A Dangerous Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 3) (12 page)

Ginia rolled her eyes.  “We
know
that, Mama.”

They should—they were the high priestesses of that particular branch of Witch Central’s wisdom.  No one dished out fun and happiness with more clarity than these three.  Nell shifted her gaze to the girl who hadn’t said anything yet.

Mia avoided the look, staring at her hands instead.

Uh, oh.  Nell tried to read the tea leaves—and couldn’t untangle what she was picking up from the three of them.  Her power was still half-cracked from playing host to the world’s biggest fireball.  She shook her head, annoyed at the lingering weakness, and reached for her daughter’s hands.  “What do you need this morning, lovey?”

The words were gentle—and they flooded Mia’s eyes with tears.  She bit her lip, eyes full of pain.  “I don’t know.”

Her sisters moved as a unit, flanking her a little closer.  Their eyes held no tears at all.  Only conviction and a singular, soundless message—one that Nell heard loud and clear. 

They believed Mia needed to be at the war council.  And they weren’t leaving her side.

-o0o-

Nobody wanted to be here.  And everyone wanted to wrap Mia up in safety and hide her from the terrible thing that stalked her.

Which was rapidly causing every mind witch in Nell’s living room a massive headache.  Lauren tried to tug her own barriers tighter, well aware that it was her own disheveled emotions causing their leakiness.

“Well, my dear.”  Moira looked at Mia, eyes gently amused, as if they’d gathered to deal with no more than a summer prank or some squooshed flowers.  “You’ve caused rather the uproar.”

It almost got a smile from the girl who sat cuddling a lumpy red clay monster.  And then she tumbled off the other side of the precipice instead, tears filling her eyes.  Mia shook off the arms and hands that reached out in comfort and glued herself to an old witch’s gaze instead.  “Please.  Tell me what’s happening to me.”

The plea broke Moira’s heart into a million pieces—and not by a whisper did she let Mia see that.  “You’re growing magic, sweet girl.  A big and frightening magic no one has seen for a very long time.”

The girl with fiery red hair waited.  And then glared.  “You know more than that.  You always know more than that.”

Again, Lauren felt the old witch’s soul tremble—and again, she let not a hint of it escape.  “I know some of what the books say.  We never know how true they are, especially for something last seen so long ago.”  She held up a hand as blue eyes flashed.  “I will tell you what I know, child.  You’ve every right to know.  But you must also remember that the future is not written entirely by the past.”

Now it was Mia trembling.  And this time, when arms reached out to hold her tight, she didn’t protest.  Her fingers traveled the lumpy clay in her hands, tracing the fingerprints and bumps of the clay dinosaur-meets-dragon that had been Aervyn’s gift on her last birthday.

Cuddling a monster—to fight one.

“Magefire was a magic much prized in the past,” said Moira quietly.  “But it was used as a magic of war.  To defend, and all too often, to attack.”  She swallowed, looking down at her lap, the bleakness that blanketed her heart finally visible on the outside.  “I know it only as a weapon, sweetling.  As a magic of destruction.”

Mia looked horrified.  “What else can it do?”

Not for all the money and glory and power on earth would Lauren have wanted to be in Moira’s shoes in this moment.

The old witch finally shook her head.  “My books don’t say, sweetling.  Or I don’t remember their words.  Your dad is reading through them all.  If there are clues, he’ll find them.”

Daniel was going to have a dozen volunteers before they left the room.  But it wasn’t Moira’s words that a girl with red hair was listening to.  It was the certainty in an old witch’s eyes.

Mia stared at the woman she had always known as a grandmother, young mind and heart trying to process the awful message in those green depths.

And then she stood, fury raging from every pore.

“I won’t be a weapon.  I won’t!”  Blue eyes blazed under fire-red curls.  “I don’t care what all the books say.  I won’t hurt people.”

Nell reached out a hand—and her daughter whirled, lashing out at the world in general.  “If that’s all this magic can do, then I’ll never use it.  Never!”

Lauren knew Mia was going to bolt before her feet started moving.

