Witches Under Way (25 page)

He just raised an eyebrow.  “Sucked, did it?”

No, and that was a big part of the problem.  “Nope.  Kind of cool, actually.  Full of brainiac poetry geeks, but it’s pretty interesting.  Mostly we just talk about what some dude meant by ‘dark fire’ or ‘empty holiness.’”

Freddie eyed her curiously.  “You one of the talkers?”

“Yeah.”  Lizard recited the ‘dark fire’ lines from memory.  “You think that dude’s going up, or coming down?”

“Up.  But I just drive a bus, girlie—I ain’t no poet.  Which way did you say?”

 She grinned.  “Up.  Some of those poetry geeks don’t know enough about dark fire, I guess.”

Freddie shook his head.  “They don’t know enough about down and up, that’s all.  Life’s treated them too good, so they can’t see it yet.”  He studied her eyes in the mirror.  “Is that what’s got you sad today—that they don’t see what you see?”

Lizard sighed—she’d almost managed to forget the really crappy part.  Leaning her head back against the window, she told Freddie about the personal poetry journal, and the deal she’d tried to make with her professor.  “Told him he could see my work, count the lines if he wanted, but he couldn’t read it.”  Iron spiked her heart just thinking about it.  “He said no.  No going halfway in his classes.”

Freddie sat quietly for a long time.  And then he did something he’d never done, in ten years of bus riding.  He stopped the bus—pulled right over to the side of the road, put the lights on, and slowly lifted out of his seat.  One measured step at a time, he walked over to sit by Lizard and closed one huge hand over both of hers.  “Then you have a choice, don’t you?”

She could hardly breathe.  Somehow, this had gotten really important.  Freddie didn’t stop the bus for
anything
.  “I can’t drop the class.  Missed the deadline.”

He shrugged.  “If you really want out, you’ll get out.  You’re good at that—always have been.”

Somehow, that didn’t sound like a compliment.  She met his eyes, needing the one person who had always, always loved her to understand.  “I can’t do it, Freddie. I’m like totally naked in my poetry.”

“Don’t you be talking about naked on my bus.”  His eyes twinkled.  “So put a few clothes on those words of yours.  Figure out how to write it so you can stand to have somebody else read.”

Lizard stared, speechless.  And tried to imagine a poem in clothes.

It didn’t sound impossible. 

“You think I should do it?”

“Don’t matter what I think.”  Freddie patted her hands.  “Matters what you want to do.”

He stood up and walked slowly back to his seat, looking out into traffic.  “But I’m thinking you’ll do it.  And that makes Freddie a happy man.”  He grinned back over his shoulder.  “You mostly write that poetry of yours on my bus.  I think I’ll be getting me a lot of biscuits courtesy of that professor of yours.  You tell him thanks.”

Lizard just rolled her eyes.  And blessed the magic that had dropped her onto Freddie’s bus so many years ago.  He always had the right words.  Always.

She wasn’t the only damn poet on this bus, whatever Freddie thought.

~ ~ ~

Elsie sat on her bed, surrounded by little slips of paper.  It was fun to reorganize them—and informative.  Her “done” pile of silliness was getting impressively large, and a few of the “impossible” ideas were sneaking over into the “maybe” pile.

She was getting braver.

And she’d started to add her own little bits of spontaneous silliness, thanks to one glittery pink bike all decked out in sparkles and flowers and ribbons.  She’d even named her ride.  Gertrude Geronimo.  She had no idea why that was the right name—it didn’t even make sense—but it had slid into her mind and refused to budge.

Elsie picked up a piece of paper stuck under her leg. 
Walk down the street singing at the top of your lungs.
 She started to put it back in the “impossible” pile and then reconsidered.  Gertrude was pretty fast.  Maybe if she did it late at night on a hill, nobody would hear.  She grinned and dropped the paper on top of the “maybe” pile.

Buy a frilly pink princess gown and wear it roller skating.
 That one still qualified as impossible.  Bike riding was hard enough, and at least a bike had brakes.  Maybe she should buy a fancy dress and ride Gertrude, who already had enough pink sparkly stuff to satisfy any princess.

