Witches Under Way (15 page)

“It was invitation you offered.”  Melvin’s voice was sterner now, enough so that it surprised her.  “You invited Elsie into freedom.”

She felt the tears spill, hearing her own words said back to her with absolute faith.  “Did I do it too soon?”

“Yes.”

His answer stabbed at her heart.  Nat could feel her breath shaking deep in her chest.  “How do I fix it?”

“You trust what you’ve started.”  Melvin reached for her hand.  “You’re asking the wrong question, my love.  You don’t need me to tell you it was too soon for Elsie to step easily into freedom.  You knew that before you sent her away, even if you sit here now doubting your own heart.”

She could feel breath moving from his strong fingers into her shaking ones.  “What’s the right question?”

He chuckled.  “That’s a try worthy of Jennie, my dear, but I’ve great faith in your ability to figure it out for yourself.”

Nat’s laughter shook her ribs even as tears threatened.  “I’ve gotten myself stuck, have I?”

“Not for long.”  Melvin squeezed her hand again.  “Even my wonderful Jennie doesn’t have your bravery.  You sit up here with me a while longer and see if the right question doesn’t soak in, along with this wonderful sunlight.”

He was so very peaceful—contagiously so.  With the ease of long practice, Nat closed her eyes and followed her breath into meditation.  In with the sunlight, out with the doubt hiding in dark corners.  In with the warm breezes, and out with cold fear.

When she bubbled up out of her heart, back onto her rock on the ridge trail, Nat knew two things.  She knew the right question.  And she knew she sat by the grandfather of her heart.

When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t at all surprised to find Melvin’s face turned toward hers.  “Found it, did you?”

She nodded, suffused with serene rightness.  “I sent her away unready, and I knew it.  The right question is ‘why?’”

His approval filled cracks she hadn’t known existed.  “That’s exactly right.  And I expect you found the answer easily enough, as well.”

She had.

He laid a hand on her cheek.  “It will still be hard for you, watching what comes next.  But those who walk with the most freedom in life are the ones who have learned to take a tumble.  Your heart was exactly right.  Elsie isn’t yet ready to be free—but she’s ready to try.  And she’s ready to fall.”

Nat moved in behind his chair, reached up for the gift of sun, and then bent over to pour love and light on his shoulders.  She snuggled her head in beside his, cherishing his wisdom.  “Thank you.”

“It was a lovely day to come sit in the sun.”  He smiled.  “You have an uncommonly wise heart, my sweet Natalia—and sometimes that can be lonely.”

She didn’t have to ask how he knew.  It was why he’d come.

~ ~ ~

––––––––––––––

To:
[email protected]

From: Vero Liantro <
[email protected]
>

Subject: Melvin is doing his magic again.

––––––––––––––

Dearest Jennie,

Melvin has returned from a chat with the lovely Nat.  He said to tell you she will be fine now.  And that it is time for the rest of us to let go of our fears that she has perhaps pushed Elsie a little too hard.  She has, as she meant to, and my darling accountant is in complete agreement with her.

I am not foolish enough to disagree with that much wisdom in one corner.

And our Elsie sang some new notes today, some edges of emotion, some depth that I have not heard from her before.  My soul whispers that she is preparing to feel more deeply.  And anything that has encouraged those notes can only be right.

We’ve heard little of Lizard today.  With a witch, that’s usually a sign that tomorrow will prove eventful.

Good luck, and blessed be,

Vero

Chapter 11

Jennie snuck quietly into Berkeley College’s classic poetry appreciation seminar and took a seat in the back row.  She glanced around for her tattooed fairy, hoping she’d picked the right dead-poets class.  The last place she expected to spot Lizard was smack in the middle of the front row—scowling and taking copious notes.

Good morning.
 Jennie was surprised when her student jumped—it was usually fairly difficult to sneak up on a mind witch. 
Care to grab a coffee with me after class?

