Witches Under Way (10 page)

He was several steps ahead of her again.  “And what do you think the reason is?”

“That’s the right question.”  Melvin shrugged.  “There are a number of possible answers, and I suspect figuring out which one fits best will bring you a good deal closer to solving Lizard.”

Jennie sighed.  He always managed to leave her with a mystery.

~ ~ ~

Lauren frowned as Lizard angled toward the street heading to the office.  “No chance, girl.  I’m under strict instructions to take you home.”  And no one in their right mind would cross Ginia today—not while she still had more of that green goo in her bag. 

“I’ll go home right after I take care of a couple of things.”  Lizard patted her belly.  “I have lots of cookies in me, and I have stuff to do.”

“Nothing that can’t wait until you sleep twelve hours.” 

She felt Lizard’s mind rallying for a fight.  “I can’t.  I promised a client I’d write up an offer for him.”

Lauren felt her eyebrows winging up.  “Why is this the first time I’ve heard of it?  Which client?”

“He just came in this morning.”  Lizard scowled.  “I didn’t have a chance to talk with you about it yet.  He wants to do a cash offer, and I have to look up how to do that.  I was going to send you the paperwork after I finished so you could check it for me.”

Time to back up three steps.  “Wait.  You have a client who walked in the door this morning, cash in hand, and you’ve already found him a place?”

“Yeah.”  Lizard had neatly steered them toward the office.  “Good thing, too—I have an essay to write toni—“  She backpedaled when Lauren glared.  “I mean, after I have a nice, long nap.”

Lauren grabbed her shoulders, stopping them both in the middle of the sidewalk.  “You sold your first house?”

Lizard grinned.  “Yeah.  I think, anyhow.  So long as he has real money and isn’t just making it up.”

“You’d have picked up on that.”  Her assistant had a lifetime of experience with creeps.  Lauren grabbed her elbow.  “Okay, change of plans.  I’ll help you with the cash-offer clause in the paperwork.  Then we’ll go celebrate.”  And talk about a few time-management skills.

Lizard was already resisting.  “I don’t have time to celebrate.”

Lauren added mind-power weight and the image of green goo to her words.  “Yes, you do.”  She pulled open the office door.  “So, tell me about this client.”

“He’s a guy.  Young.  Wants a family neighborhood.  He liked the townhouse around the corner.”

It was a pretty typical Lizard rundown.  And none of it explained the edge of unease in Lizard’s mind.  “Did you show him anything else?”

“Nope.  He fell in love.”  Lizard shrugged.  “I tried to show him at least a couple other things, but he said he’s a guy who makes up his mind quickly.  I figure you don’t argue with a client who has buttloads of cash.”

Sometimes it was hard to believe her assistant had an SAT-busting vocabulary.  Lauren didn’t bother to hide her grin.  “We try to avoid phrasing it exactly that way around here.”

“He’s my age and he had a no-limit budget.”  Lizard grinned.  “What exactly do we call that around here?”

“It doesn’t come up a whole lot.”  Lauren laughed and sat down at her desk.  “If you pull up a contract, I’ll show you the cash-offer stuff.  So what else did you learn about your client?”

“He likes grass, but not mowing, he talks to little kids, and he eats bacon for breakfast.”  Lizard typed as she spoke.  “And I think he wants to buy a skateboard.”

Which was all interesting, but still not explaining the really odd vibe coming from Lizard’s mind.  It didn’t take a witch to put the pieces together.  “Is he cute?”

“Yup.”  Lizard hit the print button.  “The little old lady next door is already trying to find him a wife.”

Lauren frowned.  “He’s young, rich, cute, and you’re going to leave him to the little old lady?”

It took a moment for her question to sink in.  Lizard looked up, her cheeks slightly pink.  “He’s totally not my type.”  Then she plunked papers down on the desk in front of Lauren.  “Okay, show me this stuff so I can go make us three percent of buttloads of money.”

A smart negotiator knew when to retreat.  But no way was this over yet.  First she’d get some Romano’s linguine into her assistant and send her to bed.  And then she’d start trying to figure out why Lizard was so sure she wasn’t the cute rich guy’s type.  Because
her
mind was plenty interested—and utterly convinced
his
could never be.

~ ~ ~

Elsie had assumed Helga would want to go home and rest after her adventurous afternoon.  Nothing could have been further from the truth.  Helga was practically dragging her into Knit a Spell, Marion hot on their heels. 

“I was a bit of a sensation, if I do say so myself,” Helga said, chortling happily.  “And Marion looked rather fierce.”