She watched her niece’s fleeing form and wanted so very desperately to take away her pain.  Retha and Nell exchanged fast glances, and the older woman vanished from the room.  She’d be at least one step ahead of her granddaughter as fast as Jamie could port her there.

Nell wouldn’t stay much longer, either.  But warriors didn’t leave the battlefront early—and she had two girls still sitting here.

The enormity of that hit Lauren square between the eyes.  Mia had run—and Ginia and Shay were still here.

Wearing full battle regalia.

More stormed in this room than fear and sorrow and grief.  The warriors were rising, and she needed to join them.  Lauren yanked down her mind barriers again and pulled her aching heart and head back into the game.

History might think it could predict Mia’s future. 

History hadn’t met the Sullivans.

-o0o-

Jamie was damn sure he could have powered the entire city of Berkeley on the energy zapping out of Nell’s hands.

Mia wasn’t the only one who needed a target to aim at.

It was time for little brothers to do what they did best.  Distract.  And line up as a brick wall at her back.  He turned to Govin.  Loudly.  “What’s the latest on the containment spell?”  They were trying to come up with a reliable replica of what Aervyn and Nell had produced on the fly, using dragon cages and duct tape and every kind of magic they could think of.

The witch who monitored the planet’s weather took his time answering.  “Marcus has a couple of very good ideas for layering some air and water streams into the shield.”  He grimaced.  “It would be easier to make progress if Mia could shoot at a couple of things for us.”

It was damn hard to build something you couldn’t test.  “You might get that chance.  The magic has gathered twice now when she didn’t mean to call it.”

Devin leaned forward, frowning.  “So, what—we just keep her away from any magic tricks?”

“No.”  Nell was still crackling, and her words nearly scorched her brother.  “We can’t ignore this.  Fire magics don’t just lie quietly.  We know that.”

Dev threw a fastball at her nose.

Daniel caught it—and then kissed his wife.

It took a moment—and then the warrior stepped down.  A little.  “Sorry.  I know the drill.  There are no stupid ideas.”  Her eyes flashed true apology Devin’s way.  “Just ones from my brothers that I’m not allowed to call stupid.”

“Mama.”  Simultaneous eye rolls from Ginia and Shay.

Jamie felt his ribs untwist a little.  Good.  They needed a lot of unstupid ideas right now, and in his family, those flowed a whole lot better when they weren’t all wound up like nuclear-charged springs.  He held up his fingers, working through their very short checklist.  “We’re working on a better shield.  We’re keeping a very close eye on Mia, and for now, no fire magic of any kind by anyone unless we have the whole circus gathered.”  And maybe not even then.  Yesterday had been the scariest magical moment of his entire life, and he had a pretty wide array to choose from.  “Daniel’s cracking the books.” 

Which was a very odd job for his brother-in-law, but also a very smart one.  He looked at the hacker holding the baseball.  “If you need help, there are a lot of restless gamers in Realm right now.  Maybe it’s time to scan some of those books.”

“Kevin’s already on it,” said Daniel, glancing at Moira. 

She sniffed his direction, eyes fierce.  “You thought I’d have a problem with that, did you?”

Yikes.  Lots of people feeling feisty this morning.

Daniel stood up, walked over, and kissed her cheek.  “Thank you for telling my daughter the awful truth.”  He knelt down and held both her hands.  “I don’t think I could have gotten the words out.”

An old witch looked down at her lap.  “I couldn’t say the rest.”

“Then I will.”  He sat down, arm around her shoulders.  “From what I’ve read so far, fire mages don’t control their magic.  There are no gears, no controlling the flows.  They just aim and fire.”  He paused, teeth grinding.  “It’s no safer than lighting a stick of dynamite in your hand.”

That much, even Jamie knew.  Fire mages didn’t grow old.  And damned if he was letting Daniel stew in that thought.  “Pretty fast reading for a few hours’ work, old man.”

The baseball snapped sharply at his face. 

Jamie grinned and ported it back to Daniel’s hand.  “Slowpoke.”

