An Unlikely Witch (28 page)

The one who listened was exhausted.  The orb could feel her sleeping presence curled up nearby, oblivious to the noonday sun out the windows.  Peaceful, finally.  For the last fourteen hours, she’d been at war.

Even the forces were impressed.  The one who listened was a very fine general.

The orb had no idea what she had been doing.  Only that she had spoken with ferocious authority and calm reason, and punched out with her mind often enough to shake it out of sleep into the wee hours of the night.

Others had come and gone, but the general had never wavered.

But somewhere in the wee hours, she’d dropped a kiss on the flustered orb’s smooth surface.  Thanked it for the message it had tried to send.  That they had to let go of the little boy to help him arrive.

She gave the orb more credit than it deserved.  It had only known that the boy needed to fade.  It had not understood why.

And now she slept. 

The orb, feeling somewhat protective, had stayed awake.  Kept its eyes on the shimmering thread that had always been the small, laughing boy.   Every time the one who listened had spoken with her general’s voice, that thread had grown nearer to the others.

The orb stood watch.  Waiting for it to arrive.  A concept of silly, human time.

It felt good.

The thread gave a small quiver, and the orb paid closer attention.  Inconsequential, perhaps.

And then, ever so slowly, it moved.

Feeling, for just a moment, some of its long-lost grandeur, the orb collected itself.  An announcement such as this one deserved a certain amount of preparation.

Or not.

Humans were creatures immersed in the flow of time.  Hours mattered.  Minutes mattered.

The forces muttered. 
NOT NECESSARY.  THEY WILL KNOW SOON ENOUGH.

Once, not long ago, the orb would have agreed.

But the one who listened—she had taught the orb the value of timing.  And she had listened to the messages, even when they had caused her heart to fill with shards of glass.

This message would not do that.

The orb let its surfaces shimmer.  A dance, not quite of this world.  A hum, calling to the one who listened.  She awoke, cautious.

The orb paused only long enough to make sure she saw its glow.  Once upon a time, it would have used fancy words, ones proclaiming glad tidings and great joy.  ’Twas the season for such things.

Instead, it let the shimmering ebb, and floated an image to the surface.

And a single word. 
Go.

-o0o-

Lauren barely noticed her husband’s wild driving, busy as she was replying to texts from the entire planet.  Lizard, manning the office, had called about thirty seconds after the orb had sent their small cottage into uproar.

The tiny, feisty poet realtor had hammered the final nail in the deal of the century.  Something about a police chief who owed her a favor.

There were a lot of stunning gifts landing in Witch Central this holiday season.  Lots of hearts filled with gladness and embarrassed, happy stuttering and shy wonder.

But this one… 

Lauren texted faster—there were a lot of people who needed to see this.  A lot of people who had been up all night working to make it happen.  And they had to figure out how to do it without terrifying the little boy about to be at the epicenter of joy.

And then the car stopped, and Dev reached for her hands.  Stopping the rush.  Stopping the motion.  Asking her, with only the look in his eyes, to simply feel.

It wasn’t hard.  Not when you were connected with a mind that flowed as deeply as Devin Sullivan’s.  In the shelter of the emotional ocean that was the man she loved, Lauren let go.  Let the fear that had been chained around her heart for weeks slide into the waters. 

And as she watched it melt away, she was finally able to name it.  “I thought this might be the one thing that could break Nat.”  That could irrevocably alter the amazing spirit who was her best friend.

“Yeah.”  Devin breathed out, one monumental gust of relief.  “It might have.  And she wouldn’t have broken alone.”

Jamie.

And then more.  When one Sullivan broke, they all cracked.

“I hear Benny’s a spitfire.”  Dev grinned, chasing away more of the shadows.  “Nell said he climbed over the fence at his last foster home and let the neighbor’s dogs out to play.”

Nell had been tasked with gathering background on the little boy so they could figure out how best to welcome him.  Lauren snorted.  “What’s that, about a two on the Sullivan scale of trouble?” 

“Only if the neighbors owned a boarding kennel.”  Her husband leaned back against his seat and winked.  “How long before you think they’ll let us babysit?”

