An Unlikely Witch (11 page)

Message received.  Nat breathed in—and prepared herself for not knowing.

It was a lesson she’d begun at sixteen.  She could live through a little more practice.

-o0o-

Never had the orb wished quite so mightily for legs.  Something to carry itself away from the crush of noise and raucous energy. 

The one who listened was not here.  Only the man she loved and a very large assortment of children.  The orb was not sure how many.  Most it had noted in this home before, but even those more familiar minds seemed altered. 

The old witches had used herbs to help their minds sink into trance state.  Perhaps someone had fed these children herbs.  Although most certainly not the trance-state kind.

A particularly loud squeal reverberated off the window panes.  The orb winced.  Perhaps war threatened.  Even the small furry creature had gone into hiding.

The tiny one with much power came close.  She was interesting.  Fiery.  And very loud.  The orb did not sense in her mind what it had felt from the others. 

Exuberance made their thoughts far too audible.  They were planning something.

-o0o-

Lauren carried in the bags of groceries, not at all convinced this was a good idea.  Hopefully it fell under the category of “picking her battles wisely.”  She stopped on the threshold and nearly got run over by Nat and Lizard, carrying their own loads behind her.

“Stop again and I’m dropping these cans on your toes.”  Their resident poet was grumpy.  “This crap’s heavy.”

They’d maybe gone a little overboard with the canned goods.

“What’s all that?”  Suspicion from the other side of what served as the castle’s common room.  Trinity, den mother of sorts to a halfway house full of runaway teens, stood in the doorway, glowering.

Lizard stepped to the front and glowered back.  “You said people wanted cooking lessons.  We’re here to deliver.”

Some of them were just here to carry the bags.  Lauren set hers down on the side table and eyed the makeshift kitchen doubtfully.  The stove looked older than sin.

It works fine.  Josh and Devin fixed it up. 
Lizard was already rummaging in her bags.  She glanced over at Trinity and raised an eyebrow.  “So go find someone for us to teach.”

Lauren exchanged a hilarity-filled look with Nat and buried her grin in a bag.  Ten minutes ago, Lizard had been making gooey eyes with Josh in the produce section of the grocery store.  Now, her delinquent was firmly in place.

Trinity’s glower hadn’t budged.  “What are you gonna make?”

“Biscuits and baked beans.”  A can opener sailed through the air.  “Pretty sure even you can’t screw up stuff out of a can.”

“I’ve been feeding myself since I was three years old.  Don’t diss me, noodle lady, or I’ll use that sharp tongue of yours to open my beans.”

Six months ago, Lauren might have thought this was headed south.  She’d gotten wiser in the ways of friendly pissing contests since then.

“It’s not you I’m planning to teach.”  Lizard had her poker face dialed extra high.  “Students.  Now.  I haven’t got all night.”

“Yeah, yeah, you have hot stuff to shag.  My heart bleeds for you.”  Trinity turned around into the hallway and let out a yell that could have been heard halfway to New York.  “Yo, people.  Anyone who wants to learn how to open a can or make those hunks of bread the noodle lady calls biscuits, get your asses down here now.”

Nat was barely keeping her giggles in check.  Lauren opened a channel to her best friend. 
You want to teach the can-opener part, or the pouring-beans-into-the-pot part? 
No way was either of them going to be let near the biscuit part of the lesson.  Noodle lady had standards.

Shadows started slinking into the room.  Teens well used to keeping their faces hidden.  Trinity swung an arm at a couple of ball caps.  “Hats off.  Show some respect.”

One of the guys eyed her head.

She leveled him with a gaze that could have melted titanium.  “That’s a bandana.  Totally different.”

He shrugged.  “I guess it’ll keep your ugly hair out of my beans.”

“I hate beans.”  Another face, this time one Lauren didn’t know.  “And covering them with tomato slime and some dead pig doesn’t make them taste any better.”

Lizard slid her eyes in the direction of the latest complainer.  “Beans are cheap and healthy and only a total moron can’t use a can opener.  Suck it up.”