Not that she wanted to be a princess.  But something to match the way she felt when she rode her new bike might be nice.

Elsie looked up at her closet, suddenly assaulted by its complete lack of frivolous fun.  It was all tailored, expensive, and boring.  So completely unlike her gorgeous new wheels.

It was time to go shopping.  She needed a Gertrude Geronimo dress.

~ ~ ~

Jennie drifted out of sleep, a jarring noise interrupting a very lovely dream.  Judging from the angle of the sun, she wasn’t in her bed, and it wasn’t morning.

One eyelid slid halfway up, confirming her suspicions.  She’d fallen asleep on the couch again, the consequences of a long night in the darkroom.  No matter—she and the couch had spent plenty of time in happy entanglement.

The jarring noise came again, and the other eyelid slid up to half mast as well.  Doorbell.  Smart people knew not to wake her up from an afternoon nap. 

Stretching like an old and somewhat cranky cat, Jennie swung her legs to the floor and ambled in the general direction of the front entry, stopping to peer in her coffee mug as she went.  Empty.  That would have to be fixed.

Clutching the mug in her hand, she pulled the door open.  And squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make sense of the apparition on her doorstep.  Two eyes peered out from behind a mountain of shopping bags.  Jennie craned her neck, and then remembered she had magic.  Darned afternoon naps really turned her brain to molasses.  She reached out with a quick mindscan—and discovered pretty much the last person on earth she’d have expected to find behind a haul worthy of Shopaholics Anonymous.  “Elsie?”

“Yes.”  A giggle emerged from behind the bags.  “Sorry, I guess this is a pretty effective disguise.  I could use your help, if you have a few minutes.”

Any help involving those bags was going to take a lot longer than a few minutes, but Jennie was by now insanely curious.  She grabbed some of the more precariously perched loot and opened the door as wide as it would go.  “Come on in.  Want some coffee?”

Elsie made it as far as the living room before her piles avalanched to the floor.  She looked at the covered floor for a minute, mind shocked and more than a little amused.  “I guess I got a bit carried away.”

“That’s not all of it,” said Jennie dryly, holding up the bags she’d claimed at the door.  And decided she’d better offer fair warning.  “For what it’s worth, I’m not much of a shopper.”

“Nor am I.”  Elsie’s automatic response was followed by more giggles.  “Or I wasn’t.  I wanted a dress worthy of Gertrude Geronimo, so I started wondering into all the cute little stores downtown.”  She waved her hand at the littered floor.  “Somehow, that turned into this.”

Jennie didn’t have to ask who Gertrude was.  The magnificently silly bicycle dominated Elsie’s thoughts, along with the adoration of a small child in love with her very first big-girl bike.  “And what did you decide matched the lovely Gertrude?”  She was a little afraid to ask.

Elsie’s mind suddenly grew up a couple of decades.  She eyed the bags softly, gentle amusement on her face.  “About the fourth store, I realized I wasn’t really trying to match Gertrude.  I was trying to match the way I feel when I ride her.”  She spun around slowly.  “And then I realized Elsie Giannotto needed a new wardrobe.”

Her pleasure was contagious.  “It seems you’ve done that, and very well, too.”  Jennie smiled, delighted in the awakening happening right under her nose.

“I was having trouble choosing,” said Elsie, the first signs of a frown forming on her face.  “I know how I feel inside, but the mirror still sees a woman who looks a lot like I always have.”  She paused a moment, fingers touching something inside one of her bags with almost a wistfulness.  “I hope these are me.  They’re so pretty and, well… not boring.”

Jennie waited silently, aware this was building to something that felt monumental for her student.

“I wanted to ask you a big favor.”  Elsie looked up, eyes suddenly intent.  “You see things with your camera.  Not just the outside of a person, but the inside.”

Now Jennie knew where they were headed.  “It’s what I do, yes.”

“Will you take my picture—in these clothes?”  Elsie held up a bag.  “I want to see if my outside and inside match, or if I just look like a compulsive psychologist playing dress-up.”

