An Imperfect Witch (3 page)

Nell rolled her eyes, but she knew the triplet off in Costa Rica would properly appreciate her efforts—it had taken a whole week to come up with that insult.

Lauren snagged the phone and passed it down to waiting preteen hands.  “No electronics at the table, mister.”

“’Kay.”  Devin made twinkly eyes at the niece currently in possession of his phone.  “
You
text Uncle Matt.  Tell him your mama’s calling us zombies.”

“Dada a domby!”  Kenna stood on her chair waving a roll, very proud of herself.

Nat eyed her daughter, eyes full of hilarity.  “Really, girlchild?  That’s what you pick for your first complete sentence?”

“Dada a domby!”  The little girl was enjoying her stage.  “Ai-bin a mon-ter!”

Aervyn cooperatively let out a big roar.  Kenna had been an excellent audience for his MonsterZilla practice.  As had anyone within half a mile.

Jamie picked up his talkative kiddo and kissed her cheek.  “Kenna’s a silly wiggle.”

“’Iggle.”

Nell settled into her butter chicken and the wonderful vibrations of a Sullivan family dinner.  Laughter, immaturity, and insanely good food.  All the best things.  She opened her mind channels, soaking it in.

And picked up the twinge of tension.

Lauren snapped down her mind barriers an instant later, apologetic.
 Sorry—it’ll keep.  Don’t let it get in the way of dinner.

Not much ruined butter chicken, but Nell got the message.  And sent one back in return.  It could wait—but no sister-in-laws got to leave her house until they talked. 

And if threats failed, there was always chocolate ice cream.

-o0o-

Lizard ducked into the alley, the whiff of garbage rising up to meet her as she ventured deeper into the gloom.  This particular stretch of concrete never saw much sun.  However, it had other benefits—an unoccupied basement, multiple exit routes, close proximity to several restaurant dumpsters, and a bar bouncer who had a marshmallow heart and quick fists and kept the worst of the sharks away.

For a small group of teenagers, it was a haven of sorts.

She squeezed around the back of the third dumpster on the left and thumped the toe of her boot against the hunk of metal serving as a door.  “Yo.  Dinner.”  Quickly—she had to change and scoot to a late open house in about three minutes.

The metal slid aside and bleary eyes peered out.  Lizard surveyed their owner, fairly happy with what she saw.  Yawning and grumpy—but not high.

“Right on time.”  Sleep scurried away from Trinity’s eyes as she spied the noodles.

Extra-large helpings.  Romano didn’t ask why Lizard showed up in her delinquent gear every Saturday evening and picked up ten orders of take-out linguine.  He just filled containers right to the brim.  “Ten still enough?”

“Nine now.”  Something brightened for a moment in Trinity’s eyes.  “Ringo went home.”

That was a good thing.  Ringo was the new kid, a runaway who had somehow imagined the streets as a place where he could live free and easy.  The shadows in Trinity’s eyes weren’t for him.  Not everyone had a home, no matter how crappy, to go back to.  Lizard fought the urge to curse at the universe—it didn’t help.  “You going to school?”

“Some days.”  Trinity was already passing back takeout containers.  A few heads and hands stuck out long enough to say thanks.  “Most days.  You still schtupping that sexy dude?”

Whoa.  Lizard raised an eyebrow.  “You following me around?”

Trinity snorted.  “Nah, I got better things to do.  Missy saw you a few days back, making fluttery eyes over in the park.  Said he’s hot.”

That much they all agreed on.  Lizard raised an eyebrow again.  “Mine.”

“Not my type.  Too clean.”  Trinity grinned.  “I hear Romano’s has a special next week.  Orange noodles.  For Halloween and all.”

“Really.”  Lizard played it cool.  Not once, in eight months, had they ever asked her for anything.  On the street, favors meant obligation.  “Didn’t know you liked orange.”

“Don’t.” 

One step forward, two steps back.  “I bet he can make you some pretty pink ones instead.”

Trinity’s response included curses in at least five languages Lizard didn’t know.  She grinned and turned to go.  That was more like it.

“Hey.”  The words from behind were hesitant.  Soft, almost.  “Thanks.”