“Hmmph.”  The twinkle in Marion’s eye didn’t match her gruffness.  “That small boy almost got one of my best bamboo circular needles wet.”

Jodi giggled, meeting them at the door.  “Serves you right for taking weapons to a water fight.”  She bounced her little guy.  “You don’t listen to any of these silly ladies, sweet boy.”

“I learned a secret, though.”  Helga cast her eyes around the shop and whispered conspiratorially to Jodi.  “I think Miss Elsie here is a witch, just like Caro.”

Elsie blushed fifteen shades of pink.  Somehow, in her great strategic plan, she’d managed to forget that her knitting ladies weren’t actually part of Witch Central.  She snuck a look at Helga, wondering how on earth she was going to do damage control.  Aervyn had ported, for heaven’s sake. 

“Don’t you worry,” Marion said, poking her with a needle.  “We know how to keep secrets.  Especially if we get to come the next time you’re all having that much fun.”

Elsie stared at Jodi, wondering how the cat had been let so far out of the bag. 

Jodi just rolled her eyes.  “I can keep a secret too, and this little dude can’t talk yet.”  She grinned.  “Besides, my sister’s husband’s cousin’s uncle is a witch.  He made pretty little fireballs once for Sammy to play with.  Said he couldn’t help himself with the babies.”

Helga started winding a new ball of yarn.  “So what kind of magic can you do, Elsie girl?  Can you make me young and beautiful again?  And watch out, you’re dropping stitches all over the place.”

Elsie looked down at her lap, feeling like she’d landed on an alien planet.  One where nice ladies in the knitting shop casually discussed magic.

Marion lifted her knitting out of her hands.  “You’ve got more dropped stitches than right ones, child.  Have we taught you nothing?”  Her competent hands started backtracking, fixing the mess Elsie’s jumpy fingers had created.

She suddenly felt like she could have turned herself into a toad and they would have just watched with interest and kept knitting.  “Well, I have a little earth magic.  Sometimes I can make a flower bloom or get a small plant to grow a bit faster.”

Jodi eyed the one straggly plant on Caro’s checkout counter.  “You could start with that poor thing.  Caro doesn’t exactly have a green thumb.”

Fire witches usually didn’t.  Elsie looked at the sad little plant.  “I think maybe it just needs water.”

“Doesn’t take a witch to figure that out, dear.”  Helga rocked, chuckling.  “What else can you do?”

Elsie took a deep breath and prayed this wouldn’t come back to haunt her.  With careful control, she produced a small fireglobe on her palm and floated it out over Sammy’s face.  As he reached for it, babbling in delight, she danced it gently just out of his reach. 

“Is it hot?” Jodi asked in wonder and a little worry.

“No, just warm.”  Elsie giggled as Sammy tried to clap the ball between his hands.  “He’s fast!”

Jodi snickered.  “Tell me about it.  I’m toast once he actually learns to sit up and move around.”

It was taking every ounce of Elsie’s skill to keep the fireglobe out of Sammy’s questing fingers.  She’d seen Jamie play this game with an older toddler—it was a lot harder than it looked.

Suddenly a second fireglobe hung in the air beside hers, dancing in time to Sammy’s squeals.  “Let me guess—we’ve been busted.”  Caro grinned at the happy baby.  “Thirty years I’ve managed to own this store without public displays of magic.”

Helga snorted.  “That’s what you think.  Remember that power outage twenty years back?”

“Exactly,” Marion said, stabbing her needles for emphasis.  “You lit candles without a match.  Thought we wouldn’t notice, did you?”

Caro blinked, her fireglobe vanishing.  “Non-witches generally see what they want to see.”

“You just keep telling yourselves that, dearie.”  Helga settled back, chortling again.  “You just keep thinking that.”

Elsie could feel her energy running low.  “Sorry, Sammy.  I have to turn this off now.  I’m a tired witch.”  She was prepared for his wail of dismay.  She was totally unprepared for the basketball-sized fireglobe that suddenly appeared over his head.

Jodi’s sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the room.  Even Sammy was silent, staring at the light in astonished awe.  A moment later, the globe disappeared.

“Ah, then,” said Caro softly.  “We have a baby fire witch, do we?” 

The fear on Jodi’s face as she cuddled her baby razored Elsie’s soul.  She ached to protect the tiny boy from a mother who didn’t want a child who could make fire.

“I should have guessed—he always sleeps better in something knit.”  Caro leaned forward and gently touched Jodi’s hand.  “Don’t be afraid.  We’ve got plenty of people who can teach him everything he needs to know.”

