An Imperfect Witch (7 page)

Her guest rolled her eyes and kept whisking cocoa powder.  A poet, taking her stand.  One crystal ball on ignore.

Fair enough.  And Moira wasn’t entirely a tool of the old ways either.  “Then perhaps you’ll take a wee observation from an old lady instead.  You’re young enough that there are many things yet to come in your life.  And you’ve the strength and wisdom and generosity to do very well with them.”

Lizard’s eyes softened as she turned from her pot on the stove.  “You’d be scary if you weren’t so damn nice, you know that?”

Moira smiled back at the lovely witch in her kitchen.  “I might say exactly the same of you, sweet girl.”

Blue eyes met green ones.  And truth snuck a little closer to the surface.

Moira reached for the soup.  For today, that was enough.  A first volley, as it were.  Just in case Great-gran’s crystal ball meant for them to be ready.

A message to her poet visitor, and one to the universe as well.  Whatever might be coming, Moira Doonan stood at the side of Lizard Monroe.

Chapter 6

“Thank you, dear.”  Helga patted Lizard’s hand as she unlocked the door of a small 1920s cottage.  “Now you just take a seat here on this nice porch rocker while I go inside and snoop.”

Lizard knew better than to argue.  The eighty-year-old woman was a force of nature.  And claimed to only be tire-kicking, although that was somewhat more in doubt.  Helga and her husband, Edric, lived in a nice, stately home over by the university, which they had no intentions of abandoning.

But Helga kept muttering things about wanting a cozy artist’s retreat where they could pretend to have a fling in Paris.  Lizard desperately wanted to grow up to be an old lady who had that kind of taste for adventure.  Being that old lady’s realtor, however, was kind of terrifying.

She took a seat on the rocker, as instructed.  And watched her client move slowly around the porch.  Imagining.  Trying on the view.  And probably counting how many neighbors she could spy on.

Helga grinned from the far end of her temporary domain.  “I can almost see the knitting store from here.  And the playground across the street has a teeter-totter and those good old-fashioned swings you can twist up.”

Most people would assume the old lady was scouting for her grandchildren.  Lizard was much smarter than that.  “I didn’t know Edric liked teeter-totters.”

Helga laughed merrily.  “He doesn’t know it yet either.”

Some of Lizard’s favorite afternoons had been spent in this state of amused awe.  She hoped it took this particular client a very long time to find her French getaway.  “There’s a family who lives two doors down.  I saw their little girl trying to sneak under the fence a couple of days ago.”

“A kindred spirit, is she?”  Helga looked the direction her lazy realtor pointed.  “Very interesting.”

A small girl would be very lucky to have the irrepressible Helga as a sometimes-neighbor.  “She could always say that the little old lady down the block gets in way more trouble than she does.”

“I’m not nearly old yet, missy.”  Brown eyes twinkled, far too full of life ever to be insulted by a few mere words. 

Lizard raised an eyebrow.  “Excellent.  Because there’s a great loft bedroom in this cottage.  Last owners put it in.  Clawfoot tub, dormer windows.  Room for a really big bed.”

Helga’s eyes gleamed.  “Sounds like a garret to me.”

“Mmm.”  That had been the idea.  “But it’s upstairs and all.  I hear that can be hard on knees of a certain age.”

“Is that a dare, young lady?”  Helga glared, the effect somewhat disrupted by a hiccupping giggle.  “You think I’m too old for a few stairs, do you?”

“Nope.”  And these ones were nice and wide, with a good handrail.  She wasn’t an entirely irresponsible realtor.  “Edric might be, though.”

The gleam that came into brown eyes wasn’t PG-rated.  “That won’t be a problem at all.  He’ll be following me.”

Lizard felt her cheeks turning pink.

Now Helga’s laughter rang out over half of Berkeley.  “Silly girl—what did you think I wanted a Paris garret for, hmm?”

Gods.  Lizard shook her head—she was never going to be able to look the grumpy old man in the eyes again.  Or contemplate why he was a whole lot less cranky lately.  She cast around for an escape route—no way was she hanging out on the Isle of Bawdy with Helga.  “He’s a really lucky guy to have you.”

