An Imperfect Witch (19 page)

Raven stared at her poet keeper and then at the mug.  “Oddly charming, with a touch of whimsy.”  The words came out in a terrible faux British accent.

Josh snickered.  “Somebody’s watched way too many episodes of
Antiques Roadshow.
”

Raven looked totally blank.  “What’s that?”

Nat laughed and winked at Josh.  “Welcome to the generation gap, old guy.”

“Some old stuff’s okay.”  Raven shrugged.  “Monty Python,
The Black Adder
.”

Lizard, who had hosted a Monty Python sleepover on her birthday, only stared.

The currents in the air weren’t hard to read.  Quicksand, accidentally found.  Nat reached into her bag.  Loudly.  “I also have some of my husband’s world-famous spaghetti sauce.  And noodles and cookies.”

“Am I allowed to insult the sauce?”  Raven raised an eyebrow at Lizard.  “Or are grown men off-limits too?”

“A little late for that,” said Josh dryly.

The teenager snorted.  “You’re just a really tall three-year-old.  I bet you still watch the Muppets.”

“Yup.  And Elmo.  Dude’s a genius.”

Nat hid a grin, enjoying the comedy routine.  Josh did an excellent Elmo impression, but now probably wasn’t the time to bring that up.  Kenna, however, was a big fan.

Shaking her head, Raven reached into Nat’s bag.  And then astonished them all.  She slid Aervyn’s picture out, visibly melting.  Reached out a finger, touching the colorful lines.

Josh leaned over her shoulder.  “Pretty sure that’s Elmo.”

“Nah.”  Raven smiled at the picture, eyes soft and face far more vulnerable than she knew.  “It’s totally a monster.”

Another defiant, scared teen, toppled by Witch Central’s best ambassador.  “Aervyn drew that.  He’s six, and he’s going to be MonsterZilla for Halloween.”

“I used to live next to a little boy who drew pictures like this.”  Raven sucked in a breath and snapped back into obnoxious teenager mode.  She stuck her nose back in the bag, attitude at full throttle.  “Any more food?”

Nat smiled—no one in the room, other than Raven, had missed that the monster drawing was still cuddled to her chest.  And across the board, they were all finding somewhere else to look.  Making space for the miracle of vulnerable to happen.

Raven’s eyebrows peaked as she drew out the cardigan.  “What, you guys have grandmas with way too much spare time?”

Now it was Nat’s turn to rise to the defense of love.  “Moira never wastes a second.  There are people who wait years for one of her sweaters.”  She willed the teenager’s eyes to meet hers.  “There’s love in every stitch.  She hopes you’ll feel that as you wear it.”  The old witch had said no such thing, but Nat was very sure she’d support the sentiment.

Dark eyes stared back at her, entirely uncertain.

Nat didn’t move.  In yoga, uncertainty was a moment of blessing—a chance for something new to emerge.  She waited, quiet, wondering if Raven would find a new way out of the imbalance.

Slowly, the girl slid the sweater back in the bag.  And tucking Aervyn’s drawing in as well, looked carefully over at Lizard.  “So they don’t get painted.  Your guy’s pretty messy.”

It wasn’t the words Nat watched—it was the hands.  Handling with care.  Gifts set aside for later contemplation.  The cover of gentle insult didn’t matter.

She missed Lizard’s reply—but no one missed the squeal as Raven pulled out the iPod.  Or the almost instantaneous shuttering and suspicion as she flung it down the counter.

The painting, the banter, the small gifts—all introduction for the main act.  A chance for a heart to open.  Nat imagined herself sliding back into the shadows, and could sense Josh doing the same.  Not their show.

For a moment, no one moved.  And then Lizard stepped forward, casual smirk carefully in place, and snorted down at the iPod.  “That thing’s ancient.  Probably doesn’t even work.”

Shrinking the gift to a size its recipient might be able to tolerate.  Nat applauded silently.

Smart ass.
 Lizard sounded amused. 
Where’d you find this thing?

It was hard work.
 Nat replied in her head, knowing the mindreader would hear. 
We wanted something she could accept.  Jamie even added some extra dents.
 A process that had entertained him and a couple of other grown men way more than it should have.