Can’t.
 Lizard was still scribbling. 
The professor wants to talk to me about my essay.  Probably thinks I got my thematic emotional context all wrong or something.

Jennie opted not to ask exactly what “thematic emotional context” might be. 
Not a problem—I’ll wait.

Why?

I want to see how your assignment’s going. 

Alarm flared in Lizard’s mind. 
What assignment?  Crap, did I forget to do something I was supposed to do?

Jennie disconnected from the ride through Lizard’s mental Rolodex and tried to offer a quick reminder. 
Breakfast at the diner last week, karaoke photos, figure out what the next picture looks like?

Oh, yeah.
  Mental scowls and more scribbling. 
No idea—I haven’t really had time to think about stuff like that yet.

Jennie grinned, impressed by the mad multitasking. 
That’s why I’m here.  Consider this your gentle reminder to come up with something. 
She jumped as the bell rang—it had been a very long time since she’d voluntarily been in a classroom.

She watched as Lizard flowed against traffic, working her way up to the guy standing at the front of the room.  Curious, Jennie cast out, scanning his outer mind—and smiled.  Whatever was coming up, she was pretty sure it wasn’t a discussion of anything Lizard had done wrong.  The professor’s mind radiated approval and a healthy dose of curiosity.

Deciding regretfully that her ethics didn’t stretch to eavesdropping, Jennie pulled out her camera and captured his curious eyes instead.  Then she turned her lens on Lizard and watched the emotions flowing on that volatile face.  Suspicion.  Worry.  Defiance. 

Professor Guy smiled in welcome and reached out a sheaf of what Jennie assumed was Lizard’s essay.  A bit of small talk, a raised eyebrow, and then he said something that hit Lizard like a small bomb—and followed it with total nuclear annihilation.  Lizard stood, arms hugging her waist, horror on her face, and brain keening in terror.

A pat to a tattooed shoulder and Professor Guy walked away, leaving a completely flattened pupil in his wake.

Jennie scrambled down the steps to the front of the class, eyes glued to her catatonic student.  She knew all too well what a few misplaced words from a professor could do.  And was getting a sharp reminder of the anger that had led her down the path to Melvin’s living room almost three decades ago.  Dammit. 

Huffing a little, she laid a hand on Lizard’s shoulder.  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”  Idiotic question, given the mess rolling off Lizard’s mind.  “What did he say to you?”

“He…”  Lizard’s breath lurched.  “He wants me to take a different class.”

“A different class?” 

“His advanced poetry class.”  Terror clattered through Lizard’s mind.  “It starts next week.”

Jennie shook her head, trying to undo the brain jam.  “Wait a minute.  Isn’t that good news?”  As soon as she said it, she realized that was her second idiotic question in fifteen seconds.

“I can’t take it.”  And every fiber of Lizard’s body clearly believed it.

Jennie pulled her gently down into a seat, rapidly putting the picture together.  “Why not?”

“It’s a third-year class.  I don’t have the prerequisites.  I never even finished high school.  And it’s at the same time as my computer class, so I can’t even go.”

But she wanted to.  Jennie had given her ethics a swift kick sideways and probed deeply enough to be sure.  “You could reschedule your computer seminar.  Heck, you could probably just skip class and take the final.”  Jennie was pretty sure Computers 101 wasn’t the real problem here.  “And you don’t need prerequisites.  You just got a personal invitation.”

“It’s only because he liked some stupid thing I said in my essay.  He doesn’t know I’m a delinquent high-school dropout.”

Jennie’s heart ached—and her eyes blazed.  “You’re right.  He doesn’t know.  He invited the person he does know—the woman who wrote the essay you’re holding in your hands.”  The obviously very good essay.  She tilted Lizard’s chin up.  “Think about what you want the next picture to be.  Think very, very hard.”

And then she walked out, holding the reins of her meddling soul with both hands.  Picture framed—but it was up to Lizard to push the button.

