A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) (10 page)

Retha was well acquainted with that pain as well.  She offered wordless love to her grown child. 

“But she’d talk to me about that.”  Dev shifted the dandelions to his other hand and wrapped his arm around his mother’s shoulders.  “Maybe she’ll talk to you about the rest.”

Maybe.  “It can be so very difficult to know things we aren’t really meant to know.”

“You believe that?  That we aren’t meant to know the future?”  He held her close, eyes gazing out at the water.  “I know it helped you keep us out of trouble more than once.”

“And let me down several hundred other times.”  Retha smiled, grateful it had.  Many of the times that hadn’t gone as she expected were in her treasure chest of most precious memories. 

“Well, for better or worse, Lauren knows something.”

“And she’ll be working out how to live with it.”  Time to go find a witch.  She reached out to touch his dandelions.  “Keep being her rock.  Words are never the things that matter most.”

-o0o-

She felt them before she heard them, the man who loved her and the woman who had easily, gracefully added so many to her family.  Lauren shifted in her couch nest.  If she stayed there much longer, she was going to meld with the pillows.

Retha walked through the sliding glass doors first, a smile on her face, dandelions in her hand, and amusement in her mind.  Devin followed, his hands cupped around some kind of treasure.  He looked up, distracted.  “Do you know anything about this?”

Not likely—she hadn’t left the couch in hours.  “What is it?”

He walked over to her side and held out his hands. 

Lauren stared—and felt the earth rolling.  Nausea, and swirling, tumbling fog.  And then strong hands and her husband’s suddenly white face.

Dammit.  It was a kitten, not a bomb.  With the force of sheer will and whatever caffeine was left in her system, Lauren pulled herself together and held out her hands for the bundle of gray fur.  It stretched out four tiny white feet during the transfer and then curled up and went back to warm, slothful sleep. 

She grinned her husband’s direction, suddenly grounded back on planet Earth.  “That’s exactly what you do on Saturday mornings.”  Minus the claws.  “Where did you find her?”

Her husband snorted, his finger sneaking out to stroke.  Happy rumbles rose up under his touch.  “Sleeping in my dandelions.”

“She’s no bigger than a sneeze,” said Retha, leaning in for a look.  “I’m not sure Dev ever brought home one quite this tiny before.”

Ah, yes.  Her husband, magnet for orphans and strays.  Lauren ignored the still-queasy feel of her stomach and focused on the purring in her hands.  “What do we feed her?”

“Milk from a dropper.”  Dev flopped down beside her on the couch, phone in his hand.  “Ginia’s probably got one for her potions.”

“It will be delivered by at least four children,” said Retha wryly.  “‘Kitten’ isn’t a word you can undo.”

“Ah.”  Blue eyes looked up, suddenly concerned.  “You up for that?”

Lauren’s ribs squeezed.  No—but not for the reasons he thought.

Retha reached out, her hand cool on Lauren’s arm.  “Moira will have one.  And she’ll ask a lot fewer questions.”  She waited until her son started texting again, and then stroked the gray ball of fluff.  “I assume you’ve seen this adorable creature before.”

The tears hit almost instantly—but this time, there was no fog.  Just a morass of confusion and guilt and ache that had finally found a door.

Retha gathered her close, pillows, kittens, and all.  And waited, her mind entirely patient, for the storm to pass.

To Lauren’s eternal astonishment, it did.  The tears slowly ebbed, and along with them, the knot that had silenced her words.  She looked at Dev.  “I’m so sorry.”  For all the words she hadn’t been able to find.

“Don’t be.”  He pulled her feet into his lap and winked.  “I’m dry.  Fuzzball there might be less happy with you, though.”

Lauren looked down at the damp kitten and felt her giggles spurting.  “Oh, no.  Poor little fidget.”  And still curled up happily, even after the deluge.  Time to take some lessons from a bundle of fluff.  “If Hannah’s visions are true, one day we will sit by a fire with a much bigger version of Fuzzball here in your lap.”

“Huh.”  Dev leaned over the kitten again.  “Keeping you, are we?”

