A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) (9 page)

Beth finally smiled.  “I
am
enjoying all the light you have here.”

Phew.  Back yard, posthaste.  Nell turned to lead the way through the house.  “I know you can’t have chocolate, so I made some oatmeal raisin cookies this morning.  We can take a plate out with us.”

“I brought some nuts, but thank you.”

Nell sighed—this just wasn’t going to be easy.  She squelched the urge to force cookies on someone who clearly had no sense of smell and grabbed several on her way out the back door.  Somebody needed to eat them, and chocolate-free cookies would likely get nothing but confused looks from the rest of the Walker household.

Cranky mama witches couldn’t be fussy about their sources of sugar.

She led the way over to a quiet spot in the back corner, behind the play structure and out of the way of overhanging trees.  “Will this work for you?”

“I don’t know.”  Beth sat down thoughtfully on a patch of grass.  “I’ve never done magic outside before.  Don’t the air currents and changing light affect your work?”

Not any more than breathing.  “Where do you practice?”

“We have a room at the shop.  It’s quiet, no distractions.  We set it up with comfortable lighting and shelves for our tools.”

It sounded like a prison.  Or a cage for a very fragile witch.  “We do most of our magic outside here.  A lot of people find it easier to access power with the ground right under their feet.”

“That makes sense.”  Beth nodded and laid her hands in her lap.  “We’ll try it your way.  I came here to learn things to take home with me.  Maybe outdoor magic will be one of them.”

She’d come to take.  Nell adjusted her seat on the grass—and wondered how to tell a witch that she also needed to give.

-o0o-

Little bits of grass poked at her ankles, making Beth wish she’d thought to wear socks.  The sandals had been a concession to the California warmth, but they let far too many things tickle her feet.

She watched Nell and waited.

“Is there something in particular you’re hoping to learn?”

Magic.  The great, glorious wave of magic that Jamie had whisked through Chicago and then taken away with him.  “Perhaps you could review some of the basics with me.  I’ve mastered candle lighting and small currents of heat, but I still struggle with fire globes.”  It was probably best to be totally honest.  “And I do the first two best with my circle for support.”

“We can fix that.”  Nell shifted slightly and raised her left palm, a bright and tiny fire globe dancing over her hand.

So blatantly easy.  Jealousy and desire hit Beth hard.  “You must be a magnificent witch.”

Creases crossed Nell’s forehead.  “These are child’s tricks—simple training skills we teach all our witchlings in the first few weeks.”

Beth tried not to take offense at the truth.  “It took me four years to light my first candle.”  And in the limited contact she’d had with other fire witches, that was considered the progress of a very adept witch.  “It only took fourteen months to replicate Jamie’s bubble spell.  That needs a circle, though—I don’t have air and water magics.”  And her circle had feeble ones, much to her frustration.  Too much heat and the bubbles wouldn’t form.

“Bubble spell?”

Her holy grail.  “The one where he filled a room with floating rainbow bubbles.”

“Ah.”  Nell smiled.  “Kenna loves those.  My son did, too.  He liked to chase after them when he first learned to walk.  There was a stretch when I was making bubbles fourteen hours a day.”

It was a spell to amuse small children.  Jamie Sullivan hadn’t shown them fancy magic—he’d treated them like toddlers.  The knots in Beth’s stomach tightened.  “Hours?”

“Yup.”  The softness in Nell’s face said she loved her children very much.  “Jamie finally managed to teach him to make his own bubbles.  Saved my sanity.”

She had spent fourteen months working on a spell that could be taught to a young child. 

With magic that felt shriveled and small, Beth began to assemble the lines of power she needed to attempt a fire globe.  Maybe here, in this place under the sun, there would be success.  And then she planned to find out what kind of spells adult witches did.

The jolt of power to her fingers was surprising.  Sharp.  She throttled it back quickly, conscious of the lack of safeguards in place.

“It’s okay.”  Nell’s voice was quiet.  “I have a training circle up.  Go ahead and experiment.”

The grass was making her ankles itch terribly.  Beth tried to let her power flow a little more smoothly.  It felt jittery, unbalanced by sunshine and nerves and too many distractions.  She teased out a small line of power, embarrassed by its unevenness.

She wasn’t a beginner witch.

“Just relax.”  Her trainer lounged in the grass, bare legs and elbows apparently not at all bothered by the flora and fauna of the outdoors.  “You’re trying too hard.”