Vero was right—Elsie was insanely brave.  And for this to work, they were going to need an audience.  The bigger, the better.  Elsie was going to need love blowing beneath her wings to be the woman she wanted to see in the mirror.

Chapter 18

These people were her friends.  She could do this.  Elsie clutched a few of her precious shopping bags and tried to breathe.  In less than an hour, Jennie’s house had shifted from peaceful oasis to feminine madhouse.  Judging from the clothes heaped everywhere, she wasn’t the only one who was going to be playing dress-up.

The knock on the door didn’t even surprise her anymore.  There had been a constant stream of arrivals since about ten minutes after Jennie had put out the word.  It did, however, surprise her to find Helga on the doorstep, accompanied by Jodi, holding a huge pile of clothes. 

The younger woman grinned.  “These are Helga’s.  Apparently she was quite the dresser in her younger days.”

Helga snorted and swatted her companion with a flaming red leather purse.  “I’m still quite the dresser, missy.”

Elsie eyed the turquoise beaded pom-pom hanging down from the pile.  Even the new Elsie wasn’t ready for one of those.

“Don’t worry—I don’t think Helga’s stuff will fit you,” said Jodi in a conspiratorial whisper.  She winked.  “But it might fit me.”

Helga bustled into the room and stood surveying the scene for a moment.  Then she turned to Elsie, eyes gleaming.  “Somebody needs to get this party organized.”  She marched off in Jennie’s direction, battle fire in her eyes.

Elsie stood, barefoot and amused, and watched as General Helga had fifteen witches and assorted friends marching in time-step in ten seconds flat—without ever pulling out her knitting needles.  Chairs were moved, piles were made, a big mirror was set up in front of the fireplace, and Jennie and her camera were perched on a stool in the corner.

Helga clapped her hands and got instant silence.  Then she eyed Elsie.  “I think we’re ready, my dear.  Why don’t you go put on one of your outfits?”

It was only then that Elsie realized she was supposed to go on parade in front of a roomful of people she knew and loved—in clothes that made her feel practically naked.  She closed her eyes and tried to imagine flying down a hill on Gertrude Geronimo.  If she could do that, she could do this.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Helga’s face, full of pride and love—and command.  Elsie reached down randomly for a bag and fled to Jennie’s study.  If she moved fast enough, maybe she wouldn’t lose her nerve.

The bag contained one of her favorites, an ethereal, floaty sundress in bright yellow.  Wispy straps held up a lightly embroidered top and three layers of filmy skirt.  She slid into the dress, letting the voices in her head fight with each other undisturbed.  Hopefully the echo of the saleslady who had thought it was the perfect color for Elsie’s sun-kissed shoulders would outshout her mother.

She ran her hands down the skirt once and headed back to the living room.

The doorway was as far as she got before her nerves ran out.  She paused, distraught, as courage leaked down her toes and skittered out the front door.  And then she caught sight of Helga’s needles, and something in her solidified.  She could hardly do her sunny cloud of a dress justice if she stood like a child waiting to be scolded.

Taking a deep breath, Elsie walked into the room and spun slowly, letting the skirt dance with the air and her ankles.  For the briefest of moments, she spun in silence—and then the clamor started.

“I’ve got shoes that go with that somewhere.  Jodi, do you see them?”  “It’s the color of sunshine, Mama!” “Bean has a sunsuit that’s exactly that color.”  “It’s the perfect dress for a fire witch.”  “The ones with the sunflowers on them, that’s right.”

Elsie felt like a bobblehead doll, trying to keep up with the conversation.  No—conversations happened when people took turns speaking.  This was something else entirely.

Jodi emerged out of the sea of noise and movement, clutching screaming red, sparkly, high-heeled sandals, adorned with a flower on each glittery toe.

They were… ridiculous.  And oh, she wanted them.

“Try them on, child.”  Helga grinned, setting her knitting aside.  “They were made for that dress.”

Elsie felt like a modern-day Cinderella, sliding her toes into the shoes.  Then she stood up, wary of the four-inch heels, and discovered that when your shoes are that ridiculously tall, you have two choices.  You can lean on a wall—or you can dance.