A Dangerous Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 3) (2 page)

Lauren’s entire being recoiled in terror. 
NO.

The image vanished—and with it, the pounding sorrow under her hand.  Moe sent calm now.  Peace.  An oversized marble, reminding her lungs to breathe and her heart to beat.

She yanked her fingers away from the kindness.  Not yet.  Not now.

A choked sob from the couch whirled her around.  She didn’t bother trying to barrier—Aervyn would have already seen.  At this range, there was no way to keep him out.

Not when love was involved.

And it didn’t change what she needed to do next.  This time, there would be no dithering about who to tell or when.

She looked over at her gorgeous nephew, absolutely still on the couch, and white as marble.  And spoke as gently as she could manage.  “Let’s go find your mama, sweet boy.”

Their finest warrior needed to know.  Right now.

-o0o-

Moe.  Such a funny word.  The orb tried on the name the boy had chosen.  It didn’t have the musical ring of Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep.  Didn’t inspire the awe.

Once, many centuries ago, that name had been said with reverence.  And then it had slid into the dust of time.  Forgotten.  Perhaps Moe fit this new time.  One full of the thing called ice cream, and small children with much power.

The boy was sad now, and frightened, and Moe was terribly sorry for its role in that.  It had kept its word—it had not spoken to the boy.  But the child had powerful magic.  In another time, he would have been a great oracle, or a soothsayer perhaps.

In this time, he was merely a boy.  One who loved his sister deeply, and feared for her.

Moe sorrowed.  It had been forged in the fires of magic.  Its earliest memory was the knife edge between creation and destruction.  Only very narrowly had its maker won the battle and pulled the orb into the strands of existence.

Just as easily could the edge tip toward destruction.

-o0o-

The words spoken to her mind had been tight, succinct, and very clear.

Nell set down an unsqueezed lemon half and headed out of the kitchen, adrenaline already surging.  Lauren didn’t sound like that very damn often.  And she wasn’t alone.

Whatever the two new arrivals in her living room needed, it wasn’t about lemonade.

Nell took a hard left into the front room, registering the nasty gray pallor of the woman who had married her craziest brother.  And then Aervyn’s face, white and pleading.

And knew something dark and terrible had landed.

My crystal ball’s talking again. 
Lauren’s mindvoice was a hairsbreadth from puking. 
It’s about one of the girls.  I’m not sure which one.

Every fiber of Nell’s being reached for her sword. 
Show me.

I’ll do it. 
Aervyn slid his hand into Lauren’s.  He met his mama’s eyes and sent a single, crystal-clear image.

Flames.  An inferno of them.  And burning at the center, fire pouring out of every part of her—a slim girl with blonde curls.  Screaming.  Dying, spirit burning up in a roaring furnace of her own making.

It wouldn’t have mattered which of her girls it was—Nell would have laid down her life for any of them.  But she knew who stood in the circle of hell.  Her girls had always shared the same face, but their hearts had always been entirely unique.

And only one had the kind of soul to call to fire.

Aervyn’s fingers squeezed Lauren’s hand more tightly.  A seven-year-old boy who also knew.

Nell felt the molten steel flood her veins.  He would not be the one standing in the way of this.  Not while she was still breathing.  Not while any Sullivan over four feet tall was still breathing.

You won’t be standing alone.
 Lauren was shaking like a leaf—but she spoke with some of that same steel.

Nell nodded, letting power and love temper her blade. 
Can you call the others? 
She trusted Lauren would know who.

Time for a Sullivan family council of war.

Chapter 2

Moira landed in Nell’s living room, clutching a pitcher of Aaron’s best iced tea and a burgeoning dread.  Aervyn teleported in beside her, holding a second pitcher.

When he’d landed in her cozy kitchen, his eyes had been stark, dark circles in a landscape of white.

There were a lot of faces in Witch Central that shared his pallor.

