Witches Under Way (35 page)

Lauren looked at the huge black man and the tiny blonde fairy and shook her head ruefully.  Jennie had a point. 
Not a father, then—but really paternal.  He loves her.  And he’s proud enough right now to blast the roof off the pub.

You two could see that with your eyes if you were paying any attention,
Caro sent dryly. 
And you’re missing more than that.  She’s wearing her poet outfit.

Lauren turned off her magic and just used her eyes.  Damn.  Caro was right.  Black leather pants and a purple smocked shirt.  Lizard, the delinquent poet.  Here to take a dare.  Maybe.

~ ~ ~

Lizard was pretty sure that if Freddie let go of her shoulder, she’d fall over and never get up.  Which might not be all that bad.  Nobody could expect you to recite poetry when you were passed out on the ground, right?

Hell, that would probably just earn her a big glass of Ginia’s green goo to drink.

She looked around at the sea of faces and hoped they were all getting really drunk.  To begin with, her poem would probably sound better if they were all intoxicated.  And then they’d all need a dose of the green goo in the morning, which would be a good start on her revenge.

Because she intended to make somebody pay for this.  A lot of somebodies. Right after she found the guts to get up there and strip off all her clothes and parade around naked for half of Berkeley. 

Crap.  Stripping would probably be easier.

She hadn’t intended to come.  But Freddie had driven his bus right off route #27 and parked outside the Starry Plough pub—with one quick stop so she could “dress like you mean it, girlie.”  He’d just messed up a forty-year perfect-driving record.  For her.

So she was going to do this.  And then she was going to get even.

“Hey, you here to read?”  Lizard jumped as another hand came down on her shoulder and Freddie melted into the darkness.  Glasses Boy, the poet-reciting wonder, and his sidekick girlfriend.  Jeremy grinned and repeated his question.

“Maybe.”  It was the best she could do.  She intended to save the actual yes-or-no part of the evening for about 8:14 p.m.

“Cool.”  Jeremy hugged Lori’s shoulders.  “She’s finally letting me read one of hers.  I’ve been bugging her for eight months.”

Lori rolled her eyes.  “It’s private.  I don’t know if I want everybody hearing the stuff inside my head.”  She looked at Lizard and shrugged.  “It’s like it’s more real once you say it out loud, or something.”

It had never occurred to Lizard—not once—that other people felt the same way she did about her words.  Especially not the smart girls in the advanced poetry seminar.  And it somehow inspired her to honesty.  “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I hear you.”  Lori threw an arm around her shoulders.  “Jeremy says beer helps.  Let’s go find one.”

“I’m up first.”  Jeremy blew them kisses and turned to leave—and then turned back, eyes intent on Lizard.  “Words have power.  And when you put them out there, it makes them real for other people, and maybe it changes the world a little.”  He shrugged.  “Or maybe it changes you.”  And then he was gone, ducking around tables on the obscure path to the stage.

“He’s a smart guy.”  Lori smiled softly.  “And if I don’t puke and run away to Tahiti first, he’s going to make magic with my words tonight.”

Since half the pub was full of witches, that probably wasn’t going to be very hard.  Lizard grabbed her new friend’s hand.  “If you puke, they’ll probably make you drink something green and disgusting.  Come on.  Let’s go sit up front where he can see your face and know you didn’t bolt for Tahiti.”

“He loves me.”  Lori hitched in a breath.  “I can’t leave.”

Lizard caught sight of Freddie’s head, towering in the back.  And knew she couldn’t leave either—for the same damn reason.

They got to a front table just as Jeremy picked up the mike.  “Hey, everybody.  My name’s Jeremy, and I’m here today to share the words of an amazing woman and talented poet, Lori Ahmad.  It’s called
I’m New Here
, and it took me eight months to convince her to let me read this, so listen up.”

He got laughter—and everyone’s complete attention.  Lori might be the poet, but Jeremy was born for the stage.  Three words into the first line, magic struck the Starry Plough, as promised.  Hearts listened.  Minds opened.  And Lori wept silent tears as her poem entered the world.

Lizard didn’t hear the words.  She didn’t need to.  Much as she tried to kill the rising tide in her head, it was as inspiring as all hell.

~ ~ ~

Lauren just sat and watched and marveled at the hidden parts of her assistant’s world, suddenly out in the open.  The gigantic man who had come in with Lizard was now tucked between Jennie and Melvin, making himself right at home.  The kid up on stage, along with sending a love letter to the pretty black-haired girl in the front row, was speaking a dare of his own straight into Lizard’s heart—and he knew it.

The universe was pulling together for Lizard tonight.

Aervyn hopped up on the stool beside her, holding on to Melvin’s hand.  “Is it her turn soon?”

She had no idea how a four-year-old had been smuggled into a California bar, but she didn’t ask.  Witches had their ways.  “I think she’s third, sweetie.  This guy, and one more, and then she’s up.”

“She’s gonna do it.”  Aervyn materialized a fizzy drink and took a big slurp.

Lauren frowned.  “Are you getting that from her mind?”  Doubt was receding from Lizard’s thoughts, but it wasn’t over until the skinny girl got up on stage and actually started speaking.

“Nuh, uh.”  Aervyn grinned and pushed a second fizzy drink over to his companion.  “Melvin says so, and he’s a totally smart dude.”

Lauren laughed as the “totally smart dude” nearly snorted fizz out his nose.  Drinking around Aervyn was always a risky sport.

Jeremy walked offstage to thunderous applause—and then there was an awkward pause and the riffling of papers.  Finally a guy in a black vest and Bob Marley shirt made his way to the mike.  “We’ve got a missing artist, so we’re going to bump everyone up a spot.  Lizard Monroe, you’re up.”

