An Imperfect Witch (6 page)

She traced one of the silver trails as it curled around itself and then bloomed in another direction.  Full of surprises, just like the man who had imagined it.  And found her sense of humor.  “Thanks—it’ll go great with my princess costume.”

The sound of his laughter resonated deep within her. 

She slid the bracelet over her wrist.  And knew it would live there long past Halloween.

Chapter 5

This was a decidedly weird day at Berkeley Realty.

On the surface, the spontaneous celebration of last month’s results wasn’t all that strange.  Lauren was a generous boss who noticed details.  And in the last two years and four months, she’d been Lizard’s biggest cheerleader, cajoler, and parole officer.  Whatever it took.

But today, something wasn’t quite right.

Lizard squinted at the cheerful woman on the other side of the table, trying to figure it out. 

“What?”  Lauren drained her coffee cup and reached for a refill.  “You don’t like chocolate cake all of a sudden?”

This had nothing to do with chocolate cake.  Lizard stabbed her fork in the general direction of her plate, buying a little time.  And then kicked herself for not noticing either.  Lauren’s outer mind was full of the expected—congratulations and cake and general bossiness on a sugar high.  And behind that—a blank wall.

Mind barriers on complete lockdown.  Something was definitely up.  Lizard raised an eyebrow and waited.

Lauren sighed and set down her fork.  “Your mindreading skills are a lot better than they used to be.”

Duh.  “Somebody makes me practice all the damn time.”  More than one somebody.  Witch Central was big on people knowing how to use their magic.  And no one had tighter mind skills when she wanted to than the woman on the other side of the desk.  “What’s going on?”

“Hocus-pocus.”  Lauren waved her fork.  “Eat—trust me, you’ll need it.”

That was ominous.  Lizard scooped up a therapy-sized bite of chocolate.

“You know my crystal ball?”

Everyone knew.  Ancient orb chooses modern witch to be its next keeper.  Which was at least as funny as Berkeley Realty plucking its first assistant out of the ranks of former juvenile delinquents.  Maybe it was a good thing something made Lauren squirm.  “It’s acting up again, huh?”

Lauren scowled.  “Darn thing hasn’t said anything for months.  Then it started pitching a fit a couple of days ago.”

It was hard to imagine a round ball of glass doing anything all that crazy.  “Stick it in a box?”

“Can’t.  Moira says I’m supposed to show it some respect.”  Lauren stabbed at her cake.  “It makes Fuzzball hiss.”

For a cat, Fuzzball seemed like a pretty smart dude.  “Deep-six it in the ocean?”  No, wait.  Respect.  Lizard’s eyes narrowed.  “You went to see Moira about this?”  That was the big leagues.

“Yeah.”  Lauren put down her fork and sighed.  “The orb showed me this image of you.  Here—I think it’s easier if you just see it.” 

Lizard felt the incoming mental link.  And stared, befuddled, at the visual that came down the pipe.  “Uh, does your paperweight know that it’s Halloween in three days?”  It was hard to take anything seriously when you were looking at yourself skulking in a cartoon graveyard.

“I have no clue—it’s not exactly conversational.”

Something about this still wasn’t reading right.  “The hocus-pocus is bothering you.  Why?  I’ll stay out of graveyards, if it will make you feel better.”

Her boss pushed chocolate crumbs around her plate.  “Wiser heads than mine think maybe it’s not that literal.  Take another look at what I sent you.”

Lizard pulled up the image in her mind one more time.  The guy in the shadows looked vaguely familiar.  “What, some creep from my past, maybe?”  Which wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t exactly time to hit the nuclear bunkers, either.  She took another bite of chocolate cake.  A big one.  And then eyed the woman who had always been straight with her.  “Out with it.”

-o0o-

It was so tempting just to duck and leave Lizard happy in the life she had.

But bosses who had eaten a whole plate of chocolate cake didn’t get to be cowards.  “You talked yesterday about hearing a ghost.  When you were with the Cohens.”

Lizard frowned.  “Yeah.  Too much sugar, not enough sleep.”

Maybe.  “There’s a ghost in the graveyard.”

“Usually are.”  Lizard’s brain snapped into gear.  “Wait.  You think your paperweight was trying to tell you that I’m hearing freaking ghosts?”

