A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) (17 page)

The song ended and he waved again.  “We’re gonna love you really soon.  Bye-bye, Hannah-Banana.”

The flood of tears came out of nowhere.  And brought with them an ocean of shame and guilt.  Hannah’s arms wrapped around her ribs, holding in her desperate desire to slither under the soft mound of orange and disappear.

Lizard sat, silent and kind, and waited for the flood to ebb. 

When it did, she handed over a white bandana that had seen way better days.  “You fake it pretty well.”

Hannah blinked, wrung out by the certain knowledge that she wasn’t worthy of the gift trying to invade her life.  “What?”

“Landing in this place is crazy.”  Lizard gestured around the kitchen.  “I spent the first week just wanting to crawl back to the crummy hole I’d been living in.”

Someone had said it out loud.  Almost.  The terrible wish that had woken her up in the night.  “I don’t want to go back.”

Lizard snorted and raised an eyebrow.

The demons of the night oozed out into the day.  The food had sucked, the hovering staff had sucked, the monotony of unending days of sameness had sucked.  But Chrysalis House had been familiar.  “It’s so different here.”

“Yeah.”  One word, loaded with understanding.

And it somehow unchained Hannah’s words.  “I woke up last night covered in cold sweat.  I’m supposed to meet Caro’s knitting ladies today and I’m terrified.”

Lizard leaned over with a long fork and flipped over the bacon.  “You should have seen me at my first college class.  Give me a bar full of mean, drunk bikers any day.”  She shuddered.  “One dude in my class had glasses—you know, the kind that all the obnoxious poets wear.  Scared the crap out of me.”

Hannah stared.  Her visitor meant every word.  “What happened?”

“I lived.”  Lizard shrugged.  “So will you.  I still wig out sometimes.  Start of the semester, obnoxious client, new witch to babysit.”

Belatedly, Hannah realized she was the new witch.  “You’re doing so much for me.  Everyone is.”

“Yeah.”  Lizard’s eyes suddenly changed to something deep and vulnerable and utterly beautiful.  “You’ll probably have some hard days for a while.  And then there will be less of them, but I don’t know if they ever really go away.”  She shrugged.  “But one day, you’ll be hanging out with someone newer than you and remembering all the shit—and you’ll realize you’re never going back.”

Lizard’s eyes shuttered again, and she stood up to deal with the bacon.

Hannah hugged a ragged white bandana.  The very best gift of the morning hadn’t arrived under the orange blanket.

For the rest of her life, hope was going to smell a little bit like bacon.

-o0o-

Hannah sat in the corner, patting the wonderful old loom that had just transported with her, trying to shift gears.  An hour spent in happy, bacon-induced coma had done wonders for calming her jitters.

A cup of coffee set down by her elbow.  “I have fresh rolls to go with that as soon as they arrive.”  Caro took a seat, chuckling.  “Apparently they took a small detour past Jamie’s kitchen first.”

A basket materialized on the counter right beside a large jar of something that looked an awful lot like tomato sauce.

“That’s a fine trade.”  Caro walked over to pick up the basket, looking pleased.  “We’ll have ourselves some lovely spaghetti tonight.”

Witches never stopped eating.  Hannah wished inanely for some kind of culinary skill to offer up.  Twelve years having your meals prepared for you was piss-poor preparation for the real world.  She sniffed as the basket got closer.  “Those smell amazing.”  An hour ago, she’d have sworn she didn’t need to eat again for a week.

“Sourdough rolls—it’s a simple recipe.”  Her guardian busied herself with knives, a sunny yellow pat of butter, and bright green jelly.  “I’d be happy to show you how to make them.  My grandmother always had a batch slow rising overnight.  Almost a hundred years now that our family’s been making sourdough from that same starter.”

Hannah touched the loom.  “The same grandmother?”

“Only knew one.”  Caro handed over a buttered-and-jellied roll.  “She was a fixture of New Mexico for ninety-three years, and I miss her every day.”

The roll was heaven—and the sense of history that came with it even more awesome.  Roots in the past.  Hannah sat, fingers on the loom, butter and something slightly spicy mingling in her mouth, and let herself simply enjoy.

Caro sipped her coffee in companionable silence and then reached into a bag.  “Hold that nice, steady feeling.  Got some pictures for you.”

Hannah took another butter-drenched roll.  For fortitude.

“That’s the spirit.”  Caro chuckled and held out the first photograph.  “This is Helga.  She’s a troublemaker.”

