An Unlikely Witch (13 page)

Sophie managed a wry smile.  “Exactly.  If someone asked who Moira Doonan was, what would you tell them?”

Ah.  Now she was getting the sense of it.  Flowers were the thing closest to her heart.  “I’m a gardener.”  Of flowers and of souls.  Grandmother to all that bloomed.

“You never take it off,” said Sophie quietly.  “It isn’t what you do—it’s who you are.  I think that being mama to this little boy is part of who Nat is.”

Moira watched the ripples on the surface of the water, imagining her gardens suddenly under fire.  And could imagine only one thing that would hold fast against the breaking.  “Perhaps it’s time for one of us to go have noodles with a certain realtor.”  Not a hardship—Romano’s linguine was almost enough to convince a person that Ireland wasn’t the only country that truly understood living.  “Although I suspect she already knows.”

“There’s power in knowing together.”  A smile from the other side of the pool at last.  “If you leave now, I think you can make it in time for dinner.”

-o0o-

The Inquisition had arrived.

Nell sat down on the couch beside her husband, Daniel, hiding a grin.  The man looked entirely like he needed reinforcements.

Helga leaned forward and surveyed the tray of treats, eyes gleaming.  “Looks like you’ve had some baking help.”

Nell laughed.  “Aervyn’s declared himself cookie sous-chef for the holidays.  And where he goes these days, Kenna comes too.”  It was a seriously motley collection of treats.

“They’re adorable together.”  Helga helped herself to a misshapen shortbread covered in pink sprinkles.  “Aervyn makes friends so widely.  He’s been joining Edric in his man cave lately—I think they’re working on Shay’s Solstice gift.”

No one had been more surprised than Edric when he’d been assigned an eleven-year-old girl in the triplets’ holiday dreams extravaganza.  Nell had initially wondered if they’d just given themselves the leftovers that had been hard to match.  Until she’d seen the crusty old man studying her daughter.  One quiet soul, understanding another.

Eighty-year-old Helga was apparently taking a different approach to her target for wish fulfillment.  She looked up from her cookie, clearly back on track.  “Everyone expects me to give him something involving a baseball, you know.”

Daniel nodded carefully—it was the obvious choice for their baseball-mad teenage son.  “Nathan would love that.”

Helga blew him off with a wave of her hand.  “Too easy.”  She pinned her gaze on Nell.  “What else makes his heart go pitter-pat?”

A girl named Chloe in his chemistry class, but Nell would take a sixty-day tour in hell before she’d mention that to this particular audience.  Or any audience—Nathan was firmly convinced they all believed Chloe was a somewhat annoying geek he had to sit next to while they played with Bunsen burners.

Unfortunately for Nathan, he had two gamer parents who knew exactly what it meant when a fifteen-year-old boy leveled down so he could play with someone.  Especially when that someone promptly kicked his butt and spent the next week leveling up.

Nell jumped at Daniel’s elbow in her ribs.  Check.  Stop woolgathering—Helga had way too good a nose to miss that scent for long.  “He doesn’t do much besides gaming and baseball these days.”  She hoped—he’d gone fairly nocturnal.

Gamer parents understood that, too.

“Ah, so I’m seeking the dream he maybe doesn’t know about just yet.”  Helga’s eyes reflected the glimmer from the strings of white lights the triplets had draped everywhere.  “And maybe that you don’t know about, either.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow.  “No hacking.”

Their guest chuckled.  “I don’t have any skill with computers and you know it.”

“Wasn’t the kind of hacking I meant,” said the sole guy in the room calmly, reaching for a brownie.  “Nathan’s a private kid, and he’s already hiding himself away from his prying sisters.”

That was news to Nell.  She frowned her husband’s direction.  He shook his head fractionally.  Not now.

Helga hadn’t missed any of it.  She eyed Daniel, not at all put off.  “Thank you.  Anything else I need to know to be careful with?”  She winked at Nell.  “I won’t touch Chloe, I promise.  They’re adorable together, by the way.”

Nell stared at the cheerful octogenarian.  “You’ve
seen
her?”

“I did.”  Eyes twinkled far brighter than the lights now.  “Saw them sitting in the park over by our little love nest.”

