid repugnance in liquid form.  If she were Elsie, she’d just stick with the hangover.  This was the kind of remedy that gave witches everywhere a bad name.  Not that most hangover fixes smelled all that good, but still.

She put the vile one back in the fridge—if it stayed on the counter, it would probably make the whole kitchen stink.  The other one she sniffed gingerly, but it smelled mostly like chocolate and bananas.   That had to be better than facing raw chicken at 6 a.m., and she had to get to work early to finalize details on Josh’s deal.  Lauren was currently giving her the “your client, your details” line.  So much for the gentle-mentoring part of their deal.

Okay, that was probably a little cranky.  Lauren was by far and away her best boss ever.  Not that the bar was all that high.

Lizard took a cautious sip of the brown goo and decided it didn’t taste all that bad.  Maybe she could ask Ginia what to put in one—it was a seriously fast way to get breakfast, and these days, fast was good.  Then she decided she probably didn’t want an ingredients list.

Couldn’t be as bad as the one for Elsie, though.  That one smelled like it started with fermented eye of newt, and ended with… well, stuff that nobody eating breakfast should really be thinking about. 

She got about halfway done before getting hit by the waves of agony washing off Elsie’s awakening head.  Crap.  Hangover empathy was a bad side-effect of being a mind witch.  She yanked down her mental barriers, realizing just how long it had been since she’d had to protect her head from someone else’s stupidity.

Mentally plugging her nose, she snagged the glass of green goo out of the refrigerator.  Given the state of Elsie’s head, it just might be worth drinking.

She nearly dropped it when Caro’s voice spoke in her mind. 
Stand well back when you give it to her.  And don’t jump like that, girl—what, did you think I’d still be sleeping with the mental caterwauling she’s putting out?

Elsie’s head was pretty loud.  Lizard gave one more tug on her mental barriers and made her way up the stairs.  She started to knock on her roommate’s door and thought the better of it.  Hung-over people tended to way overreact to noises, even polite ones.

She reached out a gentle tendril of mind power. 
Elsie?  You okay in there?  Ginia sent a potion for you to drink—said it’ll help your head.

All she got in reply was a very quiet moan.  Nuts.
 I’m coming in, okay?  Put a blanket over your eyes or something.

Screeches of protest as she opened the door, daylight streaming in from the skylight in the hall, suggested Elsie hadn’t followed her last instruction.  “Here, drink this.  It’s supposed to make you feel better.”  Lizard wasn’t entirely sure she trusted a preteen to be making a good hangover cure—in her experience, the best ones came from people with the most experience overdosing themselves on alcohol—but it was the best she had to offer.

Gingerly she slid the green gluck into Elsie’s hands and oozed quietly backward out the door.  No way she was going to try to make anyone actually drink something that putrid.  Elsie would have to make her own choice there.