The tiny, bird-like granny looked like anything but—until you saw her eyes. 

“Elsie’s the newest member of our group, but she’s making up for lost time.  Knit herself practically halfway to China already.  She and Helga are fast friends.”

The young woman in stylish jeans and a retro blouse that Hannah instantly coveted wasn’t at all what she’d expected.  “How did they meet?”

Caro grinned.  “That’s a story well worth hearing.  I’ll let them tell it—you’ll have a lot more fun that way.  Elsie’s out of town right now, but she’ll be back next week.”

It was a strange sensation to be curious, but she was.  Drugged by buttery sourdough and friendly faces.

“And this is Jodi.”  A mom with bright eyes, an easygoing smile, and a toddler hanging half upside down off her lap looked out of the photo.  “And her munchkin Sam, who keeps us very busy when he comes to visit these days.”

Hannah could only imagine the chaos a mobile baby would cause in a yarn shop.  Caro’s voice held nothing but warm affection, though.  “He’s adorable.”

“A total imp.  Marion’s threatening to knit him a playpen.” 

The photo of the woman who must be Marion was serious—almost dour.  Until you saw the day-glow-pink knitting in her lap.

Hannah smiled at the pink.  “She looks interesting.”

“You see well.”  Caro shuffled up the snapshots.  “Marion’s good British stock, and she’s had a life that has kept her serious.”

“Who’s the pink for, then?”  Hannah imagined a spritely granddaughter or child who lived next door.

“It’s her spring scarf.  She’s got a whole collection of them.  Hats and mittens too, and she wears them from Labor Day to Memorial Day.”

In California, that would qualify as fairly quirky.  Hannah sensed a kindred spirit.  “I have some lime-green silk I dyed—maybe she’d like it.”

Caro snorted.  “For that, she’d probably adopt you and feed you three times a day.  Not that I’d recommend it—her cooking takes after her stockings, not her scarves.”

Hannah had missed the stockings.  She stared at the stacked photographs, trying to remember.

“Serviceable, bland, and entirely lacking in imagination.”  Caro dropped several skeins of blue yarn in Hannah’s hands.  “Here, you can help me get out some of the new inventory before they arrive.  Helga will snoop otherwise.”

Caro was a quiet, steady tornado.  Hannah stood up, bemused.  “Where do they go?”

“Up to you.  Find some place they look nice.”

It seemed like an odd system for inventory, but the shop was warm and inviting, so something was clearly working.  Hannah wandered the shelves and displays, looking.  Not with the blues—too dark.  And not by the rainbow brights, either.  The blue was very pretty, and it would get overshadowed.

Hannah smiled when she spied the little copper plant stand with the climbing vines.  Carefully she tucked the pretty blues in with the soft greens and shiny metal.

“You think like a weaver.”  Caro nodded over her shoulder in approval.  “Helga and Marion are just down the block, if you want to go sit at your loom.”

Blue yarn forgotten, Hannah bolted for the back corner.

“No need to fret.”  Caro kept tucking balls into a cubby.  “I told them you’ll need some time to warm up to us.  They expect you to be tucked away, working on your weaving.”

Hannah tried to push back the terror.  “Can you hold the clamp around that many people?”

“Yes.”  More steadiness.  “Today, take a few steps out into the world.  Let us worry about your magic for now.  You just have a little fun.”

Fun was so far away from anything she could imagine.  Hannah sat on a stool, very grateful the loom was huge. 

It shamed her that hiding was her overwhelming need.

“Opened this shop nigh on twenty-five years ago now.”  Caro had started fiddling with a basket full of shiny silk.  “I think I spent the first six months shaking every time a customer walked in the door.” 

Everyone was so damned understanding, and it made Hannah want to scream.  “It’s okay to tell me I’m being a wimp.”

“Of course it is.”  Dark eyes looked up and drilled into hers.  “And when the day comes that you’re being one, you can be sure I’ll tell you.”

The tone was almost scolding—and it settled Hannah’s nerves faster than hours of kindness would have.  “Thank you.”

“Heh.”  Caro turned for the door.  “My grandmother would have liked you.”

The compliment settled around Hannah’s shoulders like a warm woolen cape. 

She could do this.

-o0o-

It wasn’t every morning you woke up with a ton of bricks landing on your belly.

Jamie squeezed one eye open and squinted at the bright light.  What the heck time was it?

The ton of bricks on his belly giggled.  “Way past time for you to be in bed, silly.  I had waffles for lunch and everything already.”

