An Imperfect Witch (28 page)

Lizard stared at the strange, lumpen objects in the old witch’s hands.  “Those look like whale puke.”  Day-Glo and butt-ugly.

Moira’s delighted laughter rang out into the crisp afternoon air.  “These are some of Morgan’s latest playdough creations, I’ll have you know.  She likes me to put them on the shelves with my treasures.”

Okay, maybe the whale puke was kind of cute. 

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me sending one home with you.”  Moira held out a screaming orange blob, eyes mischievous.

Lizard paused, oddly torn.  And then reached out a hand.  It would liven up suburbia. 

Wise eyes took in the strange set of keys and the marks on her outstretched palm.  Gently, Moira set the orange monstrosity on top of the keys and reached for her door handle.  “You’ve a story to tell, I think.  Come on in and we’ll have some tea.”

Any more tea and Lizard was going to float away.  “I found a house to buy.”

“Ah.”  Moira stopped in the hallway, peering in the sudden dim.  “And have you come for congratulations or something else?”

Lizard took the escape hatch into the parlor, well aware it only bought her a few feet.  “It’s a good house.  Nice neighborhood, solid value, and there’s an apartment over the garage for Raven.”

Moira made her way to the couch, hanging her cloak and depositing Morgan’s purple treasure in a prime spot on a side table as she went.  And then she took a seat, eyes intent.  “That’s an interesting choice of words you’ve used to describe it.”

It was a freaking house, not a piece of art.  “Four walls and a door—what else do you want to know?”

The face on the couch transformed from thoughtful granny to reigning witch matriarch in an instant.  “I want to know why you didn’t call it a home.  Your home.”

Something inside Lizard curled up and tried to hide.  “It’s not.  Yet.”

“Oh, child.”  There was an eternity of kindness in Moira’s voice.  “Come sit and tell me about these four walls you’ve found.”

The matriarch, Lizard might have resisted.  The kindness nearly flattened her.  She sat, trying to pull together the words that would give the house a fair chance.  Honest words.  “It’s not too far from downtown.  A bus ride to work.”  A bike ride for Josh or Raven, assuming either of them wanted to live in a house where everyone else on the street had exactly the same layout in creepy beige.  “It needs some new counters and stuff, so it’s a good deal.  People don’t have any imagination.”

Moira smiled.  “You’ve never lacked for that.  You can imagine how this house will be, then?”

That veered way too close to what Josh had asked.  “I know how to make it nice.”  Lizard’s fingers curled around the keys again.  Honesty pushed more words into her throat.  “I don’t know if I can make it mine.”

She was afraid it might turn her into someone who wanted 2.4 kids, a dog, and a bush trimmed into the shape of a mutant condom.  And even more afraid she couldn’t make it work at all.

Kind eyes watched her.  “Why this house?”

Such a simple question.  Such a profoundly hard one.  Lizard tried the simple answer first.  “Because it’s the best house I can afford for the life I want.”  She said stuff like that to her clients all the time.  And it had felt so awesome walking into the first house on her list with Josh’s note clutched in her hand.

Reality had just landed kind of hard after that.

She sat on the arm of the couch, keys in one hand, orange whale puke in the other, and waited for the wisest, toughest person she knew to somehow make it feel better.

Moira reached out her hands and cupped Lizard’s fist, still clutching the keys.  “Go back to this house you’ve chosen, sweet girl.  Stand behind the counter in the kitchen, and take a very good look around, and listen.”

These days, that just got her conversations with ghosts.  “I already spent two hours in the house.”

“Aye.”  Gentle fingers touched her cheek.  “I’m asking you to spend two minutes with your own heart.”

-o0o-

The orb felt the wind touch its surfaces again.  Annoying, this small leak of outside air through the walls.  In summer, it had been pleasant enough.  Now it was just a chilly disturbance.

A reminder of its ignominious place in the corner.  Drafty and out of sight.

Done pouting yet? 

