An Imperfect Witch (4 page)

She ran her fingers over the shiny red cabinets.  Cool and unconventional, and hiding massive amounts of very organized storage.

A cook had built this kitchen.  And unless her gut was misfiring this Sunday morning, a cook was going to buy it, too.

The buzz building in the back of her mind didn’t surprise her anymore.  One of the weirder parts of the last two years had been discovering that Lizard Monroe really liked to close the deal.

But the anticipatory buzz wasn’t alone.

Sorrow leaked in around the edges—and something that felt almost like pissy despair.

Lizard glared at thin air.  “What, you don’t like Mexican food?”  Stupid ghost.  The Menendez family would fill this place with happy, well-decorated chaos.  Perfect entertainment for some bored wraith.

The sorrow and despair vanished.

Or maybe her morning caffeine had just kicked in a little late.  Lizard shrugged and rolled her shoulders.  Clients, incoming—time to get her act together.  An empty house usually meant a motivated seller, but everyone knew that.  This house was going to get multiple offers.  The trick to winning that particular catfight meant finding out what
else
the sellers wanted, and she had about ten minutes to do it.

Lizard headed out the front door.  The friendly lady mulching her beds across the street had looked like the chatty type.  Time to get some intel.

And more coffee.  Before she had any more accidental chats with imaginary ghosts.

-o0o-

Nell peeked around the corner at her girls, awed, as always, that she’d been a part of creating three such amazing human beings.

Or three capable of such a big mess.

The girls sat in their “costume room,” so designated by the piles of apparel and accessories that made it pretty much impossible for the room to be anything else.

The self-appointed choreographers of Halloween.

Today, they prepared their treasures for delivery.  Some of the recipients knew exactly what was coming.  Others had made general requests and would be happy with whatever arrived.  But the ones the girls loved best were those who had volunteered to be surprised.

For their father, a Babe Ruth outfit, complete with cigar and suggested curse words.  Daniel would have a blast.

Eighty-year-old Helga would be delighted by her pistol-toting Western gear, and she’d make sure the grumpy old witch she’d married showed up as her dueling partner.  Edric would grumble, but anyone who had chosen to hitch his star to zany Helga’s had more zest for living than he let on.

For Sierra, two years out of foster care and still soaking in the joy of family, there was always a costume that required a partner.  Or in this case, three of them.  She and toddler Bean and two of the knitting ladies were going out in some contraption that involved a large wagon, a bright orange scarf big enough for a giant, and Bean as a pumpkin.  No one had asked exactly what the contraption was—it would let young and old legs rest, and that was reason enough.

Nell had no idea what was in her box, but she hoped it was silver and pointy.

They’d met their baby brother’s heart’s desire, making him a MonsterZilla costume for the ages, complete with sound effects that were entirely unnecessary—and very likely to get drowned out in his magical exuberance.  Aervyn loved Halloween with the devotion of a six-year-old boy who only truly got to let his magic loose in public once a year.

Comfort for some, wish fulfillment for others, hilarity for a chosen few, and pleasure for most.  But every year, her girls used Halloween to give someone a push. 

Nell looked at a box tucked innocently in the back awaiting transport, a small purple ruffle sticking out the top.  This year, she had the distinct feeling they’d picked Lizard.

And given the recent antics of Lauren’s crystal ball, that had Nell’s sensors twitching.

Something was afoot.  And be darned if her girls were going to get tangled in it without their mama’s consent.  Yellow alert, raised to orange.

-o0o-

Sunday-morning yoga should be illegal.

Lauren untangled her legs from the totally unnatural pose with the deceptive name of Happy Baby and cursed the ties of friendship, fondness, and ice cream overdose that had dragged her butt out of bed and onto the mat.

Nat, best friend and evil yoga instructor, slid by, eyes twinkling, and reached down to help one of the other inhabitants of the back row.  The man huffed and grinned, clearly relieved to know he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life tied in a knot on Spirit Yoga’s floor.