~ ~ ~

Jennie wasn’t at all sure what to expect from her second stop of the morning.  Without her regular hours at Spirit Yoga, Elsie’s life had very little structure to it at the moment, and that made tracking her down for a surprise visit a little difficult.

Ah, well.  If Elsie weren’t home, she could always drop in on Caro.  Or any one of the two dozen other witches who lived within six blocks.

However, judging from the sudden banging in the kitchen, she’d managed to track down her quarry.  Jennie walked down the hall, resisting the temptation to cover her ears.  Clearly Elsie was past any negative effects from her hangover.  Hopefully no one in half a mile was suffering from one either.

When Jennie walked in the kitchen, the first thing she did was look for Aervyn.  Or any other witchling who might possibly be responsible for the unholy mess.

All she found was Elsie, hips jamming to the beat of the racket coming out of her computer, covered in flour and other unidentified food substances from head to toe, and surrounded by an avalanched mountain of pots and pans.  Jennie tiptoed through the disaster on the floor and tried to find the volume buttons on the computer, only to be nearly deafened by the scream when Elsie turned around and discovered she’d been invaded.

Damn.  Clearly Elsie wasn’t used to Witch Central’s open door policy yet.  Jennie rubbed her ears, trying to dull the vibrations.  “Vero’s obviously been teaching you breath control.”  The scream had been worthy of a trained opera singer.

“I’m so sorry.”  Elsie looked like a contrite flour pixie.  “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jennie finally found the mute button.  “That’s probably not a big surprise.  I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You can thumbs down that song.  I gave it a good chance and tried to find its soul, just like Vero suggested, but I don’t think I’m drawn to that one.” 

“Vero suggested that song?”  Jennie could feel her eyebrows fly up.  Vero had wide and eclectic musical tastes, but Jennie was pretty sure none of it extended to tortured cats.

“No.  She told me to pick a few songs at random and see where they led me.”  The timer on the stove started beeping, and Elsie spun around, looking a little frantic.  “Do you happen to see an oven mitt around here anywhere?  I might have lost it.”

Jennie tried very hard not to laugh.  “I don’t suppose you know what color it is?”

Elsie giggled, grabbing a towel.  “The flour got away from me a little.  The recipe neglected to mention that you should slow down the mixer before you pour in the dry ingredients.”

Even Jennie’s rudimentary culinary knowledge could work out what happened if you mixed dry flour and a high-speed mixer.  “Fire magic’s not much use for cleaning spells, but I could probably borrow a witchling to help, especially if you have cake to offer.”

Then she spied the pan coming out of the oven.  Oops.  Aervyn had better bring his own cake.

Jennie’s amusement fled when she caught the sad helplessness on Elsie’s face.  It matched the look on her grandson Leo’s face when his beloved purple birthday balloon had floated away in the sky.  She reached out to touch Elsie’s shoulder.  “Why were you baking a cake, sweetheart?”

“For Helga.”  Elsie shrugged, wrapping her arms around her waist in an uncanny imitation of her roommate standing in front of Professor Guy.  “It’s her birthday today.  It’s okay—I’m sure Caro will bake her a cake.”

Jennie felt her pendant vibrating.  And ignored it, rejoicing, as a searing empathy welled in her heart.  Lizard had been
hers
from the moment they’d met, all defiantly lovable five feet of her—but somehow, she’d never quite been able to feel that same connection with Elsie.  Jennie had no idea why a flour explosion and a miserable excuse for a cake had finally done it, but they had.  She didn’t need pendants, emails, or bat signals in the sky.  Her heart would know the way now.

She closed her eyes in gratitude—and beamed a bat signal of her own to Caro next door. 
Elsie and I will bake Helga’s cake.  Put away whatever gorgeous creation you’ve made.

It was a measure of true friendship that Caro instantly agreed—no questions asked.

Jennie opened her eyes.  “A cake can’t be all that hard.  How about I be your intrepid assistant, and we give it another try?”

Elsie looked askance at the cake in her hands.  “Are you a good baker?  I think I need more than an assistant.”