Lunch?  Jamie tried to jolt his entirely groggy brain into action.  He’d gotten up at the crack of dawn after an abysmal night’s sleep, ported witches around, and eaten four kick-ass sourdough rolls.  And then apparently toppled back into bed and slept like a rock. 

He needed to bribe Caro for more of her rolls.

Aervyn slid off his belly and lay down on the next-door pillow.  “So living all by yourself is kinda boring, huh?”

There was nothing remotely boring about napping until 10:23 a.m.  “Yup.  I snore and eat and then snore some more.”  Jamie trapped his nephew in an elbow lock.  “You better be careful—I’m really stinky.”

Aervyn sniffed, giggling.  “You are not.  Morgan’s feet are stinky, though.  I think she let the kitty lick them.”

Gross.  That was a new one—maybe because they didn’t have a cat.  Yet.  Nat had cast fond looks at the cute gray fluffball Devin had dragged home. 

Damn, he missed his family. 

“How come you hafta stay here?”  Aervyn set his chin on Jamie’s chest, curious and a little sad.  “We’re having lots of fun and stuff.  You should come.  Aaron’s making lobster stew for dinner.”

That was complicated—and his brain wasn’t well caffeinated yet.  “We have a witch to help, and some of us need to spend time here to do that.”  He ruffled his nephew’s curls.  “How about I come visit for dinner, huh?”  Lobster stew and a good dose of immaturity sounded like the perfect antidote to crappy sleep.

“Okay, deal.”  Aervyn sat up in the bed, his pensive mood gone.  “Want me to port you one of Aaron’s waffles?  They’re really yummy, and he made enough to feed a giant, invading army.”

Jamie tried not to laugh.  Witch Central
was
a giant, invading army.  “I think I’ll live.  Caro let me steal some rolls this morning.”

Aervyn’s mind practically drooled. 

“There are two left in the kitchen.”  Maybe.  He was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten them all.  Jamie dumped his nephew off the bed.  “Go see if you can find them.”

He stood up just in time.  Nell landed in the middle of the bed her son had just vacated, scowling.

Uh, oh.  Kid gone AWOL.  Jamie nodded in the direction of the running feet.  “He’s here.”

“Figured.”  She got down off his rumpled bed.  “He forgot the little part about letting me know he was leaving.”  She reached into her back pocket for her phone.  “I’ll let Marcus know he can call off the ocean search party.”

Oops.

His sister looked up, eyes a little too casual.  “How are you doing?”

There wasn’t much point in lying.  “Surviving.  I’d way rather be in Nova Scotia.”

“Yeah.”  Pithy sister empathy.  “Mom said it was pretty intense.”

That was a weak word for having your intestines hooked and pulled out through your belly button.  “Hannah saw Kenna.  In trouble.”

“I heard.”  Nell grinned.  “Must be genetic.”

There was no one better for beating back fear.  “Yeah.”

“I don’t like that you saw it.”  Her voice was low and firm and laced with menace.  “But know this.  If your girlchild ever truly screams in terror, half of witchdom will trample each other coming to her rescue.”

With a whole lot of Sullivans leading the charge.  Jamie let that soak deep into his bones.  He wasn’t some poor witch who’d spent the last decade in a house for crazy people.  “Yeah.”  This time, he believed it.

“Still sucks, though.”  Nell walked to the door, listening for her errant witchling.  “You gonna do it again?”

That had been the topic of a long mother-son conversation.  “We have to.  She’s a long way from being able to control things on her own.” 

Magic required practice—it was a truth they both lived and breathed every day.

“Call if you need help,” said Nell quietly.  “We’ll send reinforcements.”

That much he knew.  But reminders were always good, and preferably, the long, rowdy kind.  “I’m coming for dinner.”

She grinned.  “Smelled the lobster, did you?”

More or less.  “It can’t be all magic all the time.  Hannah needs to hang out with the regular kind of crazy people for a while, and I have to go torture a man in his last days of glorious bachelorhood.”  They could sit around unshowered and belch together, or something.

“’Kay.”  Nell disappeared down the hall, and then stuck her head back through the door.  “Let me go scowl at my kiddo for a minute, and then we can all leave together.”

That sounded amazingly good.  Time to go hug his girl.

Precog could damn well wait.

-o0o-

She’d hit a straightforward stretch of weaving, one where the color went back and forth in easy, simple lines.  This loom would do tricks that her lap loom could only dream of, but for today, she just wanted big expanses of color.  A bird, testing its wings.