About two minutes after Benny was ready.  Lauren looked out her window as someone walked by and waved exuberantly.  “Come on.  Let’s go do something this family is really, really bad at.”

Dev’s eyebrows shot up into his hair.  “What’s that?”

Lauren leaned over and kissed his wonderful, handsome face.  “Stand quietly and make as little noise as possible.”

-o0o-

It was a time of day they loved, lying together on their bed as Kenna woke up from her nap, cuddly and sweet and wedged between them.

Extra sweet on this, the last day before she turned two.

And Nat was well aware that her husband’s head was somewhere else, even as he floated the tiny magic lights Kenna liked to play with when she first woke up.

Nat tilted her head, studying him.  Sullivans did many things well, but waiting wasn’t one of them.  “It will happen.  Kate seemed really positive.”  And hadn’t returned their calls all morning.

“It’s really quiet out there,” said Jamie, frowning.

Huh?  “Out where?”

“On the street.  I usually catch stray thoughts as people walk by.  It’s lunchtime—it shouldn’t be that quiet.”

Somewhere, this conversation had taken a right turn into crazy.  “We’ve had some pretty big days.  Maybe your magic’s just tired.”  Along with everything else.  They were emotionally spent.  After their roller coaster with Kate, they’d crawled into their cozy cave of home and hadn’t come out.

“Something’s up.”  Jamie reached down and scooped up a sleepy Kenna.

Nat had no idea what he was talking about, but she wasn’t about to stay alone in the bed while he went to find out.  She padded down the hallway after her husband and daughter, trying to hear whatever had tweaked his Spidey senses.

He stopped moving three feet from the front hall.  And then inhaled, one sharp, choked gasp, and reached back to pull her forward.

She looked up at him, bewildered.

“Open the door, love.”  His words rasped out.  “Open the door.”

Time slowed, in that crazy, wild way it did when life changed forever.

Nat reached for the doorknob, heart beating like a jackhammer.  And opened it to find Kate standing on their porch.

With Benny in her arms. 

And behind her, the entirety of Witch Central.  Holding candles.  Smiling.  And humming very quietly to the notes of pure magic coming from Shay’s flute.

We had to be here,
sent Lauren gently. 
But we’re trying very hard not to scare him.  I’m blocking everything I can. 
Her mindvoice cracked. 
Oh, Nat.  He’s so beautiful.

Nat’s mind had disappeared down some black hole.  She could only stare at the child who wasn’t supposed to be here yet.

Kate cleared her throat.  And glanced over at Lauren and Lizard, who stood, tea lights on their palms and tears streaming down their cheeks.  “You have some very persuasive friends.  I’ve been notified that you have been approved as emergency foster parents.  I’ll need to come by at least once a week for a home visit, and I’m sure there’s a mountain of paperwork somewhere with your name on it, but we should be able to bend the rules enough to keep him here until the adoption can be finalized.”

Nat heard not a word of it.  She only understood the essence.

Benny was theirs.

And he looked so small and scared.

Very slowly, Nat stepped closer, eyes only for the child who had lived in her heart for three and a half years.  Reminding herself that he knew about none of that.  For him, this was the very first day.  “Hello, sweet boy.  My name is Nat.  I’m really glad to meet you.”

It took a while, but Benny nodded slowly.  And snuggled tighter into the woman who held him.

Kate moved to hand him over.  Nat shook her head mutely.  Not yet.   He was so small—and he’d had so few choices in this life.  Slowly, she lowered down to the creaky old boards of the porch, crossing her legs and motioning for the social worker to put Benny down.

And then she sank into her breath and the big, scared brown eyes of the small boy who was clinging to the leg of the person he knew best.  Nat kept breathing.  The only moment that mattered was this one. 

She waited until his chest rose and fell with hers, and his eyes looked a little less scared.  And then she smiled and let her heart peek out, just a little.  “Do you like cuddles?  I was hoping you might like to come sit in my lap for a while.  I have a place here that’s just the right size for you.”

A hundred candles flickered—and not a soul moved.

And then one small, scared boy held out his hand and the world moved again.