It’s still awfully big for her. 

Yes.
 Nat waited, breathing in the moment. 

Lizard’s fingers reached out, pushing the iPod back down the counter.  “Don’t let it get too close to Josh.  I hear he’s a messy painter.”

The guy in question snorted.  Loudly.  Cover for Raven’s fingers, sneaking toward the prized device.

And for the companionable grin on two faces who had finally found some common ground.

Chapter 16

This was the weirdest penance ever.

Lizard rapped her way through the last page of Dr. Seuss and closed the book, making a fervent and likely very doomed wish.

Kenna grinned up, eyes shiny with delight and mischief and all things toddler.  “Again!”

“Are you sure, munchkin?”  Lizard slid in a finger to tickle very squirmy ribs.  “That’s eleven times already.”

A curly head leaned into her chest.  “’Izard.”

Dammit.  The kid was going to start wars before her third birthday.  Lizard glanced up at the more adult members of her audience.  “Don’t you guys have anything better to do?”

“Nuh, uh.”  Nell grinned.

Nat cuddled into Jamie and laughed.  “We’ve all been fired as the fishie-book reader in the last two days.  You have mad skills.”

It had been the product of a desperate babysitting moment over a year ago.  Lizard flipped back to the beginning of the book, resigned to her kiddie-rapping fate.  “Okay, demon child.  You want the fast version or the slow one?”

“’Low.”  Kenna wiggled in her seat, unreasonably excited by trip number twelve through the book.  “Bewy ’low.”

There was no “bewy.”  This song came in two speeds.  “Nope.  That’s not one of the choices, cutie.  Fast or slow.”

“Bewy ’low.”  Happy hands cuddled the book.  “Kenna go nite nite.”

That was a new one.  Lizard glanced over at Nat.  “Nap time?”

Jamie eyed his daughter.  “If you can pull that off, I’ll go get sushi for lunch.”

Most days, he’d have a deal.  “Josh is coming to get me.”

Jamie shrugged.  “Fine—I can feed him too.”

The room dissolved in laughter as Nell elbowed her brother.

He shrugged, an excellent approximation of pained innocence on his face.  “What?  They’ve been dating for two years.  That’s plenty of alone time.  And I found a new sushi joint that’s really good.”

Nell snickered.  “Great—we’ll all stay for lunch.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow.  “
You
didn’t get my daughter to sleep.”

Lizard looked down at the child in question.  Definitely some droopy eyes going on.  Gingerly, she picked up the book and began to rap the song of the fishes.  Bewy slowly.  By the time she got to the important question of how many feet the fishies might have, Kenna’s mind had taken on the hazy drift of incoming sleep. 

Moments later, a head tumbled into her lap.  Gently, Lizard rearranged the two of them into a more comfortable position.  The kid was bombproof once she was actually sleeping. 

A few quiet grunts as the toddler cuddled in closer, her mind reaching out in sleep.  Connection.  Lizard cradled the big head and long, chubby legs, unreasonably glad for this far-too-public moment.  She’d missed the fishies too. 
Sorry, sweet baby girl.  Izard got silly. 
She curled down, nuzzling one squishy cheek, mind channels wide open.  To hell with their audience.

And then felt every mind witch in the room gently thunking down their barriers.  Privacy, as best as they could.

But not for her.  She looked up, seeking the source.  The need.

Josh.  Standing in the doorway, ten minutes early for their lunch date.  Eyes on her and the sleeping small girl in her arms.  Mind full of aching want.

Oh, hell.

In a split second it was gone, replaced by a wave and a casual Hennessey grin.

Lizard stared back, wondering exactly how many times he’d hidden that away.  And how many times she’d refused to look.

-o0o-

The forces were pleased.  Things moving as planned, and a witch stepping up to her destiny. 

The orb, however, felt oddly restless.

The one who listened was happier today.  And growing impatient.  There was something she wanted very much to do—something the orb couldn’t quite see, but sensed nonetheless.