That was new, too.  It was damn hard not to kick the dumpster on her way out.  Nobody should have to thank anyone for a fracking plate of noodles.  It was only a freakstorm of luck that had Lizard working in a swank office and Trinity living in a grungy concrete cave.

Coming here kept her humble.

She sniffled as she turned out of the alleyway.  Damn allergies.

The triplets could probably spare a couple dozen eyeball cupcakes to go along with the orange noodles.

-o0o-

Lauren took a seat in the corner of Nell’s couch and grinned at Nat.  “I have no idea how she does that.”  Nell had just shooed six kids and three husbands out the door in about a minute and a half.  Something about a dire Nutella shortage.

Nothing got the Sullivan family moving faster than an impending cookie emergency.

Nat leaned her head back against the couch.  “I don’t know, but the silence is lovely.”

It was.  Family dinners were never quiet, but Kenna deciding to apprentice as MonsterZilla-in-training had taken this one to an entirely new decibel level.  Fortunately, her small niece was sitting on Devin’s shoulders now, following Aervyn down the sidewalk.  Her husband was apparently immune to decibels.

And the triplets were already scheming a new costume for the Kenna-Devin duo.  Lauren suspected MonsterZilla was about to get a very large sidekick.  Not a bad thing—her husband might get into less trouble on Halloween night with a toddler holding on to his ears.

Maybe.

Nell came into the living room, balancing pints of ice cream in one hand and waving her free fingers in the direction of her computer screen.

Lauren grinned as Diana Krall filled the airwaves.  “Nice trick.”

Her sister-in-law and chief Sullivan herder settled into a chair.  “I figure if we only have half an hour before the hordes get back, we should relax as thoroughly as possible.”

Awesome idea.  Crystal-ball updates could wait.  Lauren took the lid off a pint of Karamel Sutra and prepared to let her brain melt into the caramel goo.

Not so fast,
sent Nell, digging into her own ice cream.  She raised an eyebrow and spoke out loud for Nat’s benefit.  “What’s up in the land of real estate and being married to my craziest brother?”

Lauren let the first swirls of caramel melt on her tongue.  “Nothing, really.  I’m just having hocus-pocus allergies.  It’s not worth disturbing communion with Ben and Jerry here.”

Two sets of brows rose over skeptical eyes.

Lauren sighed.  Either one of them was a force to be reckoned with.  When both her sisters-in-law ganged up, it was better to just spill the beans.  “When I got home yesterday, the crystal ball was having fits.”  She smiled at the only part of the memory that made her happy.  “Dev says Fuzzball spent most of the day giving it heck.”

“Smart kitty.”  Nell nodded in approval—she wasn’t a big fan of hocus-pocus either.

“You saw something that worries you.”  Nat didn’t beat around the bush.

“Yup.  Spill.”  Nell added her two cents.  “Let it go live on the Witch Central radar.”

Clan yellow alert.  Lots of eyes, watching for any trouble.  She wasn’t the only one who loved Lizard.  And any things from the shadows who planned to mess with the might of Witch Central were in for a big surprise.  “I saw Lizard in a graveyard.  With a ghost and some creepy dude who looked like a gravedigger spy.”

“Halloween, maybe?”  Nell frowned.  “I can think of at least a couple of kids who are dressing up as ghosts.”

Not that kind of ghost.  “No, this was a real person.  Just see-through.”

“We only have a few witches capable of that kind of illusion.”  More concern now.  “And you know all the guys dressing up as creepy dudes.  You didn’t know who this was?”

Not offhand.  “Just Lizard.”

Nell tossed the problem around in her head another few seconds and then shrugged.  “Maybe it’s something, or maybe your orb’s got PMS.  For now, we’ll just keep our eyes open.”

It was comforting to know she wouldn’t be the only one watching.  Or the only one suspicious of crystal-ball premonitions.  “Think I should tell Lizard?”

“Nah.”  Nell grinned.  “I’ve seen the costume my girls have cooked up for her.  Lizard has way bigger things to worry about than your dust catcher’s antics.”