Which meant that an old witch had work to do.  Moira set down her pitcher with a solid thump and picked the set of feet nearest the kitchen.  “Jamie, fetch some glasses, would you?  Nell, clear some space on that coffee table—Aaron’s got sandwiches ready for us as well.”

The woman in question raised an eyebrow.  “We only paged everyone two minutes ago.”

Yes, and Aaron would be scrambling for the next hour to get new sandwiches ready for the bus of ladies coming in from Halifax.  Moira had known better than to argue with him.  “Aaron is wise in the ways of hungry witches.”

And of old Irish grannies with frightened eyes.  He would fret until she got back.  They all would.  Fisher’s Cove didn’t have the deep magic of Witch Central—but they knew the same love. 

Competent hands reached for the platter of sandwiches as it landed.  Caro.  Resident knitter and no-nonsense fire witch.

Fire witch.

Very carefully, Moira scanned the room.  The Sullivan clan, including a quiet contingent from Costa Rica, cuddling granddaughters and nieces in their laps.  Retha’s eyes mirrored Nell’s.  Warrior women in full regalia, even if it wasn’t obvious on the outside yet.

But it was the non-family in the room that caught Moira’s attention.

Caro.  Govin.  Sierra.

Witches of fire and water.

Oh, hell.

She moved the few steps to Lauren’s side under the cover of enthusiastic sandwich distribution.  And trusted the mind witch would hear. 
One of the girls?
  They were reaching puberty, and power so often came along with all the other changes.

Maybe. 
The reply was terse, and loaded with fear. 

Moira frowned.  The Sullivans had dealt with plenty of emergent fire witches.  They knew better than to panic over a scorched ceiling. 

It’s more than that,
sent Lauren quietly. 
The crystal ball is talking again.

The dread in Moira’s belly bloomed, its weedy stalks clogging her breath.

Aervyn could use a hug.
 

Words of kindness.  And of purpose.  For an old witch and a young boy who clearly knew of the terror that had landed in their midst.  Moira hacked at the weeds in her belly with a blade honed by seventy years of journeying.  With quiet intent, she made her way once again to the platter of sandwiches and picked one stuffed with lovely bits of lobster salad for herself, and one with butter and cucumber for the child who needed her.

Aervyn loved a good cucumber sandwich.

Caro handed her a plate, eyes full of approval, as more hands reached for food, instinctively following the leader.

Moira nestled the two triangles on the cheerful blue plate, calling steadiness to every small movement.  Offering the room every bit of solidity she could.  And then she took her small boy’s hand and led him to a comfortable armchair.

He cuddled quietly into her chest.  A child seeking comfort—and oblivion.  “I’m not hungry.”

“I know, sweet boy.”  She broke off a small morsel of cucumber and buttery goodness.  “But to serve the world best, we have to take care of ourselves first.”

His eyes glazed in confusion.

She touched his cheek gently and spoke only loud enough for his mind to hear.  “Your sister is going to need you.”

He looked at her a long, sad moment.  And then he reached for his sandwich.

She took a small bite of her own.  And resolutely ignored the taste of sawdust.

-o0o-

Lauren swallowed hard, completely oblivious to what she was eating.  Devin had chosen it, and he would make sure she ate it.

Not comfort this time.  Fuel.

She looked around the room, hating what she was about to do.  Cursing the universe for trying to rip at the people who did family in a way everyone else only dreamed of.  Love did not deserve this.

Let it go.
  Retha ate her own sandwich with determined bites. 
I’ve beat my head against the brick wall of injustice for longer than you’ve been alive, daughter mine.  It won’t help—it’ll just leave you with a sore head.

Lauren was very sure the woman stroking Ginia’s hair knew what was coming.  And resisted the temptation to lean hard on her strength.  That wouldn’t help either.

Moe had been right.  There was only one way to do this.  Fast and hard and puking.