Oh, for a GPS with a sexy British voice to navigate them out of this mess.  “Honestly, I have no idea if any of this is related or if it’s just a weird coincidence.  But if so, it’s a creepy one, and I don’t like it.”

Lizard leaned back.  Thinking.  And then she reached for her fork, mind suddenly clear.  “No way.  No dice.  I’m not ruining really good chocolate cake by worrying about something I maybe heard in a house.  Tell your crystal ball to go pick on someone else.”

If only.  “I’ll get on that.”  So far, the conversations had been decidedly one-way.

Lizard grinned. 
You’re a world-class negotiator—convince it to get chatty.

They hadn’t covered hunks of glass in realtor school.  And “chatty” didn’t seem like all that good an idea, either.

“Look.”  Lizard waved her fork around for emphasis.  “I get that Moira talks about respect and responsibility and all that, and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.  But it’s
her
thing, you know?  It’s how she deals with magic.  You’re always telling me to figure out my deal—how does Lizard Monroe sell houses, right?  So how does Lauren Sullivan hang with the talking orb in her life?”

Lauren stared at her young associate as some often-repeated advice came full circle.  “You really think I should negotiate with it.”

Lizard grinned.  “There’s no one better.”

Huh.  It wasn’t a bad idea.  Once you got past the other side being a giant marble, anyhow.

She’d negotiated with far weirder things than a little hocus-pocus.

-o0o-

Devin was pretty sure this rated as a bad idea.  He looked at the grinning face of his youngest nephew and figured the kid knew it too.  “I’m thinking we have frog pus for brains, kiddo.”

“Not yet.”  Aervyn looked at the gunk bubbling in the pot.  “It doesn’t look green enough.”

It might never look green.  “You know I’m the wrong witch for potion-making, right?”

“It’s not a potion.  It’s just gross stuff.  And Uncle Jamie says boys do gross stuff the best, but Auntie Nat doesn’t like it so much when we make a really big mess in her kitchen, so I came to you.”

Devin rolled his eyes.  Lauren was going to be issuing similar proclamations as soon as she got home.  Making gross stuff wasn’t a neat process.  “You’re sure Ginia puts the gelatin in before the water’s hot?”

“Uh, huh.”  Superboy looked very serious.  “I watched her really carefully and I saw exactly how she did the spell and everything.  And then she adds her healer stuff, but we won’t do that part, cuz we aren’t going to make anyone take it for medicine.”

That was for damn certain.  Devin peered in the pot.  Things smelled kind of burnt.  “I think we’re doing something wrong, kiddo.”

“No way.”  Aervyn looked offended at the possibility.  “I got the spell part exactly right.”

Devin was way more concerned about the basic cooking part of this particular concoction.  “It sounds like you paid a lot of attention to the magic, but maybe we put stuff in the pot in the wrong order or something.”

His minion chef’s face fell.  “Does that part matter?”

Probably, but guys wanting to make frog pus didn’t run around asking.  He pulled the pot off the burner.  Definitely something turning crispy in there.  “Maybe we can use this for something else gross for Halloween.”  No point wasting perfectly good burnt gluck.  He scooped some out and put it on a plate.

Aervyn got down at eye level to study the gelatinous goo.  “How come it has all those weird chunks in it?”

That was a question for the ages.  “Dunno.  And I’m pretty sure that’s not green.”  As it cooled, the thing that looked way too much like a turd was turning disturbingly purple.  Making a purple turd would
totally
kill his badass-witch rep.  Especially if it was an accident.

“Well, we can always try again.”  The six-year-old’s eyes brightened.  “And it is pretty gross.”

Definitely a Sullivan.  “Exactly.  Sometimes we just have to roll with what life throws at us.”  Devin bent down to dig out another pot—and snuck a glance over at the crystal ball in the corner. 

More than one witch rolling at the moment.  It was going to be an action-packed Halloween.

Even if they never figured out the recipe for frog pus.

-o0o-

Moira smiled as footsteps clomped up her front porch.  Lauren had texted of her impending visitor, but Lizard’s footfalls were unique—there was no mistaking her arrival.

