A Dangerous Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 3) (6 page)

Sometimes intuitive yoga was the very best kind.

Listening to the needs of her own body, Nat opted for a kick into handstand instead, letting the early sun tickle the bottoms of her feet.  And then tumbled over onto the grass in a tangle of undisciplined fun.

Bendy bodies sometimes needed time to play, too.

Shay collapsed beside her, giggling.  “I thought we were doing sun salutations.”

The sun could be honored in so many different ways.  “I’m going to do some with my toes.”  Nat held up her bare feet and twisted them into a passable impression of downward dog.

More quiet snickers from her morning yoga companion.  Sometimes Shay brought her sisters, sometimes she came alone—but most mornings since school had ended, Nat hadn’t been alone in her backyard sunrise yoga.  It changed the flavor of the practice somewhat, especially when all three came.  But Shay’s heart, especially, knew how to sink into the joy of the asanas.  To find what she needed in breath and movement and focus.

Nat let the grass tickle the back of her palms.

There had been many emissaries the day before, hoping Auntie Nat could get a read on Shay’s soul.  The most poignant had been Ginia, worried about her sister.

And they had all been unnecessary.  It had taken only hours after Nat had first arrived in Berkeley, even caught in the tumult of love at first sight and a best friend in the throes of power emergence, for two old souls to find each other.  One living in a small, blonde girl, the other in a serene yogini, both vibrating to a song most others never heard.

It was a connection, a resonance, that Nat cherished.

She had known Shay would come.

Already, the breathing beside her quieted.  Nat let intention flow into the silence.  A wish, a gentle nudge, and a promise of love unending.  It wouldn’t take the energies long to work.  Not with a heart as receptive as the one who lay beside her.

A hand shifted, rustling the grass.  “They’re worried about me.”

“Yes.”  Honoring truth.  And then encouraging it to breathe a little.  “Do they need to be?”

“No.”  The smile of an old soul who knew her worth.  “I don’t think I’m supposed to have power, even when I grow up.  I’ll be just like you and Dad.  We’re the people who help the magic work better.”

So much love in those words, and also, the edges of risk.  A subtle danger—and one an aunt wanted to cover in neon warning paint.  Just in case.  “We don’t exist only for the magic, lovey.”  No matter how strong its gravitational pull or how deep the love of the people who wielded it.

“I know.”  Again, wisdom rang bell-bright in Shay’s words.  “Dad keeps the world more fair, and you teach people to find the shape of their hearts.”  More rustling as one eleven-year-old extracted herself from the grass.  “I don’t know my special job yet.  Music, maybe.”

Nat sat up, quietly overwhelmed by the glorious offhand compliment.  Most people thought she simply taught yoga.  “You already know pieces of it.”  One aunt tried to return the compliment of being truly seen for who you were.  “You’ve got a gift for knowing what matters and seeing how to make it possible.”  An agile observer with a very big heart.

Shay’s head ducked, cheeks pink.  “That’s really nice.  Thank you.”

In so many families, this would be the child who went unnoticed.  Nat fired off yet another burst of gratitude to whatever rightness in the universe had placed Shay in the heart of the Sullivans instead.  She reached out to touch a pink cheek.  “Thanks for coming to do yoga with me this morning.”

“I like it.”  A head tipped back up, eyes shining.  “It helps my heart dance.”

It had helped a teenaged Natalia discover that she had a heart left at all.  “It can help with the hard stuff, too.  If you ever need it to.”

Shay nodded.  “I wish I knew something that could help Mia wait.  That’s hard for her.”

It was hard for most of the planet. 

Nat breathed.  And shared one of her toughest-won lessons.  “Sometimes we can help best just by being peaceful in our own hearts.”

“Mia’s not very peaceful.”  Shay grinned.  “I’m writing a song for her.  It kind of sounds like a dragon who ate way too many cookies.”

Only an eleven-year-old would try to pull that off on a flute.  Nat grinned back, adoring the unique soul that was this particular niece. 

