Witches in Flight (26 page)

Elsie had heard enough stories of Jodi’s sexy electrician
husband to know that wasn’t true, but saying so would be heading
off-script.
 
“He owns a jazz bar
downtown.
 
We danced and drank
raspberry Cosmos.”
 
She paused a beat,
enjoying the strange new pleasure of withholding tantalizing information.
 
“And I tried to keep my fingers out of
his curls.”

“Silly girl.”
 
Helga
shook her head and sighed.
 
“Have I
taught you nothing?”

Elsie giggled—Helga was a bit of a hedonist.
 
“I mostly wasn’t successful.”
 
A rather shocking fact for a woman who
used to have excellent self-control.

“Patrick’s got awesome curls.”
 
Jodi looked down at her sleeping babe.
 
“I was hoping Sammy might get them too,
but so far he seems to be going for the Jean Luc Picard look.”

Baby hair was a mystery.
 
Bean had been born with enough for three, and Sammy was still totally
bald.

“Focus, my dears.”
 
Helga waved her knitting needles for emphasis.
 
“Sammy’s adorable, but I want to hear more about this mysterious
Frenchman.
 
Is he a good kisser?”

Elsie was pretty sure even her toes were blushing, but she was
determined to hold her own in this conversation.
 
“I don’t think you’ve told us about Edric’s kisses.”

“You’ve never asked.”
 
The twinkles in Helga’s eyes multiplied.
 
“But I did, so now you get to go first.”

“It’s like being in a dream.”
 
Feeling a bit like a teenage girl at a slumber party, Elsie
tried to find words for how she felt in Anton’s arms.
 
“He’s strong and handsome and pulls me into this place I’ve
never been before.”

“That’s so yummy.”
 
Jodi swooned dramatically.
 
“Does he speak French while you dance?”

Elsie shook her head, still feeling his arms around her back and
his curls under her fingers.
 
“We
don’t talk much at all.”

It took a while for all the sets of eyes watching her to make
their way through Elsie’s dreamy haze.
 
Jodi’s were amused—and a tiny bit envious.
 
Helga’s held applause for living a bold
and daring life.

But Marion’s were strangely concerned.
 
And the glances she exchanged with Caro weren’t part of the
script at all.

~ ~ ~

--------------------------------------

To:
[email protected]

From:
Jennie Adams <
[email protected]
>

Subject:
Love is a mystery.

--------------------------------------

Dear
Vero,

Well, it seems both of my students have an interesting man in
their lives.
 
We have one happy,
singing witch, and one ready to throw a cast-iron pot at the next person who
mentions Josh’s name.

Lizard is probably entitled—we’ve been meddling
unmercifully.
 
Josh has already
been granted honorary membership in the Witch Central clan.
 
Anyone who can survive a dinner at
Jamie’s deserves at least that much.
 
Heck, anyone who can survive being related to Charlie Tosh probably has
all the credentials he needs.

Charlie is one grumpy old man.
 
And yes, he’s being trying to take my picture, so I concede
that I might be slightly cranky at the moment.
 
The man does beautiful work, but he’s a moron while he does
it.
 
Told me to sit in a rocking
chair, for Pete’s sake.

I’m not
that
old.

He does, however, like Lizard—and for that, I will forgive
him a multitude of sins.
 
Perhaps
not the rocking chair, but pretty much anything else.

It’s ironic that Lizard might find Josh easier to handle if he
shared Charlie’s temperament.
 
I’ve
never seen Charlie remotely close to wrapped around anyone’s finger, but our
fairy poet is a hairsbreadth away.
 
She has a talent, when she chooses to use it.

She’s not the only one.
 
Jamie and Charlie both assure me that Josh wasn’t even trying at
dinner—he knows how to sell himself to an audience of many, or just
one.
 
And he isn’t making a major
effort to do either.
 
He has the
skills to storm the gates of Lizard—and he isn’t.

It’s hard for me to admit that someone that young might be that
smart.

Or that supremely gutsy.

The mysterious Anton seems to be taking something of the same
approach with Elsie.
 
Patient
temptation.
 
It rests less easy in
her case, and I’m still not at all sure why.
 
Perhaps because I don’t believe that sexy, bar-owning,
jazz-loving Frenchmen are patient.

Where I come up with these things, I don’t know.

I do know that Charlie Tosh is not at all patient, and is once
again knocking at my door, yelling that he needs to use my darkroom.
 
He only left an hour ago.

He will use my own darkroom to print elderly rocking-chair
photos of me over my cold, dead body.

Off
to yell at a grumpy old man,

Jennie

--------------------------------------

To:
[email protected]

From:
Vero Liantro <
[email protected]
>

Subject:
Re: Love is a mystery.

--------------------------------------

Jennie
dear,

Melvin says you’re being silly if you think Charlie wanted a
portrait of you in a rocker.
 