The forces were not asking for messages on this day.  A lull before the Samhain storm.

But the orb had the strangest urge to deliver one.  Lauren.  It tried her name out, strange in its experience.  She loved.  And love wanted to act.  This new world didn’t wait for the fates to move.  These humans used their own two feet, and while the orb very much doubted that this mattered, it felt an odd respect.

The strange urges came again.  Feeling an almost heady freedom, the orb sent out a friendly hiccup.

Perhaps the forces weren’t the only ones who could send a message.

And this time, the orb had one the woman wanted to hear.

-o0o-

The run-down house looked the same on the outside.  Lauren sighed.  This client didn’t want to hear about curb appeal or anything else.  They just wanted their money, convinced that real estate in Berkeley was the proverbial pot of gold.

It would sell—but it hurt Lauren’s realtor heart to lower the price for things easily repaired.  Time to go see what a few cans of paint had done for the interior.  She knocked on the door and nearly fell off the front steps when it flew open half a second later.

“Don’t touch!”  Raven looked frantic.  “I just painted the entryway.”  She aimed a wet paintbrush at Lauren’s new power suit.  “Back up.”

Lauren backed her way down the steps, keeping a careful eye out for dripping paint and wondering exactly why it was that she fell so hard for punk kids with big attitudes.  And why her crystal ball hadn’t warned her about the impending paint disaster.

Then again, that it had offered her haughty encouragement to come was strange enough.

“You can stop now.”  Raven waved the brush around, splattering a hapless bush.  “Bring me anything?”

Damn.  “Nope.  Just came to see how the painting’s going.”

“Good.  People keep bringing me stuff.  It’s creepy.”

Definitely a teenager.  “I hired you for a job.  Thought I’d stop by to check on progress.”  Other people had reported high comedy and touching moments on their visits, but apparently she was getting the grumpy version.

“Okay.”  The brush lowered.  “You can come in the back if you want.  But don’t touch anything.”

“Yeah, got that part,” said Lauren dryly.  “No fingerprints in the wet paint—check.”

Raven snickered.  “Or butts.  Josh forgot yesterday.”

That probably rated as comedy.  “He still stuck to the wall, or did someone rescue him?”

The stowaway-turned-house-painter only rolled her eyes and opened the back door.

Lauren walked in through the kitchen, grimacing as usual at its awfulness.  Salmon countertops hadn’t been in style in any decade.  The hallway was dark, and while it smelled of fresh paint, couldn’t be seen well enough to comment on.

But the dining room was another matter entirely.  Lauren halted two steps into the room, as always, enchanted by the difference a fresh coat of paint could make.  “Wow, it doesn’t look half bad in here.”  She squinted—something else had changed.  This wasn’t just paint.  “What else did you do?”

“Nothing.”  Raven squirmed from her post in the other doorway.  “Cleaned the window so I could see well enough to paint, that’s all.”

She’d hired a delinquent with an excessive work gene?  Lauren shook her head—this was turning into a very weird week.  “It looks fantastic.”

Something different skittered across Raven’s mind.  “It could look better.”

Huh.  Lauren knew a negotiating gambit when she heard one.  “What did you have in mind?”

“One color of paint is boring.”

Territory she knew.  “Houses sell that way.  It lets the buyers layer their own ideas over the shape of the house.  We’re just trying to get the walls clean and uniform so they don’t get in the way of that imagining.”

The girl actually considered that for a moment.  “Okay, but if fifty bucks of paint could get you something that looked really good, wouldn’t that be better?”

How did she end up with all the delinquents with a future in real estate?  “I’m certainly willing to consider it.  What’s your idea?”  Glitter, black, and neon were off the table.

“Contrast.  There’s some nice trim work in this house, at least where the idiots haven’t taken it down.”  Raven was herding them both toward the fireplace.  “Like that.  Put a darker color on that, and this room would look decent.”

Contrasting trim required skill.  “You need tape and stuff to do that, right?”

“Nah.”  Raven looked offended.  “Just get me a decent cut-in brush.  One of the slanted ones with real bristles, not the crappy throw-away kind you got for the walls.”