Jodi looked up, eyes hesitant.  “Is it dangerous?  Could he hurt himself?”

“Not at the moment.”  Caro stroked the cheek of a very sleepy Sammy.  “That little bit of light totally tuckered him out.  He hasn’t got enough power to do more than that yet.”

“Yet?”  His mother’s eyes were still deeply worried.

“Most fire babes emerge with their power on full blast.”  Caro chuckled as Sammy gave a huge yawn.  “We’ll keep a good eye on him, but most likely, he’ll just be able to keep his hands warm and amuse small children.”

“Okay, then.”  Jody rocked her baby boy gently as his eyes closed.  “I guess there’s a reason we wandered into this knitting shop before you were born, sweet boy.”  She looked up, all traces of fear gone.  “Tell me what I need to do for him.”

Caro smiled in approval.  “Bring him by for lots of visits.  Feed his affection for knitted things.  He’ll always feel happiest with a knit sweater or a blankie.”

Jodi laughed.  “I bet you say that to all your customers.”

“Maybe.”  Caro winked.  “But this time, it’s true.”

Helga picked up a ball of yarn off the table.  “Well then, let’s get started, shall we?  Dibs on making him a stripy sweater.”

Elsie’s hands shook more stitches off her needles, her heart a tangled mess. Jodi had traveled from fear to acceptance in less than a minute.  Sammy was a very lucky little boy.  And it was suddenly very clear to Elsie that she’d been waiting thirty years for her own mother to make that same trip.

~ ~ ~

Lizard laid her head on one end of their couch and watched her roommate’s clicking needles.  “You’re getting faster.”

“Practice.”  Elsie looked up and frowned.  “You should go to bed.”

Her bed sounded better than chocolate and a million dollars.  “Can’t.  Essay to write, maps to make.”

“If you pass out again, Ginia’s going to make you drink more of that green goo.”

Lizard shivered.  That stuff had been totally vile.  “I’ll sleep, okay?  I just have stuff to do first.”

Elsie turned her knitting around.  “Do you know there are studies that show productivity increases up to fifty percent if you’re well rested?”

Welcome back, stick-butt Elsie.  Lizard stuck out her tongue.  “I hear it’s true if you’re having great sex, too.”

“I don’t believe they’ve done any scientific studies on that.”  The voice never changed, but Elsie’s mind was actually amused.  Dang.  If her roommate was learning to crack a joke, the world must be ending. 

Elsie set down her knitting.  “Can I offer some advice?  I’ve always been pretty good at using my time efficiently.”

She was actually considering advice from stick-butt girl.  Yup.  World definitely ending.  Lizard lifted one eye open.  “Okay, but keep it simple.  I’m not used to having this problem.”  She’d spent the last ten years in desperate search of something to do.

“Well, first you need to prioritize.”  Elsie tilted her head.  “But honestly, I think you’re doing okay with that, except for the sleeping and eating parts.”  She paused a moment.  “I think what I want to tell you is that you don’t have to do everything perfectly.”

That was the kind of advice stick-butt girl would only give if she was suffering from a concussion.  Lizard struggled to sit up.  “That sounds weird coming from you.”

Elsie laughed quietly.  “Yes, it does.  And I probably need to take my own advice, but… it’s like setting the table.”

God, this conversation was hurting her head.  “What do knives and forks have to do with this?”

“Well, you can set the table with nice china and three kinds of forks and cloth napkins, right?”

Not in her universe.  “I’m pretty much a plate, fork, and mug girl, myself.”

“Exactly.”  Elsie beamed.  “So that could be good enough.  Or if you wanted things to be a little special, maybe use a nice plate or a candle—a small effort, but not as much as the nice china and cloth napkins.”

It was beginning to make an odd kind of sense.  “So good enough, but not perfect.  Kind of like your muffins.”

Elsie blushed.  “Sorry, I know those weren’t very good.”

“Nah, they were fine.  Pretty good for a first attempt.”  She’d have been willing to eat cardboard if it kept her brain moving—and that was Elsie’s whole point.  “You’re saying I should be a little more half-assed about some things.”

Elsie’s lips twitched.  “That’s one way to put it.  Be competent—but you don’t have to be a genius at everything.”  She knit a few stitches, and then laughed gently.  “And I really do need to take my own advice.”

Maybe Elsie hadn’t been the world’s worst therapist.  Lizard’s yawn nearly split her ribcage.  And maybe a nap before tackling her essay.  “You want biscuits for breakfast tomorrow?”