A tiny woman with a very large presence.  One she hadn’t yet quite grown into—but it was a constant delight watching her find her way.  And apparently this day, the universe had decided to give their poet a wee nudge.

Lizard blew in the door and slammed it closed behind her.  “Yo.  It’s freezing here.”

Moira shook her head, amused, and surveyed the lime-green skirt, bare legs, and short sleeves.  “That’s a lovely outfit, my dear, but it’s not fit for October in Canada.”  Fisher’s Cove was experiencing the first truly wintery blasts of the year. 

“I guess not.”  Her visitor grinned.  “Next time I’ll dig out my Arctic gear.”

Such silliness over a little wind.  Moira held out one of her hand-knit throws.  “Here, cuddle up a while in this.  And next time, port yourself into my living room.”  It was a friendlier landing for her warm-blooded California friends.

“I just came to make a delivery.”  Lizard held out the box in her hands.

Moira eyed the takeout container of apple fritters and hid a smile.  There were witchlings aplenty in Fisher’s Cove who would appreciate the gesture, even if it was a last-minute excuse to send a certain young realtor for a visit.  “Those look lovely.  Why don’t you wander back to the kitchen with me and have a cup of tea before you head out into the cold?”

Feet shifted uncomfortably.  “I should probably get back to work.”

There were so many kinds of work to do in a properly lived life.  “Indulge an old lady, if you would.”  Moira pulled out her high-amperage ammunition.  “Aaron just sent over a tureen of his butternut-squash soup, if you’ve a mind for a bit of lunch.”

Lizard’s eyes brightened.  “That’s really good with bacon on top.”

“He sent a rasher of that as well.”  Their resident innkeeper knew exactly how to please fishermen and witches.  “And I think I’ve the makings of hot chocolate, if you’d like to putter in my kitchen a bit.”

Her visitor made it two steps down the hall before she turned around, face covered in dawning suspicion.  “Lauren didn’t send me here to deliver donuts.”

It wasn’t a question.  Moira smiled and laid a companionable hand on the young woman’s arm.  Two smart visitors in two days.  “Not at all, and I’m glad of it.”

Lizard snorted, amused, as they ambled down the hallway together.  “You could have sold a hell of a lot of real estate.”

She’d been accused of worse things.  “That’s your calling, my dear.  And I hear you’re doing rather a good job of it.  You must be very proud of yourself.”  She didn’t miss the squirm as they made their way into the kitchen.  A witch not yet entirely comfortable with her own success.

Perhaps the crystal ball foretold only of something coming in the natural order of things.  A witch ready for the next stage of her life.  Samhain was the time of year for such things.

Blue eyes met hers for a minute, almost brave enough to see the truth.  And then hid behind voluminous layers.  “Hot chocolate, huh?”  Lizard headed for the cupboard, hands reaching for sugar and powdered chocolate. 

It was enough, for now, that truth lurked in the shadows.  “You might make enough for visitors.  I imagine the smell will bring us one or two.”

“Got any of the good stuff?”  Lizard’s head was practically inside the cupboard now.  “A couple squares of dark chocolate would really make this rock.”

“I’m Irish, child.  And a witch.”  Moira settled into her chair, well pleased.  “Silver canister on the right, and I’m sure Aaron’s got more if that isn’t enough.”

Hands emerged with the container full of rich brown goodness.  “Mmm.  This will work.”  The hot-chocolate chef inhaled deeply and then glanced up.  “I haven’t forgotten you’re meddling.  But this is a good bribe.”

So much progress.  A year ago, there wouldn’t have been enough chocolate in the universe to bribe Lizard Monroe.  Moira smiled and eyed the steaming tureen of soup.  Perhaps they’d get the meddling out of the way before lunch, then.  Not very Irish, but over the years she’d learned something from the pragmatic fisherfolk of the village, too.  “I hear my gran’s crystal ball has had a thing or two to say about you.”

“Yeah.”  Lizard shrugged.  “Josh got a fortune cookie last week that says he’s going to meet someone tall, dark, and handsome too.”

Moira shook her head ruefully.  The young had so little respect for the old ways.  As had a young Irish lass once.  “I wasn’t any too pleased the one and only time the ball spoke about me, either.”  A journey across the waters hadn’t been in her plans, not at all.