Right.  No point messing up a perfectly good Halloween with the mutterings of a possibly senile orb.  “Check.  Put the ball on ignore for now.”

Nat had so far been quietly communing with her ice cream.  Lauren looked over at her best friend, pretty sure there was another opinion worth having on the table.  And usually not the easiest one.

“It costs us nothing to listen.”

Lauren wasn’t so sure about that.  “It’s got me worked up about something that might not even be a problem.”

“That,” said Nat, with the kind of gentle smile that meant real trouble, “is a choice.  The crystal ball is only a messenger.  It’s up to you to decide how you listen.  How you open.”

Uh, oh.  “Open” wasn’t a word their resident yogini threw around lightly.

“Tomorrow, 9 a.m.”  Nat grinned and stole a spoonful of Karamel Sutra.  “I happen to have a yin class scheduled.  Lots of nice hip stretches and heart opening.”

Sunday morning yoga should be illegal.  Especially the stretching kind.

Nell snickered.  “You walked right in to that one.”

Lauren tried not to groan.  “I came here to get help for Lizard, not my inflexible hips.”

“Witch Central has Lizard’s back.”  Nat smiled.  “I have yours.”

Lauren sighed.  The things she did for love and friendship.  Ice cream made her weak.

-o0o-

Message delivered.  The forces had work to do now, and would perhaps leave the messengers alone.

 The orb tried to settle, seeking the comfortable oblivion of sleep.  It had the uneasy feeling the nap would be a short one.

Always, in this time of Samhain, the orb sensed tinkering.  The moment of the cycle when human hearts and the path of human feet could most be touched by the powers beyond their ken.

A delicate negotiation at best—these humans had impressive wills.  And not all of them were blind to the building powers.

Always, the orb had lived with those of the old blood.  Those who spoke with soft, lilting words and awe in their voices, and walked intimately with the cycles and the seasons.  This one it talked to now—she had power.  Deep connection to the old ways, even if her stubborn head didn’t think so. 

But she lacked respect. 

The orb could clear its surfaces to a sheen—but it couldn’t touch the veil of skepticism lying over eyes that needed to see.

Chapter 3

Spacious rooms, floor plan with flow, eclectic but cool renovations.

The house every agent wanted to sell—and it was giving Lizard Monroe the creeps.

She wiggled her shoulders, trying to shrug it off.  Lauren wanted a report on the neighborhood’s newest listing, not vague impressions about the scritchy feeling on the back of Lizard’s neck.  Haunted houses didn’t sell all that well, even three days before Halloween.

And ghosts didn’t hang out in ordinary fifties bungalows, even ones with bamboo floors and a nice kitchen update.  Lizard typed more notes into her app, running mentally through Berkeley Realty’s current group of buyers as she did so.  Not enough bedrooms for the Gordons, but it might work for the Menendez family.  A little bigger than what they wanted, but Emelio needed a good kitchen and this house had one.

The funny feeling brushed the inside of her head again.  A shadow, almost.  A fleeting impression of something already gone.

She ignored it.  Unless some creep had a nanny cam running, this house was very empty.  And it was going to sell in the next forty-eight hours or she’d eat the glitzy sales flyer.

She kept taking pictures and noting features.  The agent listing the house was a snob—one of the ones who had spent the last two years making it very clear she thought realtors shouldn’t have tattoos, attitudes, or a criminal record.  Lizard grinned.  She was going to kick the snob’s pants in sales figures this quarter.

Her clients didn’t care about tats.  They cared about being the first one in the door and having a place to put a table big enough to hold the entire Menendez clan.

Her gut was settling down.  Screw the weird shadows.  Lizard picked up her cell phone and texted Emelio at work—he was always there at the crack of dawn. 
Found it.  When can you take a break?

The reply took only seconds and made her laugh.
 Any time you want—I’m in good with the boss.

Bring the boss too.
 Emelio and his wife ran Berkeley’s best and funkiest home-furnishings store, and had a brains-and-brawn act down to perfection.  Lizard was pretty sure they’d picked her as their realtor because she’d zoned in on the quiet guy with the big muscles and assumed he wasn’t stupid.