In Beth’s experience, relaxing was very hard work.  “I’m having trouble steadying the flows.  That’s not usually a problem for me.”

“You keep them pretty throttled.  When the flows are really slow, it’s easy for them to wobble.”  Nell’s fire globe suddenly floated a foot up in the air and started a slow, circuitous journey through the air.  “See how it gets caught by all the little air currents?  If I let it speed up a little,” she said as the fire globe’s pace increased sharply, “the path gets smoother.  Less bumpy.”

Beth stared in awe at the zooming ball of light.

“It’s like riding a bike.”  The fire globe vanished.  “It’s a lot easier to ride and stay balanced if you pick up a little speed.”

The awful weight of being different settled on Beth’s shoulders—an old, old friend.  “Maybe that’s one of the reasons I never learned to ride a bike.”

“Shit.”  Nell rolled up to sitting, eyes shining with mysterious messages.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not very good with speed.  On a bike or in my magic.”  Speed made things happen faster than her brain could process them.

“Fire magic isn’t very good at being slow.”  Nell’s words were measured, careful.  “Earth power handles that better, but fire kind of needs to dance.”

The weight pushed harder on Beth’s shoulders.  She wasn’t a dancer, either.  Too unpredictable, too complicated—God knew Liri had tried.  “There must be another way to stabilize the magic.”  Her dark, safe room in Chicago did the job quite nicely.

“Not that I know of.” 

Jamie had found a way.

Beth hugged her knees, wanting to escape the grass and the awful feeling that her chance at a whole new world of magic was slinking away.  “I’m sorry.  I need to go slowly.”  Surely witches with such power at their fingertips could figure out how to work with that.

Please.

“Mama!” 

A rush of footsteps and clutter and noise assaulted Beth’s senses.  She closed her eyes, fighting the onslaught.

Kids.  They were only kids.

They had no idea she’d been born with a head that couldn’t always survive the everyday world where grass grew and cars honked and children played.

-o0o-

Oh, nuts.  Nell looked up at her girls, cursing sucky coincidences.  Apparently the decorating committee had been meeting in the garage.

Her three girls bounced over, vibrating preteen energy and welcome.

Mia grinned.  “Hi.  You must be the new witch.”

“’Course she is,” said Shay.  “We’re Mia and Shay and Ginia, and we’re really glad to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”  Beth was studying the triplets like they were an alien life form.

“Awesome.”  Ginia plunked down beside their new witch, pink glitter glue in one hand and a very big list in the other.  “Do you want to help us decorate for Aervyn and Kenna’s party?  We always need more help, and that way you could meet lots of people and stuff.”

She waited expectantly, ten-year-old organizer on a mission.

And Nell literally felt Beth’s brain tie in a knot.  Crap.  She leaned forward.  “That’s a nice offer, girls.  How about you give Beth a little time to think about it?”

Ginia looked confused.  “We have some really easy jobs she could do, Mama.  She could help Lizard with streamers, or Uncle Jamie with the glitter wands, or Sierra with the soundproofing, or—”  She looked to her sisters for more suggestions.

Beth’s brain was practically shaking.

Nell felt her temper firing up.  Easy welcome streamed from her girls—and Beth was reacting like she was under machine-gun fire.  She touched Ginia’s shoulder, trying to get mama bear back on the leash.  “Those are all good ideas.  Why don’t you go grab some cookies?”  She added a gentle mental shove behind the words, and this time her triplets caught the unsaid message.

Three subdued girls made their way into the house.  Nell tried to resist the urge to kick at the woman who had deflated their everyday joy.  “They’re excited about the party.  Sorry if they were a bit overwhelming.”  Her next sentence steamed out of its own accord.  “Most people who come here for training want to be included in our lives.”

“I’m very tired.”  Beth’s words were barely audible.  “I need to go now.”

Failure loomed large.  Stirred up as she was, Nell reached out, trying to stall its landing—and jerked back as an agitated witch flinched from her touch.

“I’m sorry.”  The words were tight and totally lacking in emotion, not at all a match for the distraught mind behind them.  “I don’t like to be touched by strangers.  And I don’t like parties.  I’m…  Coming here was a poor decision.”  She stood, on legs that weren’t entirely steady. 