Just one of the many tangles that had wrapped themselves around Lauren’s heart.  “Are we?”

“Sure.”  He looked perplexed now.  Seeking.  “She’s little and she needs a home.  Why not?”

“No, I mean—” Lauren ground to a halt, beyond frustrated by the ethical quicksand under her feet, and feeling like a temperamental toddler.  “I don’t want my world pre-determined by some vision.”

 Her husband watched her for a while.  “Jamie used to go kick a tree when he felt that way.  Nearly broke his toe once.”

Lauren stared.  And then felt her laughter sneaking out again.  So much for her existential crisis. 

His fingers had found her feet, starting to work the same magic as they had on the kitten.  “Nothing needs to change just because some stupid vision decided to take a trip through your head.”

She wished with all her heart that was true.  “It changed
me
.”  And somehow, that changed everything.

He said nothing.  Only listened.

And finally, surrounded by the man who loved her most and the woman who understood best, Lauren found her voice.  “It wasn’t earth-shattering.  Nothing I saw was all that surprising.”  Even one gray fluffball of a kitten.

Retha’s mind ached with sympathy.  “But you lived it.  In those moments, it was entirely real.”

It still felt real.  She was grieving—deeply—for things barely glimpsed and sorrows not yet arrived.  And here, with those who loved her very best, she could name what lay deepest under her grief.  “I’m so scared to go back.”

You don’t need to go. 

She heard Devin’s instant mental response—and loved him all the more for not saying it.  Her eyes met his.  And wished, deeply, for some of the bravery of the family she’d married into.

It wasn’t until his mother’s eyes darkened that she knew she’d thought too loudly. 

Retha grabbed Lauren’s shoulders, one suddenly furious clan matriarch.  “You think we don’t shake in the dead of night?”  She tossed her head at Devin.  “This one, maybe not so much—but the rest of us?  You ask Daniel sometime how often he has picked Nell up from the floor weeping.  Or how often I find my husband standing in his garden, knuckles white on his hoe.”

Her breath came to a shuddering halt, and then her arms wrapped around Lauren, tight and fierce and proud. 
 I’m sorry, my dear—it’s not my temper you need.  Just know this, always and forever.  It’s okay to be scared.

Lauren held on tight. 

Conviction shone from Retha’s mind.
 And you and Nat and Téo and Daniel might not have been born Sullivans, but you are the very best part of us.
  

Chapter 8

Hannah stepped into the gardens at Chrysalis House, feeling entirely unsettled.

Dr. Max had said this was her choice.

He could afford to think that way—when the day ended, he got to walk out the gates and leave.  For twelve years, that simple freedom hadn’t been hers.  If Lauren and Tabitha held the keys, she would try what they asked for as long as it took.

Even if the first battle was simply trying to stay in the same room.

Or in this case, on the same bench.

A simple idea, and a test.  She would sit, and the two women would join her.  Dr. Max said she wasn’t to look at them.  Just listen.  It sounded like some kind of weird spy encounter.

Quiet laughter sounded behind her.  “Sorry, I should have borrowed a cape or something.”

Hannah stared at a cheerful yellow flower and tried to let the instant tautness in every cell of her body bleed away.  New faces were the most common trigger for her attacks—but not the only one.  “Hi.”

“Is it okay if we sit beside you?”  The voice sounded strange, but the gentle touch on her mind was very familiar.  You didn’t forget someone who had fought at your side. 

Whatever else Lauren was, she was an ally.  Maybe even a friend.  Hannah shrugged the last sneaking words out of her mind.  Very few people wanted to be friends with a crazy person.

A shadow sat down on the bench to her left. 
Friend will do just fine.

Mindspeaking was still a jolt.  Wry humor danced to life in Hannah’s head, chasing away some of the shakiness.  “If I tell people I’m hearing voices, they’ll put me on new meds.”  She nearly turned to look, and then remembered.  “Sorry, it’s very weird to talk this way.  I’ll just keep admiring this pretty yellow whatever-it-is.”

The flower swayed in the breeze, entirely unconcerned that she didn’t know its name. 

“No idea.  It’s lovely, though.  We have a lot of gardeners in Witch Central—I water my gardens when they tell me to.”