Only Helga could buy a cottage in Berkeley, call it her Parisian garret, and have every guy in town looking at Edric with envy. 

The woman in question got up, kissed Daniel’s cheek, and snagged another cookie.  “Don’t worry—other than a little spying, I won’t interfere.  That kind of sweetness doesn’t need any help from a creaky old lady.”  She looked meaningfully at the two of them.  “Or creaky old parents.”

Daniel just rolled his eyes.

Nell grinned—they’d already had to talk themselves out of building a spy post in Nathan and Chloe’s current game.  After fifteen years of close-in parenting, giving their son space didn’t come naturally.

Heck, giving
anyone
in Witch Central space didn’t come naturally.

“Mission accomplished.”  Helga brushed off her hands and reached for her bag.  “We’ve got plenty more distractions planned, but if you need an extra helping, just yell out the window.”

Wait, what?  Nell stopped making gooey eyes at her husband and focused on the troublemaker in the room.  “What are you planning?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” said Helga grandly, sweeping on a bright blue feather boa and dropping a kiss on the top of Nell’s head.  “The word’s gone out that the big-people Sullivans have something hard to do and that you need to be reminded that we love you.”

She headed for the door, grinning back over her shoulder.  “Just consider me the opening act.  Lizard’s got the main gig, and she’s going to blow you all away.”

Nell shook her head, bemused, as the door swung shut.  If Helga and Lizard were in cahoots with the little people of Witch Central, the world might never be the same again.

-o0o-

It was a very strange collision of her worlds.  Lauren looked across the table at Moira, sitting in Romano’s front booth in her winter cloak, looking like she’d just dropped in from several centuries past.  And drinking a beverage that most definitely wasn’t tea.

Not that she was complaining—they were being treated like royalty.  Romano adored the old Irish witch, and he’d dipped into his special collection of espresso beans to impress her.

Lauren took a sip from her own cup, not sure she had the self-control to make heaven last much longer.  The rich, dark smell alone was making her neurons giddy.  “I didn’t know you drank coffee.”  Especially at 7 p.m.  That wasn’t very sane, even for a caffeine-addicted realtor.

Green eyes twinkled her direction.  “When in Rome…”

Romano’s roots were in some little village far south of Naples, but that probably didn’t matter overly much to anyone other than the pasta maestro himself.  “Every time I come in here, he tells me about the beautiful orchid you gave him.  It blooms every other week, and he loves it like a grandchild.”  The man had plenty of those, too.  And anyone who didn’t want to hear about them or his beloved orchids needed to go satisfy their noodle cravings somewhere else.

Few did.  The linguine was worth it—and Romano never forgot a face or a name or a story. 

“Ginia did most of the work with the orchid.”  Moira smiled, looking around the crowded, homey restaurant, conversation bubbling under cheerful holiday music.  “And anyone who can build a place of community like this is most welcome to whatever small gifts I can provide.”

It was a place of magic.  Lauren loved to sit in one of Romano’s booths and watch bustling, sophisticated Berkeley residents walk in the door.  Unsuspecting newbies.  Usually he left them alone long enough for their noodles to arrive.  And then he’d take a tour of the floor, shoving tablets and phones into bags and solo diners over to crowded tables.  Liberally sprinkled with Parmesan cheese and enough kindness that no one managed to mind for long.

Change out the Parmesan cheese for tea, and it wasn’t hard to understand why he’d bonded with an old Irish granny.

And one realtor knew better than to sit down innocently at a table with either of them.  She sent a casual look Moira’s direction, trying to judge whether they’d hit the talking part of their dinner just yet. 

“You know what I’m here about.”  Competent hands split one of the still-warm rolls and offered up half of the yeasty goodness.  “But I’d have come just for a chance to sit here with you and drink in what’s offered in this marvelous place.”

Lauren was pretty sure they weren’t talking about the espresso anymore.  And she knew a little something about soaking in the ambience.  “I’m glad you came to visit.  Lizard will be sad she missed you.”  As sad as her associate got these days, anyhow.

Moira’s eyes crinkled.  “How do things go for our wee poet and her man?”

Not the couple they were here to talk about, but it was a worthy detour.  “If you could bottle the happy buzz of those two, you’d make a fortune.”