“Whatever.”

Lauren snuck a quick mindglance.  Another couple of insults and he’d be hooked.  And they had four other bodies in the room.  That was a record.

Nat had already approached Missy, a quiet girl with blonde hair and dreams of a job that let her afford a really awesome wardrobe.

“What’s the matter, sexy realtor lady?”  Trinity pulled up a cheap folding chair and plunked it next to Lauren.  “You don’t know how to use a can opener?”

Lots of insults flying around tonight.  The odd bonding rules of the street.

“Just came here for the captivating conversation, huh?”  Dark eyes, surveying the room.  Taking care of what was hers.  “Next time, maybe a couple more will come down.”

“Or the ones who came can show the others.”  It was the closest Lauren dared come to a compliment.  One den mother, fresh off the streets and barely older than some of her charges, was doing a quietly amazing job.  And generally threatened to kick in the nuts of anyone who said so.

“Maybe.”  Trinity’s eyes had shifted.  “How’s Nat doing?  She looked kind of down the other day.  Saw her walking alone in the park.”

The den mama had eyes and ears everywhere—and not just in the darker corners of the street.  “She’s having a bit of a rough time right now.”  Nat and Missy were deep in conversation, the can of beans sitting unopened in the teenager’s lap.  “This is a good distraction for her.”

Trinity snorted.  “Stick around.  We can probably arrange a knife fight or something if you want.”

She was kidding.  Hopefully.  Lauren picked up a can opener.  “Let’s see if that antique you call a stove will actually cook something.”

“That man of yours says it does.”

This time, Lauren let her laughter loose.  “That’s not saying much.  You haven’t tasted Devin’s cooking.”

“We’ll keep an eye on her,” said Trinity in a low voice.

It wasn’t eyes Nat needed.  “She needs things like this.  Stuff to keep her busy.”  And damned if Lauren had been able to think of anything.

The woman beside her snorted.  “I can maybe help with that, too.”  She grinned.  “Right after I finish teaching you how to use a can opener.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and reached for a can of beans.  And prepared to get schooled.

Chapter 9

Normally he loved coming to Fisher’s Cove.

Jamie stood on the street in the middle of the small, remote Nova Scotia village and tried not to feel like an idiot.  Google had been clear—this was important, and a simple way to maybe make his wife’s life a whole lot easier.  And he was a smart, equal-opportunity guy, not some cave-dwelling idiot.

Even if he felt mostly like the latter.

However, standing in the middle of a fishing village talking to himself wasn’t going to change that.  Squaring his shoulders, he headed for Sophie’s door.  And promised himself a few hours gaming in Realm as a reward when this was over.

It wasn’t Sophie who opened the door, however.  Her husband, Mike, stood there, a straining toddler already trying to escape between his legs.  “Hey.”  Mike captured Adam under his arm.  “Want to come to the beach?  We have to throw things, and Mama says we can’t do it in the house.”

Jamie shook his head at the little boy.  “My mom used to say stuff like that too.  Crazy.”  He looked up at the big guy in the doorway again.  “Sorry, can’t.  I came to see your wife.”

Mike raised a curious eyebrow, but didn’t ask.  “She’s bottling lotion.  Follow the smell.  You know where to find us if you change your mind.”

It was really tempting, especially when Adam flashed one of his rare grins on the way out the door.  A little guy so very different in temperament from his daughter, but no less appealing. 

He closed his eyes against the ache, knowing it wouldn’t help.  There wasn’t a child in Witch Central or Fisher’s Cove he couldn’t borrow whenever he wanted—and it wasn’t the same.  Always, that toddler-sized hole in his heart.

Waiting wasn’t cutting it anymore.

Jamie could see a huge array of bottles laid out on the dining room table and he made his way that general direction, assuming there was a healer under there somewhere.  He got all the way to the kitchen before he found her, funnel in one hand, small pot of hot-pink goo in the other.  “Do I want to know what that is?”

Sophie grinned and kept pouring.  “Peppermint lotion.  Your nieces would love it.”