Hannah’s brain had frozen at the word
witch.

A second presence joined her on the right, this one with the comforting, grandmotherly feel that fit Tabitha’s face.  “Our apologies for skipping the usual small talk.  We aren’t sure how long you'll be able to sit with us.”

Witch.

She could feel the smiles.  “We can use a different word if you’d rather.”

The hollow swaying in her head wasn’t at all comfortable.  But it wasn’t one of her attacks.  She was sitting in the company of virtual strangers—and she hadn’t yet lost contact with sanity.  Hannah gripped the bench and made a Herculean effort to hear whatever they’d come to say.  “You’re witches?”  She struggled mightily not to think of black cats and broomsticks.

“We are.”  Lauren paused for a moment, watching the silly yellow flower.  “And we think you might be, too.  There’s a talent, a magic some witches have, that allows them to see glimpses of the future.”

The hollow feeling imploded.  Hannah fought the sucking vacuum reaching for her soul.  “What?”

“Oh, sweetheart.”  An arm wrapped around her shoulders, causing both of them to belatedly freeze.  And then Tabitha chuckled softly.  “Well, I guess we know that touch doesn’t trigger your magic, then.  I’m very sorry—I forgot.”

She rarely touched anyone other than family.  For too many patients at Chrysalis House, it was impossibly difficult.   The arm around her shoulders felt like the whole world.  Hannah leaned into the human sunshine and tried to reassemble her shattered neurons.  “You think my attacks are
magic
?”

“Yes.”  Lauren’s voice carried the same incandescent light.  “And we know others who share your talent.”

Never, in all the years of awful, tormenting visions, had Hannah ever considered that someone else might share her affliction.  Her heart rose in protest, screaming against a universe that would torture a simple human soul that way.

“No.”  Now it was the younger woman’s hand reaching for hers.  “I’m so sorry.  They share your talent, Hannah, not—” Lauren cast around helplessly.  “Not this.”

“Jamie is a father,” said Tabitha, as if she were talking about something entirely normal.  “And Retha raised seven children and started a gaming empire.”

Jamie.  Retha.  Hannah clutched the names—the faceless people who shared whatever haunted her and managed to live anyhow.  And asked the only question that mattered.  “How?”

“That’s what we need to work out.”  Arms and hands and love surrounded her, gifted by those who lived in a world where
witch
was a real and sane word.  “We need to figure out how to help you control your magic.”

Sometimes, when she was weaving, the pattern of colors would swirl behind her eyes and remake itself into something beautiful.  The words of this day suddenly did the same thing.  “You’re saying I’m not crazy.”

“Exactly that, child.”  Tabitha’s hand gently stroked her hair.  “You’re a witch with a talent that needs training.  That’s a different thing entirely.”

There had been so many promises over the years.  So many failures.  And something odd fluttered from the two women she couldn’t quite see.  “You’re sure.”

A pause.  “We’re sure you are a witch.”

The “and” hung in the air.  Hannah waited.  Crazy people knew a lot about waiting. 

Lauren breathed out, a sigh laced with something that didn’t belong in the easy afternoon sun.  “And we know something of the talent you have.  It’s called precognition, and it’s a tricky, complex magic.”

Ah.  “Not so easy to train.”

“No.”  Tabitha’s hand had never stopped stroking her hair.  “But one thing I know.  You can’t fix something until you know what the problem is.  And now we know.  That’s not a small thing.”

Hannah tried to pull despair around her like a cloak.  Tried to hide away from the message in the yellow flower and the hands and the love.  And couldn’t.  “No.  It’s a very big one.”

The best she’d had in a very long time.

-o0o-

Lauren nearly splatted into the booth at the coffee shop, attention distracted by the steaming cup Jamie had waiting at what she presumed was her seat.

He grinned.  “That desperate, huh?”

She rolled her eyes—after she’d taken a long swig of the good stuff.  “She took it pretty well, actually.  We didn’t have to do magic tricks or anything.”  Unlike Jamie, who’d had to float plates to convince a certain real-estate agent of his witchy credentials.