The wry voice reached into the orb’s complaining.  Such a weird thing, this conversing with the one who listened.

I brought you a present.
 

Warm hands now, and the discomfiting sensation of moving through the air.  And then something the orb had not felt for many seasons.  Sunlight.  Warmth caressing its glassy surface.

Like that, do you?  Thought you might. 
The hands settled the orb down. 
Borrowed you a small pillow from my nieces, too.  Hope you like red velvet and sparkles.

The orb wasn’t entirely clear what sparkles were.  But the rich color it picked up from her mind was entirely pleasing.  Deep and vibrant and a reminder of a time long past.

An age of reverence and power.

We all need a home.  Or at least a couch. 
The one who listened’s mind almost smiled. 
A place where we can be king.

The orb had no idea what a couch was.  But as it basked in the sun on its new bed, for the first time in more than a century, it felt entirely content.

Chapter 23

It wasn’t right.

Lizard closed her eyes and wanted to cry.  Or at the very least, curse wise old witches who always seemed to know the truth long before it reached the air down where she breathed.

She was standing in the kitchen of the house she’d chosen.  A good house, one with nice features, new appliances, and excellent resale value.  The kind of house grown-ups picked.

And it wasn’t hers.

No matter how much she loved Josh Hennessey, she would die here.

And Raven wasn’t going to come live in some hokey mother-in-law suite in cookie-cutter suburbia, and Trinity was going to laugh her fool ass off for eleventy-million days, even if the walkout basement was as big as a golf course and very private.

Lizard had promises to keep.  Big, full-size, adult ones, even if none of them had been said out loud.  And she had no idea how to honor them all and get it right.

“Not your usual stomping grounds.”

Fraaaaack.  Lizard eyed the chandelier that had nearly brained her when Lauren snuck into the room.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

The day just got better and better.  “Did Moira send you?”

“Nope.”  Lauren shrugged.  “Saw you made an offer on this property—the agent faxed back a counteroffer.  Sounds like the seller’s being cantankerous.”

Which meant she didn’t have to buy the beige monstrosity.  Lizard clamped down the urge to sing the Hallelujah chorus.  “Seller’s an idiot.”

“I think the seller just gave you exactly what you want.”

Quiet words—and deadly ones that saw way too much.  “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” said Lauren, wrapping an arm around resisting shoulders, “that you need a better realtor.  I came to apply for the job.”

Lizard stood on a tightrope, not sure whether to hug or shove.  “I know how to write an offer.”

“Yup.”  The light smile gave nothing away.  “You know how to match clients up with houses that meet their needs, and you’re a pretty decent negotiator, too.”

That was high praise from the best in the business.  “So what’s the problem, then?”

The arm around her shoulders wasn’t budging.  “You did a sucky job of finding out what this client really wants.”

Like hell she had.  Lizard rattled off the long list in her purse from memory.  “And this house hits all those.”  Mostly.  The real world was about learning to freaking compromise.  Berkeley Realty helped people do it every day.

“Nice.”  Her boss moved to a stool and sat down.  “Now tell me what you really want.”

The bile that had been riding in Lizard’s belly rose up, ready for a fight.  “I just gave you a bloody list.”

The eyes that looked back at her called bullshit without even blinking.

Lizard did her damnedest not to fidget—or throw knives at someone trying to help.  “I don’t know how to figure that out, okay?  I’m trying to grow up here, and I suck at it.”

“Idiot.”  Said with enough kindness to make most of the bile slide back into hiding.  “We’re not trying to buy a house for some creepy version of Lizard Monroe in a beige pantsuit.”

The eye roll couldn’t be stopped.  “It would clash with my tats.” 

“Yeah.”  Lauren grinned.  “We need to find you a place that doesn’t.”

She already had one of those.  “I need something bigger than my apartment.”  Magnitudes bigger.

“Got that.  Care to tell me why?” 