Carefully, Nat gathered him up, tucking him in to the womb of her lap.  He curled in, watching the quiet vigil of light.

Jamie sat down beside them, Kenna in his lap, her eyes wide and curious. 
I explained,
he sent, voice soft and awed. 
She seems to think that he’s her birthday present.

Nat felt quiet laughter shake her ribs.

He was that, too.

-o0o-

Moira clutched Ginia’s hand, an anchor in the swirling, heady emotion.  The year’s longest night stormed over the horizon—and not a soul gathered in this moment saw anything but light.

Ginia swayed, quietly humming to her sister’s ethereal notes played on the old and battered flute that had been Edric’s gift.  There was a story there.  Moira was quite sure she’d hear it soon enough.

The healers had been cloistered with Sophie in her herbals room preparing materials for the Solstice circles when the message had gone out.  And like witches throughout the ages, they had dropped everything to be present at a time of import.

Ginia squeezed tighter, her face shimmering with elation.  “He came.  He’s really here.”

Yes.  And the realtor witches who had pulled that off were about to discover what it meant to be Witch Central’s heroes.  Sometimes, timing was everything.

Moira hugged the girl in her arms and let her eyes drift to take in the magic that was this very special audience.

Mia, done with her candle distributing duties, cuddled under a blanket with her uncle Matt and Téo, who had arrived wearing shorts and stethoscopes and goose bumps.  Molly, ground-zero facilitator of this most special of holiday gifts, sat tucked under Téo’s other arm, an enormous grin on her face.

Retha and Michael Sullivan stood behind them in their Costa Rican finery, flanking Molly’s mom, not feeling the cold at all.  It wasn’t the first time they’d become grandparents, but some things just never lost their wonder.  Michael held a small shovel and a bucket in his hands.   Gifts from a gardener to his newest grandson, who reportedly loved to dig.

Moira touched the two small red mittens under her cloak.  So many had prepared treasures these past hours, trying to will Benny home faster.

The social worker who had arrived with the boy had melted back into the crowd—and stopped, unable to leave Witch Central’s gravitational orbit.  Someone had equipped her with a tea light.  And anyone who doubted the miracle taking place on this California lawn had only to look at her eyes.

Moira had deep respect for the people who battled to do good on the front lines of indifference and worse.  It was painful work, and ground hard fought for could so easily be stolen away.

Not on this day.  And the tea light reflected in two eyes that knew it—and rejoiced.

Moira squeezed Ginia’s shoulders and walked over to the social worker’s side.  “He’ll be loved here.”

“I’m supposed—” the woman’s voice hitched.  “I’m supposed to say something right now about all the hoops still left to jump through, and that this placement is only temporary.”

“Ah.”  An old witch settled a companionable arm around a stranger’s shoulders.  “Well, I’d be Irish.  And we’re not much good at doing what we’re supposed to.”

The social worker laughed quietly.  “In that case, I’ll just say that when I signed on for this job thirty years ago, I thought there would be lots of moments like this.”

Moira was very sure there weren’t enough.  “It takes great courage to do the work you do.”

The smile from the stranger at her side was a thing of outrageous beauty.  “Not today, it doesn’t.”

The throngs around them had begun to move slowly.  Moira squinted, trying to make out the reason for the movement.  And felt Lauren’s gentle mindtouch.  Guiding them, ever so slowly, in a silent river of light.  One that would let everyone pass in front of the new family cuddled up on their porch.

The tiny remnants of Moira’s water magic utterly approved. 

The social worker paused, an island in the slow-moving flow.  “I’d best be going now.”

Moira’s arm didn’t budge an inch.  “Stay.  We’ve a wee bit of a Solstice dinner happening in a while, and I’ll bet you haven’t eaten half the day.”  She nudged her new charge back into the river’s embrace.  “I’m Moira, and that wee boy you brought will be calling me Gran.”

“I’m Kate.”  The woman moved her feet and began to chuckle.  “You’re very good at this, aren’t you?”

Moira put on her best innocent look.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kate looked around.  “He’s a very lucky boy to be part of this.  Anyone would be lucky to be part of this.”