He
suspects what Charlie chased was the warrior light in your eyes when he
suggested such a thing.

Which makes Charlie no less of a moron—we elderly women
need to stick together—but it probably means he got a most excellent
picture.
 
Melvin and I would like a
copy, if you please.
 
And we are
smart enough to ask for it while there are several hundred miles between us and
your temper.

Some women are most beautiful when they’re furious, and whatever
else his faults, Charlie Tosh knows that.
 
He took the portrait of me that no one else dared, some ten years ago
now—and I suspect my wise husband is right and he’s just done the same
for you.

As for the men leaking into your students’ lives, Melvin says
that you find it hard to believe anyone can be patient.
 
And that patience is not always a
virtue.

I believe the best of Josh.
 
He waits, I think, because he wants all of who Lizard can
be—and she won’t get there if he pushes too hard.
 
In that, he has perhaps a little of
Melvin’s wisdom.
 
I hope Josh
doesn’t have to wait nearly as long as my wonderful husband did.

I want to believe the best of Elsie’s dark and handsome
Frenchman too.
 
He stirs her, and
that is to be welcomed, I think.
 
But he worries far too many witches for me to be entirely easy with his
presence in my brave singer’s life.
 

Less-than-good men can be patient too.

We will see.
 
Elsie
is growing in wondrous ways, and sometimes there are knocks along the
journey.
 
I am trying to trust that
this is unfolding as it needs to.

Walk
in the light,

Vero

~ ~ ~

Jamie walked out of The Pit and contemplated making a run for
it.
 
Josh’s project guys were some
of the best in the business, and Jamie was no stranger to ball pits, karaoke
stages, or people who coded in their sleep.

But something had been niggling at him the entire meeting, and
he was pretty sure it was the churn in the mind of the guy in charge.
 
Josh ran a totally professional ship,
even if some of the sailors wore dreadlocks and did their best work at 2
a.m.
 
But his mind had been crowded
this morning—and most of it had nothing to do with code.

Jamie sighed and leaned against the wall.
 
He’d created at least some of the hole
Josh had fallen into.
 
Time to give
the guy a hand climbing out.

But he didn’t have to like it.
 
“Matchmaker” was not part of his long and convoluted witch
job description, and he’d be a lot happier keeping it that way.

Josh came out the door, said something incomprehensible to the
people still in the room, and pinned Jamie with a quick glance.
 
“Coffee?”

Jamie figured it was a bad sign when he headed for the
stairs.
 
A guy didn’t walk down and
then back up four flights of stairs just to get coffee when there was excellent
stuff on tap in the staff playroom right next to his office.
 
He sighed, slung his computer bag over
a shoulder, and seriously considered porting down the stairs.
 
Something about tangling with young
love was making him feel really old.

Josh was waiting at the bottom, grinning unrepentantly as Jamie
caught up.
 
“No donuts left
upstairs.”

That was possible.
 
Or maybe even likely, given that Danny had pulled an all-nighter.
 
But Jamie was darned sure donuts had
nothing to do with why he was currently headed out into the lonely
streets.
 

Ah, well.
 
If it was
time to talk witch smack, he might as well be the guy carrying the ball.
 
“Lemme know next time.
 
I can always port in an extra box.”

Josh’s stride only hitched a little.
 
“You can really teleport?”

The little boy and the grown-up inside Jamie’s brain had a quick
debate.
 
It didn’t last long.
 
He muttered a quick spell, just loud
enough for his companion to hear, and ported them both a block ahead.
 
And gave the guy with him serious
points when he sensed shock, awe, and rabid curiosity—but not a drop of
fear.
 

“I’m gonna want to do that again,” said Josh slowly.
 
“Probably a lot of times.
 
But first, I have a couple of questions
for you.”

Jamie had already figured that part out.
 
He pointed down the street.
 
Might as well have some caffeine for
the inquisition.
 
“What’s the first
one?”

“How does it change you, having power like that?”

He’d expected a bunch of questions about how power worked.
 
Guy questions.
 
This was not a guy question.
 
Jamie tried to channel his inner
Nat.
 
“Depends how much power you
have, I guess.
 
Those with the most
carry some pretty heavy responsibilities.
 
Most witches have fairly minor talents.
 
They need to be trained, but then it’s like any other
slightly unusual skill.”

“But they’re still part of Witch Central.”

“Yeah.”
 
Jamie tried
to follow the shifts—being a mind witch wasn’t helping a whole lot
here.
 
“There are no prerequisites
for belonging.
 
There are plenty of
people with no magic at all in our midst.”

“Your wife.”
 
It
wasn’t a question.
 
“She’s right at
the center.”

Never underestimate a twenty-two-year-old kid with good eyes and
a big brain.
 
“That’s new—we
only met in February.
 
She lived in
Chicago, taught yoga there.”