“Of course he is.”  Helga smiled, fingers casually stroking a vine working its way over the porch rail.  “A true partner does that, you know.  Helps to bring the very best parts of who you are to the surface.”

“Does—”  Lizard froze, horrified by the question she’d been about to ask.

“Does he do that for me?”  Helga turned, not at all insulted.  “Tell me, sweetheart.  What do you think a high-flying, life-loving old lady needs?”

Figuring out what a twenty-three-year-old poet needed was hard enough.  But this client had been a friend long enough to dig for an answer.  “Someplace safe to land?”

“Yes.  Exactly that.  Edric does that for me.”  Love was written all over a wrinkled, fascinating face.  “And he does it without ever desiring to clip a single one of my feathers.”

That was gorgeous.  Lizard smiled—maybe she could meet Edric’s eyes after all.  “Sounds like you’re pretty lucky too.”

“I am.  And smart enough to know it.”  Helga turned for the door, eyes twinkling again.  “Now let me go check out those stairs of yours and see if these old legs can manage them.”

Of that, Lizard had very little doubt. 

She pushed on the porch with a toe, setting the rocker in motion.  And contemplated untamed spirits who were still seeking out their own brand of luck.  It called to her, even as she looked in the mirror long enough to know she didn’t have a fraction of Helga’s carefree courage.

She heard quick footsteps inside—ones that didn’t sound remotely like an old lady.

And then the sense of presence hit.

Ghost.

Lizard flew out of the rocker, feet driven by anger, frustration, and fear for a well-loved friend.  And stampeded in the front door just in time to see the back door swing shut.

Ghosts didn’t use doorways.

There was an invader on her turf.  Feet pumping, Lizard raced for the back door, her mind reaching out for the interloper.  Nothing.  Freaking walls.

And by the time she hit the back door, not even a telltale leaf was swaying.

Lizard looked around the postage-stamp back yard.  No fence.  A million points of exit.

“What’s going on, dear?”  Helga huffed to a stop just outside the back door.

“Someone was inside the house.”  Adrenaline zinged in veins that had almost forgotten the metallic taste of fight-or-flight.

“Oh, my.”  Her client didn’t look at all put off by the thought.  “Maybe someone borrowing the garret for a while.”

Lizard was pretty sure they hadn’t broken up a secret tryst, but it got her brain working again.  There had been no danger from the mind she’d sensed.  Only fear.  And a mad scrambling that was all too familiar.  “More like a stowaway, I think.”

She turned to go back into the house.  Time to track down a ghost.

-o0o-

Nell stood in the doorway of the costume room.  She’d been paged.  “What’s up, kiddos?”

Three faces looked up at her in consternation.  “Lizard sent back her dress.  She said it has too many ruffles.”

Mia’s face drooped.  “It’s the awesomest princess costume ever.”

Uh, oh.  “Did she text you, or leave a note?”  This seemed like one of those things where tone mattered.

“Yeah.”  Ginia held out a lime-green Post-it, eyes glum.

Nell scanned the words scrawled in red pen.
 Too many ruffles.  Fix it, or I’ll turn you all into tofu and crumble you on salad.
  She hid a smile.  The world hadn’t ended—eleven-year-old literalists had just missed the subtext.

Which was pretty unusual for them.  Nell considered her trio.  Something else was going on here.  “This one’s pretty important to you, huh?”  She aimed a glance at Shay—if any of them could put words to why, she was the most likely candidate.

“Yeah.  It’s because Lizard’s special.”  Shay looked at her sisters for confirmation.  “Well, everyone’s special, but she kind of needs reminding.”

Nell looked at the skirt of the poet princess dress—layer after layer of thrift-store ruffles, painstakingly bedazzled with glitter and little purple jewels.  Lizard wasn’t the only one who had missed the message written in love and preteen-girl generosity.  “You worked really hard to make her costume extra awesome, didn’t you?”

Three heads nodded now, eyes holding insecurity triggered by a few words on a lime-green Post-it. 

There were some things a mama could fix.  “When Uncle Devin said he wanted water blasters in his shoes, what did you tell him?”

“No way.”  Mia shook her head.  “Cuz then Aervyn would want some too and that would make a really big mess and probably ruin somebody’s Halloween.”