And pushed up into a backbend.  This particular morning’s song wasn’t nearly done yet.

-o0o-

Moira breathed in the cool of early morning as the sun teased her face, hinting at the power it would have in a few hours.  She so loved this time of day.

And apparently on this morning, she wasn’t the only one awake.  Jamie had texted—one very grumpy niece had been trying to light candles for an hour.

Trainer, calling for backup.

Moira shifted the age-old remedy for frustrated witchlings into one hand and knocked on Nell’s front door.  She’d ported in a couple of blocks away to enjoy the sunshine.  Now it was time to get to work.

Aervyn pulled open the door, took one look at the chocolate cake, and pointed down the hall.  “She’s in The Dungeon with Uncle Jamie, and she’s kinda mad.”

Moira hid a smile.  “There’s a second cake cooling on my counter back home if you want to fetch it.  With raspberry frosting.”  And two more that had already gone to visit Aaron over at the inn.

His eyes gleamed bright.  “That’s my favorite.”

Aye.  And the one in her hands, with orange frosting, was the kind Mia loved best.  Morning came earlier on the East Coast, and an old witch had wakened with visions of Great-gran’s best cake recipe dancing in her head.  “I know it, sweet boy.  And if you eat very quietly, maybe you’ll get the whole thing to yourself.”

“No way.”  His giggles still carried the delight of small boys and sunshine.  “Not unless I go hide on the moon.”

She’d always tried the green hills behind the village.  That hadn’t generally worked either.  Moira ruffled his hair.  “It’s a very big cake.  Lots to share.”

“’Kay.”  He made it two steps down the hallway, and then turned, eyes shifting gears for one last moment.  “I think Mia needs a hug.  And her head hurts, but she doesn’t want Uncle Jamie to know.”

Witchling heads could hurt for a lot of reasons—but most of them could be fixed with orange frosting or a hug.  An old witch had both in sturdy measures.  Moira smiled at the final glimpse of Aervyn making a beeline for the fork drawer.  He would make sure everyone within fetching distance got some.  A child raised in generosity, paying it forward with every breath.

Time to go visit the one who wasn’t having such an easy time of it today.  Carefully, Moira made her way down the stairs to the command center for Realm—and judged from the growls that she had arrived just in time.

I’ll say.
 Jamie sounded more than a little relieved. 
She has no idea how to quit.

Moira snorted.  Quietly. 
Family trait. 

Sometimes it’s useful. 
Jamie kept a peripheral eye on his trainee. 
But not today.  We haven’t made it past step one yet—she still can’t see the flows. 

One trainer sounded a mite frustrated too. 
It’s early days yet.  Sometimes power emerges oddly.
 Something an old witch knew better than most. 
It will come.

“It’s useless.”  Mia glared at the squat, homely candle sitting on the table in front of her.  “This thing’s never going to light.”

“Perhaps not.”  An old witch took a seat and set her cake carefully off to the side.  This witchling wasn’t ready for it quite yet—and maybe her trainer wasn’t either.  “I’ve stared at many a candle in my day, and not one of them has burst into flame.”

A hint of a smile.  “That’s because you’re a water witch, silly.”

Ah, good.  Where a smile could be found, common sense wasn’t all that far behind.  “I imagined myself a fine fire witch when I was a girl.”

Mia’s forehead furrowed.  “You think maybe I don’t have fire power?”

Moira thought no such thing, but at least now the child was using her brain.  “I know that you’ve been staring at that candle for an hour now with the help of a very good teacher.”

Resistance—and then a rueful grin.  “Time to take a break, huh?”

“Only if you want to.”  Moira slid the cake over and winked.  “If you’d rather, Jamie and I can just have a taste while we wait for you to finish.”

Now came the full-on giggles that cured many a witchling hurt.  Mia reached possessively for the plate.  “No way.  He’ll eat it all and then he’ll get smelly chocolate hiccups and Gramma Retha will know you brought cake and she didn’t get any.”