“Uncle Jamie.”  This time the girls’ eye rolls weren’t even staged.

He held up his fingers again.  “Okay.  So we’re doing all the right things to help Mia.  Anything missing?”

There were murmurs.  And a few ideas floated.  Heads nodding and witches mobilizing.

Jamie held all the strings, navigated through the questions, organized the troops.

And resolutely ignored the small voice in his head who thought they were gnats throwing poop at Goliath.

-o0o-

Ever so slowly, they stepped back from the brink.

Moira sorrowed, knowing she’d had a part in leading them there.  She’d tried to stand strong for Mia—but some weights, even tough old shoulders simply couldn’t bear for long.

Ginia reached out a hand, picking up Mia’s glittery red clay monster.  “She feels all alone right now.  But she isn’t.”

And no one would feel that pain more deeply than her two sisters.  Moira laid a finger gently on the monster’s head.  “She needs you to fiercely believe that.  To hold the space open for when she’s ready to return.”  A deeply important job—and one that would keep two very precious girls out of the line of fire. 

Steady blue eyes met hers.  “We will.”  Ginia paused, eyes slowly traveling around the room.  “But you can’t keep any of us safe forever.”

“We can sure as hell try.”  It was Jamie who spoke for all of them.  He turned to Daniel, eyes grim.  “Anything in the books on how to train a fire mage?”

Daniel’s frustration with the long-ago authors of ballad and story was a palpable thing.  “No.  Not a word yet.  We’ll keep looking.”

“Watch for things on healing, too.” Ginia’s tone could have come from a general on a battlefield.  “Any hints on herbs or how to protect her channels or stuff to try when she’s sleeping.”

Daniel nodded, soldier to general.  And then he looked around the room.  “If there’s stuff in the books, I’ll find it.  But remember this.  Just because some dusty old books say Mia has to make fire bombs with her power doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Moira, keeper of the dusty old books, hid a smile.  Daniel had spent the better part of the long night closeted in her parlor, reading until his eyes bled.  Looking for clues.  Respecting the history.  But be damned if he was going to let the books win.

She felt her own spine firming.  In all of history, the fighters had led the way into battle.  But the healers had always been ready right behind them.

She, too, had a team to assemble.

Chapter 10

Lauren eyed her bay window, debating.  Half the world had gone to Fisher’s Cove to try to help Mia, hiding out in Moira’s garden. 

She had a different objective.

In real estate, you sometimes found allies in strange places, ones who knew things you didn’t, and a smart realtor left no stone unturned digging up those sources.  It was part of why Berkeley Realty was screamingly successful—a certain delinquent poet was the best digger around.  Lauren was fairly certain Lizard had half the little old ladies and yard maintenance people and corner-store cashiers in town on her payroll.

The air around the orb on the windowsill grew denser somehow.

Oops.  One marble, no longer asleep. 

Something almost like a sigh.
 I was focusing on happier times. 

She laid a gentle hand on Moe’s surface, understanding what hadn’t been said. 
We’re all worried about her.

You fight.  It has worked before.

Lauren blinked at the underlying currents flowing from her orb—both the skepticism it was trying to hide, and the awkward desire to encourage.  To comfort.  Maybe this ally was going to be willing. 
You helped.  With Nat.  You tried to let me know what needed to happen next. 
A clue she hadn’t figured out until way too late, but that didn’t change that Moe had tried to help. 
I need your help again.

I am not a fighter. 
A pause. 
I am only a tool.

The morose self-pity was familiar—and after the sweet and awkward offer of support, entirely grating.  Lauren considered.  She’d picked up something from Moira’s mind during the fray of the war council.  Something about the warriors leading, and those who would line up behind them.

Perhaps more than healers needed to do that.  Maybe diggers should too—and the objects of magic they’d somehow adopted.

Ballads and stories and history books told the outer story.  Daniel and his crew would find anything there was to find.  Lauren went with her gut and took aim at something more interior.  Moe had lived through more history than any book. 
Did you ever know any of the fire mages?