“Exactly.”  Nell dug for more costume infractions.  “And when Kenna tried to light her pretty fairy wand on fire, what did you do?”

“We told her it was a bubble wand instead.”  Ginia grinned.  “And we made Uncle Jamie put a fireproofing spell on it just in case.”

Smart kiddos.  “Right.  And why do you do all those things?”

“So everyone has fun on Halloween and nobody gets hurt.”  The girls repeated the mantra that was pretty much the only Sullivan family rule.

“Right.”  Nell circled back around to their possibly irate poet.  “And if Lizard has all these gorgeous shiny ruffles on Halloween night, do you think she’ll have fun?”

“Yeah.”  Mia’s eyes glowed.  “We even had Uncle Devin add extra sparkly stuff to the glitter.  Everyone will think she’s the best princess ever.”

Assuming the costume made it to the streets.  It was a big gamble—and somewhere, lurking under preteen bravado, her girls knew it.  Time to set up the mama backstop.  “So what do you think you should tell Lizard?”

“That princesses wear ruffles.”  Mia reached for the note and crumpled it in a determined hand.  “Those are the rules.”

Nell was pretty sure it would involve some kicking and screaming—and also very sure that Lizard Monroe was totally incapable of breaking three squishy hearts.  One mama, choosing to let a gamble ride.

Ginia reached out and touched a glittery ruffle, eyes twinkling.  “I bet Josh will think she’s really pretty.”

Dangerous territory.  “Josh always thinks Lizard is pretty.”  Adults had rules too. 

“I think they should get married.”  Mia cartwheeled into a beanbag chair, ready to move on to the next topic of interest in her life.  “How come they’re not married yet, Mama?  They’re all gooey and stuff, just like Auntie Nat and Uncle Jamie and Auntie Lauren and Uncle Devin and even you and Dad sometimes.”

Ooooh, boy.  Nell tried to take the easy road.  “Maybe he hasn’t asked her yet.”

“Mama!”  Said in unified tones of disgust by three very liberated girlchildren.  Mia shook her head.  “She could ask him.  Or they could ask each other.  But not asking at all is silly.”

Spoken like a child who hadn’t tangled with the twists and turns of adulthood just yet.  Nell didn’t plan to talk about those overmuch.  Her girls had such confidence in themselves—the gift of the preteen years.  Something sacred, almost, and not to be damaged until absolutely necessary.

Life would get them there eventually, and then they would understand Lizard better.  Until then, unsatisfactory mama explanations would have to suffice.  “I guess they haven’t decided they’re ready yet.”  She hugged three blonde heads in turn, a message of both love and warning.  “And they don’t need any help deciding.”

A synchronized eye roll, mostly for form, and then the three began shifting gears.  Nell watched, fascinated by how their differences lived closer to the surface these days.  Mia headed straight back for the costumes, eye caught by something red and shiny in the corner.  Ginia moved more slowly to the table where spangles, jewels, and glitter were still being applied liberally to the few bits and pieces left in the room, touching a droopy plant leaf as she went.  And Shay sat quietly in place, thinking.

Uh, oh.  Nell sat down by her silent triplet and waited.  Still waters had nothing on this kid.

Shay reached out for the frothy skirt of Lizard’s costume.  “She doesn’t really want us to change it, does she?”

That was one of those questions with no good answer, so Nell went with her gut.  “Probably not.  It’s kind of like when you roll your eyes in the morning, but you eat your eggs anyhow.  You feel better if we let you protest some.”  And even adults took occasional trips back to that realm—some more often than others.

Her wise childling raised a pointed eyebrow.

Okay, maybe not quite ready for eggs as a life lesson.  “Sometimes we just want someone to tell us the rules again.  It makes us feel better.  Like our world maybe hasn’t changed too much.”

Shay cuddled in, a girl pretty content with her current world.  She looked over at her two sisters, already working industriously on their chosen projects.  “Is that why we like to run stuff?  So we can make the rules?”

Where the heck was Daniel when she needed him?  Or Auntie Nat?  They were way better at the philosophical stuff than she was.  “Maybe.  Rules give shape to things, and the three of you like creating special things for people to look forward to.”