His daughter would probably try to eat it.  He surveyed the number of pink bottles on the counter.  “Hot seller on your website, huh?”

A tired eye roll.  “Yup.  I’ve been making pink goop for days.”

He was pretty sure he knew where she could recruit assistants.  Although not necessarily the kind that actually sped up the work.  “Want help?  I can probably manage the pouring part.”

The healer laughed.  “Wow, you must be trying to avoid something really bad.  Is Moira hunting you down with a glass of green stuff or something?”

He really hoped not.  “No, I was looking for you.”

Sophie’s eyes sharpened, even as she switched out one round jar for the next.  “How’s Nat?”

“Doing yoga.”  In the frustrated, slightly manic way that had become her norm of late.  “She’ll be okay by the time she’s done, but it’s taking longer than usual these days.”  Which no one needed his assistance to interpret.

“It’s good she’s got that.”  The flow of pink goo slowed.  “Exploring fertility issues takes time, and it makes most women entirely crazy.  Some of their husbands, too.”

As healer probing went, that wasn’t particularly subtle.  “I went for a bike ride this morning.”  His motorcycle did for him what convoluted yoga sequences did for his wife.

“Good.”  Sophie set down her pot and gave him her full attention.  “Then what has you here instead of out on the beach throwing rocks with my guys?”

He kind of wished she was still messing with the pink goo.   “It takes two of us to make a baby. I did some Googling after I got back from my ride.  I figured if you were checking Nat out, you should probably be looking at me, too.”

“You’re a good guy, Jamie Sullivan.”  Sophie’s smile was soft and approving.  “Does Nat know you’re here?”

Hell, no.  “She’s got enough stuff to worry about.”

“Here. If you want to be useful, you can stick one of these in the top of each of the jars.”  The healer handed him little bits of red-and-white striped foam.  “You should tell her.  It will make her feel all warm and fuzzy and a little less alone.”

He twiddled a bit of foam in his fingers.  He hated the alone thing—he kept picking it up from Nat’s mind, and it was killing him.  “If it will help her, you can inspect all my parts as much as you want.” 

“I think it will help her to know you volunteered.”  Sophie began tying green ribbons onto the jars he’d corked.  “But it’s not necessary.  We already know you’re fine.”

Somehow, he hadn’t expected to have this conversation over a hundred jars of pink peppermint lotion.  The fumes were messing with his brain.  “Do I want to ask how you already know that?”

“Probably not.”  Her chuckle set a lot of little green ribbons to dancing.  “Infertility is simpler to check with guys—a lot fewer variables.”

His morning Googling had made that much clear.  “But you need to check sperm counts, right?  And see if the little dudes can swim and stuff?”  He suddenly imagined them drowning in pink goo and shuddered. 

Sophie was looking at him again, highly amused.  “Yes.  Modern medicine needs your involvement to take those measurements.  I don’t.  That’s why Nat came early yesterday, so we could watch your little dudes heading up her fallopian tubes.”

Damn.  Jamie knew what they’d been doing the night before.  Now he knew why.  His inner twelve-year-old boy kicked in and turned his cheeks red. 

And then he thought of Nat, furiously doing sun salutations in their living room at the crack of dawn, mind seething with frustration—and the man who would do anything to help her came back with a vengeance.  He stuffed a candy-cane striped cork into a bottle with way too much force.  “I wish you’d found something wrong with me.”  Google said those kind of problems were pretty easy to fix.

“Yeah.”  Sophie’s eyes were swimming with empathy.  “Me too.”

Jamie closed his eyes, the energy of the morning suddenly lost.  “So how do I help her get through this?”

“Gently remind her of all the other things in her life.  Don’t let her get too mired in the loneliness.”  The healer sat down, fingers running over a long line of jars.  “And when that doesn’t work, just hold her tight and let her cry.”  Her hand slid into his.  “And when
you
feel like crying, find yourself a shoulder.  You have an awesome family.  Use them.”

He squeezed her hand.  His “family” was awfully damn big.