Nell jammed her hands into her lap and wondered what the hell else to reach out with.  “I’m the one who’s sorry.  I’ve made a total mess of your first lesson.”  And lessons seemed to be all Beth cared about.

Distant eyes looked off into the trees.  And then her trainee turned to go.  “I don’t think you can help me.”

It sounded very final.

-o0o-

Lauren was fairly certain she’d never seen Nell Walker look ashamed.  But she looked that way now. 

Nell sat on the couch in Witches’ Lounge, an ignored cookie in her hand, and radiated a mix of angst, regret, confusion, and self-flagellation.

“I totally blew it.”  Nell looked up, eyes bleak.  “You told us what she needed, and I didn’t listen.”

It wasn’t often that the core of Witch Central got shaky.  Nell had been born strong, and being Aervyn’s mother had only made her tougher.  Lauren sat down on the couch and passed over the coffee.  It wasn’t a case of not listening—Nell still didn’t really understand.

And Lauren had no idea how to fix that.  “One step at a time.  Let’s wait for Moira so you don’t have to repeat yourself.  She should be here any minute.” 

The timing sucked.  Sophie was in the middle of a particularly tricky potion and had looked rather green at the thought of leaving Lizzie in charge.  And Nat was napping with an exhausted Kenna on her chest.

“Impatient Americans.”  Moira landed with a tea cup in her hand and a plate of treats nestled in her skirts.  “A good story blooms in the retelling, and Aaron had fresh scones in the oven.”

Lauren didn’t miss her concerned glance at the woman who had summoned them. 

“This isn’t a good story.”  Nell’s voice was as flat as her mind.  “I’ve been training witches for what, fifteen years?”

“Oh, longer than that, my dear.”  Moira handed out scones and a bright green jelly that smelled like Christmas.  “You’ve always had a talent for bringing out the magic in others, ever since you were a little one.”

“I got Beth exactly nowhere.  We clashed over a simple fire globe for ten minutes, wedged in between my son’s supersonic drum disaster and my daughters presuming she wanted herding like every other witch they’ve ever met.”

Lauren tried not to wince.  That wasn’t exactly a slow introduction to Witch Central.

“Well, your home can be a mite overwhelming,” said Moira carefully.

“It can.  And I know it, and I invited her into the fray anyhow, even after Lauren gave us really clear warning.”  Nell’s frustration puffed out over her coffee.  “But she couldn’t even handle sitting in the back yard with no kiddos in sight.  Something about the grass—it was hard to read anything over her agitation.”

Damn.  Grass drove Jacob crazy, too.  “It’s possible she finds some of the normal sights and sounds of life overstimulating.  Lots of kids with autism do.”  And the Walker household, even in its quiet moments, wasn’t exactly normal. 

“Even grass?”  Nell looked totally perplexed, lost in a forest of words that made no sense.

And there were so many possible trees.  Every person with autism was different.  Lauren leaned forward, trying to figure out where to start.  “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know.”  Nell’s mind was coated in forlorn guilt.  “She’s a challenge to read, and I was pretty upset.  Trying not to scratch at her for failing to love my girls instantly.”

“What happened with the girls?”  Moira frowned, ready to defend her lovelies.

“They asked her to help with the party.”  Nell’s voice was quiet, but her mind was nearly growling, a mama bear ready to take a swing.  “She reacted like they’d shot her or something.”

The hurt under the anger slammed into Lauren’s head.  Frack.  She’d asked about the wrong witch first—the one right in front of her wasn’t okay.  To Nell, Beth’s reactions had felt like rejection—of Witch Central, and of her girls.  Spears to the heart. 

Six months as Devin’s wife told her what to do.  She leaned forward, took Nell’s hands in hers, and let the love show in her eyes.  When you were dealing with a Sullivan who hurt, you healed the heart first.

“Damn, don’t do that.”  Nell leaned back and closed her eyes. 

And now the heart would be able to listen. 

Nell sighed.  “I just… she’s already shaky, and somehow she found the courage to come out here anyhow.  And I messed up.”

Lauren tried to choose her words carefully—the line between fragile and different was a murky one, and they weren’t all on the same side of it here.  “I don’t know Beth very well, but when I work with kids on the autism spectrum, there are a lot of things that look like defiance, or selfishness, or a lack of interest.”

“Okay.”  The confused look was back.  “But they’re not?”