Moira smiled.  That particular incident was over two decades old—and as fresh in the story banks of Witch Central as it had been on that cold February morning. 

Jamie leaned forward and stuck a finger in the icing.  “I still say someone must have put a hiccup spell on that cake when you weren’t watching.”

There was no such thing, and he well knew it.  “Nothing happens in my kitchen that I don’t know about, Jamie Sullivan.”

His eyes danced merrily as he licked orange frosting off his finger.  “So you say.”

Ah, the Irish could never resist a dare.  Moira leaned over and whispered in Mia’s ear just loud enough for him to hear.  “He thinks I don’t know about the time that he and Devin used all my very best china cups to wage a great battle of the high seas in my cauldron.”

Which had ended predictably—with broken cups and two very dismayed eight-year-old boys who had begged their big sister to teach them the delicate, time-consuming kitchen-witch spell to repair the damage.  And then the three of them had sat on the kitchen floor for hours, mending cups well used to that particular spell until they’d literally fallen asleep on the floor.

She smiled at Jamie’s chagrined face.  “Nell was the only one who woke up when I tiptoed up to my bed in the wee hours.”  And Moira had never said a word about her very shiny cauldron—or the newly mismatched patterns of several of the cups. 

“Damn.”  Jamie shook his head ruefully and materialized a cake knife from somewhere.  “I thought we’d managed to get away with that one.”

Not even close—half the village had taken a peek in the windows at some point in the night, smiling fondly at the small boys working so diligently, and the big sister who had taken pity on them. 

“Aunt Moira knows everything.”  Mia took the first piece of frosting-laden cake, amused at her uncle and clearly back on more solid ground.  “And I bet that’s why one of those cups has a green flower instead of a yellow one, and one of the fairies has two heads.”

Now Jamie looked properly horrified.

And an old witch, who had cheered many a sorrow with the two-headed-faerie cup, reached out to touch his cheek.  “Your heart was in the right place, my dear.  And in my kitchen, that’s all that has ever mattered.”

Mia smiled.  “Maybe I’ll come light a candle in your kitchen one day.  And we can drink from the mended cups.”

Moira considered.  More than one witchling had mastered a magic trick at her table, but this child wasn’t one who gravitated to comfort and safety.  She had more than a little of her uncle Devin in her—and he had always found his magic best in the wild and free places.

This part of the world had one of the very best of those places.  One where power flows were so big and bold that even an old and very weak witch could still see them.

Jamie’s fork paused in mid-air—and then he nodded, eyes rueful again.
 I should have thought of that.

Don’t be silly.
  Moira stuck a fork in her own plate of orange-chocolate goodness, well pleased, and copied Great-gran’s most acerbic tone. 
It’s good I have a reason to keep getting up in the morning.

He opened his mouth to protest—and let loose an enormous hiccup.

Moira managed to keep her giggling self in her chair, but it was a very close call.

Mia didn’t even try.

-o0o-

The orb contemplated fire.

These humans had only one word for a thing that could take so many forms, so many temperaments.  Quiet gentle glows, more light than flame.  Comfortable blazes, contained in hearths of stone.  Conflagrations, contained by nothing.  Or the pure destructive force that could blow the top off a mountain and wipe out civilizations—or begin them.

The fire that flowed in this child’s veins was not meant to light candles.

But the forces were very clear.  That was a message that Mohana Nitya Ratna Mandeep was not permitted to deliver.

It grated.  Deeply.  Tools were supposed to be useful.

The response from the forces was instant.  And dangerous. 

Tools were supposed to SERVE.

Chapter 5

Jamie sat on top of the big flat rock at Ocean’s Reach and snorted as Dev and Aervyn buzzed by on broomsticks.  They were supposed to be quiet backup, not massive magical distraction.  He reached out a mind channel to the boy wonder leading broomstick tag. 
Move a little farther away, super dude.  And make sure Govin doesn’t fall off, huh?