Her boss had that fake casual voice rolling—the one that dumb agents in town thought meant she wasn’t paying attention.  Lizard wasn’t dumb.  “I need space for Raven.”  She clamped down on the second part of that thought.  Insanity wasn’t grown-up.  Her reasons for a monster basement could stay private.

Cut that out,
sent Lauren dryly. 
You’re hurting my head, banging your mind barriers around like that.

Lizard let her pout out—nothing said she had to get all grown up this instant.  “How come I have to work with the bossy realtor who can read minds?”

“Because I’m the best there is.”  Lauren ran a finger down the evil beige wall.  “And because I won’t let you do this to yourself.  But you have to tell me all of what you want, or I can’t do my job.”

She knew that—but this time, it wasn’t going to help.  “All of what I want is impossible.”

The slow smile that slid onto her boss’s face would have sent a biker gang running for the hills.  “Try me.”

Fine.  Clearly, she was going to totally screw this up on her own anyhow.  “Something bigger for me to live in.  With company.  Possibly.”  She glared and dared Lauren to comment.  “I need some space for Raven.  And I maybe need a space for a few other people to crash.  With a private entrance.” 

A calm eyebrow slid up.  “One of them named Trinity, by any chance?”

Lizard just scowled.  Some things were off-limits.

A quiet nod acknowledged that had been heard too.  “Okay.  Much better list.  What’s your budget?”

“Seriously?  I want to house homeless people and all you want to know is how much money I have to spend?”

“Yup.”  Lauren shrugged.  “Pretty sure I can help you, but it’s going to be fairly expensive.”

“That’s why I was looking at this place.”  Lizard scowled and pulled a sheet out of her bag.  “This is the last year’s royalties from the home matchmaker program.”  The dumb little piece of software she’d envisioned, and Josh’s company had taken over, had grown into a money tree.  She handed the paper over.  “It’s barely enough.”  And it meant making peace with ugly, beige, and in the burbs.

“Holy shit.”  Lauren looked ready to swallow a Prius.

“Yeah.”  The math totally didn’t work out.

The last thing she expected was laughter from her new realtor.  “This is enough for a down payment on a mansion in the hills.”

Not a chance.  “I don’t want a mortgage.”

Dark eyebrows flew up.  “You want to pay cash?”

“Yeah.”  Lizard Monroe might screw up her life tomorrow, and she wasn’t leaving thirteen people homeless if it happened.  “And I need a house now, and this is what I can afford right now.”

Lauren headed for the door, chuckles leaking out every which way. 
Let’s go.

I’m not giving up on Trinity. 
Even if she had to live in the fracking hinterlands.  The right house had to be out there. 

Of course you’re not.
  Lauren smiled and held the door open.  “Pretty sure I can have you hooked up by dinnertime.  I just sold that old Victorian flat to Gaston.  I’m on a roll.”

Lizard had absolutely no idea who Gaston was.  But in the entire twenty-six months she’d worked at Berkeley Realty, there was one thing she’d never seen—Lauren Sullivan fail. 

She picked up her keys and the chunk of orange whale puke. 

And followed the woman with the magic wand.

-o0o-

Nell set the cookie tray down on the cooling rack, manhandling three more out of the way.  She needed more hands.  Or something.

“Here, dear—let me help with that.”  Two old Irish hands slid in to assist.

Nell frowned.  “Did I know you were in my house?”

“No, dear.”  Moira patted her on the cheek before picking up a cookie.  “But it looks like I got here just in time.”

It was hard to keep track of your home’s inhabitants when people could beam in and out of Nova Scotia, Costa Rica, or Auntie Nat’s house any time they wanted.  “Want some tea?”

“I think I’m full up on tea.”  Moira was already scrounging in the fridge.  “Might you have a wee bit of milk, though?  That would be lovely while we wait.”

That depended on whether Nathan had raided lately or not—teenage boys could disappear two gallons of milk between cookies.  “What are we waiting for?”

Moira backed out, jug in hand, and set about pouring.  “I’m not sure just yet.  But there’s a flower missing from my garden.”