The women on the other side of Lauren shared a wry look.  Denizens of the back row, sticking together.

The room went through the usual quiet shuffle as everyone found the blankets and socks and eye pillows they needed to be comfortable in the relaxation pose that ended the class.  Lauren bothered with none of that—socks didn’t help quiet her brain.

Nat’s soothing voice began the words of the guided meditation she used to help restless minds settle into still bodies.  Images of light and breath, draped in melody with a hint of joy.

Joy had always been Nat’s secret sauce.

Lauren smiled.  When you were a mind witch, it was way easier just to absorb the sense of peace directly, rather than trying to follow the words.

Or it was most days.  Today her Sunday-morning Zen was under attack courtesy of a cranky crystal ball.  She lay still and tried not to squirm—this morning, it was the best she could do.  The occasional wiggle from elsewhere in the studio said she had a little company, but not much.  Mostly the room’s inhabitants zoned, seduced by the serene yogini and her invitation to contentment.

Lauren gave her itchy spots a lecture—the least she could do was not interrupt the harmony.

Ten painful minutes later, Nat dismissed the class.  And pinned Lauren with a look before she even got up off her mat.

Uh, oh. 

Gathering her things, Lauren made her way back to the yoga studio’s postage-stamp kitchen.  She dropped the kettle on the stove and pulled open the tiny fridge, examining the choices.  Granola, apples, homemade yogurt.

Damn, there had to be a cookie hiding somewhere.

“Cupboard on the right, top shelf.”  Nat walked in, looking amused.  “I just got a refill this morning.”

The red tin felt pleasingly heavy as Lauren lifted it down.  “Does this mean I’m not in trouble?”

Her best friend snorted.  “It just means you get to have sugar while you tell me what had you so wiggly in class.”

Nat’s negotiation skills had taken a jump for the sharper since she’d married into the Sullivan clan.  Lauren bit into a Nutella cookie.  She’d learned something in her time as a Sullivan, too—bribes should be consumed promptly.  “Crystal ball’s still bothering me.”

“Figured.”  Nat settled on a stool, fingers wrapping around an empty tea mug.  Ready to listen.

Lauren shrugged.  The disquiet just wouldn’t go away.  “She’s just so damn happy right now—I don’t want anything screwing that up.”  Two years ago, Lizard had been a scared and prickly twenty-one-year-old delinquent.  Now she was a successful young professional with a flair for words, a bevy of friends, and a guy who worshipped every cell of her being, including the ones that were still a little prickly.

Nat smiled, following the thoughts Lauren hadn’t bothered to hide.  “She’s found herself a really amazing life.”

Yeah.  And of all people, Nat knew exactly how precious that could be.  Lauren studied the lines of the retro pattern on the tabletop and tried to let her worry go.

“I’ve been thinking some too,” said Nat quietly, getting up to deal with the tea kettle.  “Not all shadows are bad ones.  Maybe she’s getting ready to take the next steps in her life.”

That was the kind of philosophical leap that kept Lauren’s butt on a mat on Sunday mornings, hoping to soak in wisdom by osmosis.  “Keep talking.”

Nat smiled.  “It’s like hip openers.  You stretch and open one part.”

Lauren winced in sympathy for the imaginary hips under discussion.

“And then just when you figure you’re done, you discover there’s a new muscle that’s still all short and tight.  Perhaps this thing coming for Lizard isn’t an attack—maybe it’s only something new.”

Lauren pondered that idea.  Hip openers didn’t feel all that good when they arrived, however beneficial they might become on some mythical day in the future.

Nat kidnapped a bite of Lauren’s cookie.  “Change isn’t always bad.”

Maybe.  But Lauren was pretty sure Lizard wouldn’t see it that way.

-o0o-

“Scowl any harder and you’ll break the mirror.”

Lizard didn’t bother to reply to the smart-ass guy lounging in the chair behind her.  She just sent a mental image of his favorite blue t-shirt going up in flames.  Josh laughed, sadly undeterred.  “You only have to wear it for a few hours.  Think of the children.”