Lauren hadn’t thought it was possible for Lizard to turn any whiter.  She’d been wrong.  Their terrified poet sat frozen to a chair just in front of the stage, waiting for the floor to swallow her up.

Instead, the big black man who cherished her stood up at the back of the room—and started clapping.  One by one, every person in the Starry Plough joined him, some knowing why, others simply adding to the heartbeat of sound swelling forward toward Lizard’s chair.

Lauren felt it hit their poet fairy—and felt her resistance turn to dust, blown away by the sheer volume of love pushing her up on stage.

When she turned to face the crowd, her face was pure delinquent scowl.  But her mind was as open as Lauren had ever felt it.  She was ready.

Lizard pulled the microphone out of the stand and clomped to the very edge of the stage.  “I’m Lizard Monroe, and this is my poem.  It’s called
Stupid.
  You’ll probably know why by the time I’m done.”

She took a deep breath, found Freddie’s eyes—and began, in the clear, ringing voice of a woman who intended to do her words proud.

Stupid.

Sometimes it doesn’t even start out as a word,

just slime that eases in and grows roots and has no name,

covering the parts of your insides that know how to breathe.

And then one day it turns real, an agent of mean

aiming to bruise your soul or someone else’s.

It doesn’t matter.

Stupid sticks to everything, even if it wasn’t thrown at you.

You do battle with stupid.

You tell people they’re wrong and you try to be smart

and one day you even try to put stupid in a bag

with some rocks and one of those crazy fisherman knots that never come undone

and hope it drowns.

But stupid floats back up

and it’s cute kittens and Santa Claus and grandmothers who live forever

that end up in the bag instead.

Stupid’s a survivor.

Eventually, you stop fighting

and grant squatting rights in your soul.

If you’re lucky, one day, for reasons unknown,

good people start shoveling other words into your head

and stupid gets quieter for a while,

maybe even takes a long vacation to a nice island with no Internet.

But it always comes back.

I’ve learned that you can’t fight stupid,

or drown it or bury it or send it on a long trip without a map.

You can’t unlearn it or unteach it or eviscerate it from the memory of the world.

But you can remember this.

Stupid isn’t a name.  It’s just a word.

Lauren had no idea how long it took before she realized the words were finally done.  She had no measure for how long she sat, silent with the entire crowd of the Starry Plough, honoring the sublime.

And then one more time, Freddie stood up at the back of the room and began to clap.

This time, the pub went absolutely nuts.

~ ~ ~

Jennie wondered how long it would take Lizard to figure out she’d used magic on an entire pub full of people.  She’d made them all
feel
stupid, standing in the shoes of a girl who believed she was worth far too little.  They’d all fought with her, throwing the bag into the river—and dying inside when it came up again.  And underneath it all, the slow, leaking notes of gratitude to everyone in the world who had ever done battle against stupid—a quiet anthem to making a difference.

But nothing had packed the punch of
feeling
Lizard throw off a chain that no longer fit. 

Jennie squeezed the hand of the stranger who loved Lizard.  “She did that for you.”

“Nope.”  Freddie shook his head, eyes still glistening.  “My girlie finally did that for herself.  I just gave her someplace to sit a while so she could figure things out.”

He’d saved her soul.  But Jennie was pretty sure that after Lizard’s poem, he knew that. 

She pushed him gently toward the stage where Lizard still stood, awash in the audience’s thrall.  And then, as well as she could through a wall of tears, Jennie made her way over to the people who would understand best. 

Melvin had his arms open before she even arrived.  He held her hard, conveying a message that needed no words.  Then he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.  “Look.”

Lizard stood on the last step coming off the stage, eyes on the father of her heart.  His eyes, however, were on the shifting crowd to her left.  Freddie watched, as did everyone else, as the waters parted and Elsie slid to a screeching halt inches away from Lizard’s face.  They stood there, nose to nose, two warrior witches brave and bold and mad as hell. 

And then gratitude swamped everything else and they simply melted together.

Chapter 25

Jennie watched the clock in her darkroom tick over to 2 a.m., impatient to pull the first print out of the tray.  Some photographers developed a kind of Zen in the dark, suspended free of time and the care of its passing.  She’d never been one of them.

And the pictures of this day had her heart yearning to see.

The timer inside her head finally went off and she reached for the first tray, already smiling.  Elsie’s first leap, no trapeze in sight yet.  Just wide-open spaces and a singular act of bravery from the girl who had never jumped off the dock or let go at the top of a swing’s arc.

Caro, Nat, and Helga, dancing a wild jig of glee.  She was pretty sure that shot had come just after Elsie had let go of the trapeze for the first time, her maiden flight complete.

Lizard, face full of portent, as she dared her roommate to fly.  And then Lizard again, a prayer in her eyes, watching somewhere far over her head.  Jennie smiled to herself.  Her students had gotten a rather big taste of what it was to be a WitchLight guide.  Good.  She suspected that some day far in the future, pendants would come calling for both of them.

It was only fair.

The photos from the bar were more atmospheric than the warehouse, but no less laden with emotion.

Gently fierce Freddie, clapping Lizard up onto the stage.  The biggest part of that man was the heart beating inside his chest.

Their fairy poet, the moment before her first words came.  Terror had fled from her eyes—and in its place sat conviction.  And just the smallest glint of a woman who had finally felt hints of her own genius.

Lauren, eyes haunted, somewhere in the middle of Lizard’s poem, feeling the full weight of stupid in her heart.  None of them had really, truly known what it was to live believing you were that worthless.  Except for maybe Freddie.

Elsie, head burrowed in Vero’s chest, peeking out between her fingers, tortured by what she’d asked of a friend.