“Aye.”  A pleased and knowing smile crossed the old witch’s face.  “He finally got what he wanted, and she got what she’d barely dared to dream of.  Either of those can make a soul buzz in lovely fashion.”

It was all of that and more.  “He came by the office yesterday.  She was busy with a client, so he just sat and watched her in the conference room.”  With a look on his face that had left Lauren’s heart fluttering stupidly.

“I imagine it’s much the same as the way a certain Sullivan looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”  Moira’s mind spiked with mischief.  “In my day, we’d have been expecting babies from the lot of you by spring.”

It was impossible not to laugh.  “That would wreak havoc with our office’s busy season.”

“Ah, you’d manage.  You’d slide the babe into one of those fancy slings and do what women have always done.”  An old hand patted hers.  “But not to worry.  I know that’s not the dream of your heart just yet.”

Something that felt terribly selfish right about now.  Lauren sobered, feeling the reason for Moira’s visit land on the table between them.  “It seems like dreaming and wishing isn’t always enough.”

“No, it isn’t.”  Sadness slid into wise eyes.  “And it’s a journey hard to wish on anyone, but it does seem a particularly harsh and unfair thing when it’s someone we love.”

Love wasn’t the half of it.  “She’s my sister.”  Lauren looked down, daring to say the one thing she hadn’t been able to get out with anyone else.  “I wonder sometimes if  it might not be her that’s supposed to have this baby.  Maybe it’s me.” 

-o0o-

Moira felt the snap of anger.  Not at the woman sitting at the table with her, but at the single moment of vision that was tying so very many of the people she loved up in knots.

Seven decades of learning to trust, and still, she wanted to shake her fist at the universe.

There were, however, more important tasks to attend to.  And this one was clearly long overdue.  She reached out for Lauren’s hands.  “Dreams aren’t exchangeable, sweet girl.  And you do Nat no service by wishing you could do this for her.”

Brown eyes looked up, flashing stubbornness.  “We’ve all assumed the little boy in the vision looks like Jamie.  Maybe he looks like Devin.”

There were times to let people wander the wilderness by themselves.  And times for a wily old matriarch to pound a big signpost into the dirt.  Moira reached for her cudgel, post at the ready.  “I’ve no doubt that when you and Devin decide to have babies, they will be truly lovely, and they might well have brown curls and dancing eyes and flashing smiles.”  She would bet her life on it—the Sullivan genes ran straight and true.  “But you’ve felt what Jamie and Nat saw more strongly than most.”

Lauren shrugged, still resisting.  “I’m a mind witch.  Comes with the territory.”

And a very good friend.  Which wasn’t doing her objectivity any favors just now.  “Then use that, my dear, not your eyes.  You’ve felt Jamie’s mind when he looks at Kenna.”

Lauren nodded, puzzled.

“And when he looks at Aervyn, who he loves very much, just as he would a child of yours.”  She paused, a matriarch well experienced with the power of good timing.

And watched the woman across the table put together the rest.  “It still feels different.”   The realtor sighed.  “They believe the small boy is theirs.”

“Aye.”  The Sullivans loved easily and well—but the love of a parent for their child was unmistakable.  Moira leaned in, stepping her heaviest weight onto the scales last.  “And they’ve believed that from the very first, haven’t they?  From the first day they set eyes on each other as strangers.”

Lauren had been there.  She would know.

“Yes.”  A quiet rasp slid out over a throat tight with tears.  “They were willing to believe, even then.  He was theirs.”

Aye.  They’d opened their hearts to each other and to the impossible.  And that was why this was hurting so many people so deeply.  Love like that had earned a happy ending a thousand times over.

The matriarch moved aside, and a sentimental old witch took her place.  She reached out to grip Lauren’s hands.  “I came here to tell you to watch over your friend.  Her soul shakes right now.”

Brown eyes said they already knew.

Moira nodded.  “I’ll tell you this instead.”  Even matriarchs needed a place to let the wishes of their heart tumble out sometimes.  She reached into her bag and pulled out her knitting.  Bright red yarn, two balls of it.  Running up to two lumpy shapes on her needles.

Lauren frowned.  “What are those?”

Defiance.  Hope.  An old witch’s answer to the interminable waiting.  “Mittens.”  Just the size for a small boy.

Chapter 11