The troublemaking children were the reason she was in this mess in the first place.  “You’re only saying that because they didn’t make
you
a bleeping princess.”  She was pretty sure she was stuck with it—the triplets’ Halloween-costume decrees had so far been inviolable.

Not that most people were unhappy.  They’d deemed Josh the perfect SuperGeek.  His costume was almost cute.

Hers had freaking frills.  Lizard stared down at the frothy purple creation sent over for the Poet Princess and wondered if accidentally setting it on fire while she fried up some bacon was a death wish.  Probably why the tiny torturers had sent a dress with a hundred buttons in the first place—no escape route.

They were smart little fiends.

“Try on the hat.  Crown.  Whatever it is.”  Josh’s face was totally deadpan, but his mind was having way too much fun.

Lizard yanked on the purple monstrosity.  “Shut up, or I’ll tell the triplets that true superheroes always wear tight white leggings.”

His amusement worked its way to the surface.  “Now there’s a threat to make a guy shake in his boots.”

It would have worked on her.  Josh Hennessey was made of way sterner stuff.  Or at least, stuff that rolled way better with the chaotic, bossy fun of Witch Central.

She jammed the butterfly-laden headpiece down on her head.  Stupid thing fit perfectly.  Maybe she could shrink it in the dryer.  She turned toward the mirror again and the butterflies started dancing.  “This thing belongs in a really bad acid trip.”

“What are you, the Halloween grinch?”  Josh dropped a kiss on her cheek and set the butterflies to fluttering again.  “You look adorable.”

Most of her life, she’d have stabbed someone for that kind of insult.  “I’ll trip over the floofy gown and die, and then you’ll be sorry.”

This time he offered up a bite of cinnamon bun.  She pushed away the sneaking thought that she preferred the kisses.  No way was she being romantic while stuffed into a frilly purple gown.

Or probably any other time, either.  Josh was the romantic in their relationship, and she was just fine keeping it that way.  Even if cinnamon buns for lunch had been her idea.  “So what geeky world-domination stuff is making you go in to the office on Sunday?”  It was still way disconcerting to be hooked up with a guy
People
had just flagged as one of America’s hottest young entrepreneurs.  Complete with random hot chicks draped over his shoulders.

Brought in for the photo shoot after she’d flatly refused to drape.

He grinned and plunked into a chair, swallowing the last of her cinnamon bun.  “Rebooting servers.”

Ha. 
People
hadn’t covered that part.  “Don’t sneeze.”  The last time he’d gone spelunking in the server rooms at work, her sweet little real estate match-making program, now in beta rollout, had gone on the fritz for a week.

“You could come with me.”

His eyes were doing that thing again.   The one that said he couldn’t think of anything better than crawling around behind dusty servers with her in tow on a Sunday afternoon.  He loved so damn easily.

And it still flattened her.  She leaned over, hands far gentler than she wanted them to be.  “Can’t.  I’m supposed to help Thea find a new house.  Bean needs a bigger yard.”  Toddlers on the rampage apparently had size-of-empire requirements.

Josh tugged her into his lap, floofy dress and all.  “Bean’s not the only one who needs more space.”  He eyed her tiny apartment. 

He’d been talking with the triplets.  “I like it here.”  Cramped kitchen, wheezy pipes, and all.  It fit her just fine.

As long as she kept princess gowns and sexy entrepreneurs to a minimum.

His eyes kept their easy gaze—but something in his mind quietly tightened up. 

And squeezed the part of her that knew he waited.

Chapter 4

Lizard snuck a look at her iPhone and tried not to stomp her feet.  Ten more minutes and she was heading back to the office, with or without the excruciatingly slow clients she’d been touring around greater Berkeley.

Melissa and Dave Cohen.  Melissa wanted a turn-of-the-century mansion, complete with resident ghost and murder basement.  Her husband wanted updated, modern, and no dead bodies.  And because they were both lawyers, they were debating ad nauseam in every room of every house on the very long list of properties they’d asked to see.