She set down her sandwich, each small movement weirdly amplified.  And, getting to her feet, walked over to the girls and knelt down.  Nell was certain the image was Mia.  Lauren wasn’t sure of anything.  Carefully, she looked at each of them in turn.  “My crystal ball is talking to me again.”

Three sets of shoulders firmed—and the eyes of the adults behind them turned dangerous.

There was no lack of guardians in this family, of the angel or warrior varieties.

Lauren spared a special look for the man with Mia on his lap.  Téo was Sullivan by love, not by blood, just as she was. 

That’s how we recruit our best,
sent Retha briskly. 
Now tell us what we’re dealing with. 

There was no way Lauren was pushing out the orb’s image.  Not this time.  Nell had seen, and Daniel—he’d insisted.  And Caro and Retha had picked up the edges, because they had fearsome mind powers and deep love and Aervyn’s barriers were a mess.

But no one else needed the nightmare.  The words would be bad enough.  Lauren looked at her three beautiful, bold nieces again.  “It shows one of you, surrounded by fire and flames.  Really big, mean, out-of-control fire.”  She stopped, choking back the puke, and rasped out the last words.  “The fire is hurting you.”

Breath hissed all over the room.

And then the mind stampede.  Fighters, seeking weapons.

Lauren held up a hand.  Not yet.  War might come, but it wasn’t here yet.  “Just like with Nat and Lizard, we don’t know exactly what the orb means.”

Shay nodded slowly.  “It looked really sad for Auntie Nat, but she got Benny.”

Nat slid into place beside Lauren on the floor.  “It called me to a journey.  A hard one.  And one that was really important.”

Two of their quietest, deepest thinkers, already looking for a path around fear.

Ginia’s eyes were glued to her yogini aunt’s.  “You think it’s calling us this time.  To do something hard and important.”

Nat nodded slowly, her breath audible.  Compelling.  “I do.”

Lauren sat in quiet awe.  Every person in the room was beginning to breathe in and out with Nat.

See?
 Retha’s mindvoice was soaked in love.
 The very best of us.

Mia wiggled in Téo’s lap, restless.  “I thought Lauren said the orb only showed one of us.”

Nat smiled.  “One of my favorite stories about your uncles is when they found that really big cliff over the ocean in Hawaii.”

Mia grinned.  It was a well-known family tale.  “They were eight, and Uncle Devin wanted to jump, but Gramma Retha said no.”

Lauren felt her husband’s inner laughter.  That isn’t what his mom had said—she’d been far smarter than that.

Shay’s eyes were gleaming now.  “She said they could only jump if they all did it together.”

“She was hoping sanity would prevail,” said Matt dryly.

Laughter came from several places in the room.  Caro snorted.  “Being more sane than Jamie and Devin doesn’t qualify you for sainthood, Matthew Sullivan.”

Nat winked at her nieces.  “And what happened next?”

“They jumped.”  Mia picked up the thread of the story.  “But only after Uncle Jamie warmed up the water and Uncle Matt made sure there weren’t any big rocks underneath.”

“Hey.”  Dev rolled his eyes from his corner of the couch.  “What about me?  Am I just the big lug who dragged them both off the cliff?”

Nat turned his direction, eyes fierce and voice soft.  “No.  You’re the one who helped them to be brave.  You all got to fly that day because you worked together.  Three parts of one whole.”

Lauren felt the bonds of brotherhood snap into place, tight and solid and inviolable.

And right behind them, the younger trio of sisterhood did exactly the same.

The applause in the room was inaudible, but it shook the very foundations of the house.  Whatever they were fighting, Natalia Sullivan had just landed the first blow.

A sneaky, tough, street-smart one.

-o0o-

Nell cast a glance at Daniel.  He read their girls as well as she did, mind magic or not.  And Auntie Nat had just straightened all their backbones a good six inches with one simple, potent reminder.

What touched one of them touched the three of them.

It was a damn good thing for the rest of them to remember too.

Right.
  Retha’s voice was dry and amused. 
Because we forget that all the time.