A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) (24 page)

“Ooh.”  The gust of desire was immediate and heartfelt.  “Yes.  Mine.”  Retha stroked the hardy fabric and dared the world to try to take it back from her.

Hannah felt yet another grin bloom on her face.  She could get used to this.  In celebration of spontaneous happiness, she turned the box upside down, watching the fabrics tumble loose and slither where they might.

Three women touched and made inarticulate sounds that ranged from interest to a declaration of war.

Caro held up a small bag in flaming red silk.  “This style would work very well for knitting bags.  You can make more of these?”

It almost didn’t sound like a question.  “I can if you want.”

“Good.  They’ll be beautiful in the front window, if I can keep them in stock that long.”  She fingered the tightly woven fabric.  “How long would it take you to make one of these?”

At Chrysalis House, no one had ever wanted to track the passage of time.  “I’m not entirely sure.  If I used the big loom and worked up several at a time, maybe…”  It was so hard to think of hours and days.  She was used to counting time in raindrops down the window panes.

“There’s more than one way to price a thing.”  Lauren fingered a wall hanging full of shapely green hills.  She looked over at Caro.  “How much could you sell something like this for?”

The knitting shop owner rattled off numbers that made Hannah’s teeth jar.  She tried to put words to her shock.  “For bags and pillows and things to put on the wall?”

Caro nodded.  “To get started, anyhow.  Once word gets out, we’ll probably be able to collect gold nuggets along with those prices.  There’s a market for things beautifully handmade, and yours are exquisite.” 

Hannah found herself hardly able to breathe.  She’d asked them here to help with her magic.

And they were weaving the beginnings of a life instead.

-o0o-

Jamie watched his mother play with her youngest granddaughter and bided his time.  Nat sat at his side, her patience a nearly tangible thing in the room.

They both knew what it was to need to sink into moments of normal.  And when Gramma Retha had shown up at the door, her need for it had been palpable.

Kenna pulled the blanket off her grandmother’s head.  “’Eek!”

“Peek yourself, silly widget.”  Retha tickled the little girl’s ribs, making them both giggle, and then tossed the small throw over Kenna’s head again.  She laughed as it rose two feet in the air, suspended by a whirlwind spell.  “That’s cheating, munchkin.  And I can still see your beautiful eyes.”

Kenna obligingly lowered the blanket back down over her head—and sent up a cascade of rainbow bubbles instead.  “Fishie!”

Her grandmother waved her hand through the bubbles.  “You’re not fooling me, sneaky fishie.”  She waited a moment and then launched a sneak attack on the small girl’s ribs again.  “Octopus!”

The sounds as the two of them tipped over into a puddle of riotous laughter could have made statues grin.  Jamie leaned his head on Nat’s and simply enjoyed.  He’d missed them wildly. 

Of all the many reasons they did this, everyday joy was one of the best.

It didn’t hurt any that Kenna’s mind barriers collapsed when someone tickled her.  They felt her rollicking giggles right down to their toes.

“Okay, sweet girl.”  Gramma Retha smothered two chubby cheeks in kisses.  “Why don’t you go see what trouble your cousins are getting into in the back yard?”

Jamie rolled his eyes as Kenna beelined for the back door.  “We have visitors, do we?”  Invasion force, complete.

“Naturally.  You have the most hose hookups.  Preliminary testing for tomorrow.”

Summer’s water fights were underway.  Jamie grinned.  He’d give them an hour to practice—and then he’d page Uncle Devin.

  His mom folded the peek-a-boo blanket, setting it neatly on a nearby stool.  Her disheveled hair she left alone.  Probably planning to join the water fight.

Nat held out a glass of her fancy yoga lemonade.  “Hard training session?”

Retha took the glass—and made the usual puckery face that happened when witches met sour.  “No.  We never actually got to that part.”

Huh.  Jamie frowned.  “I thought that’s why Hannah called you guys over.”

“Yes.  And somewhere between the mango juice and the pillows, we took a left turn.”  Retha reached into a bag and pulled out a cloth square in fierce slashes of color.  “She’s such a fighter.  And an artist.  This is more of her work.”

It was screaming bright—and it suited his mother down to the ground.  “She made it for you?”

“No.”  Strong, wise hands stroked the fabric’s geometries.  “There was a storm last winter up in the hills.  Great slashes of light.  She made it to capture those energies.  To remind herself to be strong.”

Jamie heard the words.  And he heard the ones his mother didn’t say.  Witch Central never gave up easily.  But when one of their own was battling so hard, every witch in Berkeley would line up behind her.  For however long it took.  

Hannah Kendrick was theirs now.

Even if it was running every mind witch they had into the ground.  They’d have to convene the brain trust again.

Later.

Jamie stood and reached down to help his mother up.  “Come on.  Let’s go teach the next generation of Sullivans how to win a water fight.”

Chapter 18

Jamie walked into Knit a Spell, trying not to let the abundant yarn add to his unease.  He wasn’t here for a knitting lesson.

His job was to be the guinea pig.

His mother and Hannah sat at a low table, their heads together.  Kindred spirits, conspiring.  He looked at Caro, behind her counter as always. 
How much trouble am I in?

You’re a Sullivan.
  Her reply was placid and amused. 

Succinct, and probably not far from wrong.   Jamie plunked down at the table in front of the two witches brewing his doom.  “Morning.  Fill me in.”

Retha beamed.  “Hannah has another theory.”

Awesome.  Gotta love it when the newbie witches were five steps ahead of everyone else.  He looked over at the woman in question.  “And what would that be?”

“Well, I don’t always have full-blown attacks.”

They’d talked about that a little.  “Yeah.  Sometimes it’s more like a waking dream, right?”  The way the rest of them normally experienced precog.

“Exactly.”  Hannah reached for the small loom at her side.  “When you’re learning to weave, it’s easier to start on a baby loom like this one.  So I was thinking that if I’m trying to weave with my magic, it would be easier to start with the dreams.”

He let go of the magic-and-weaving stuff—presumably smarter minds than his knew what that meant—and focused on the logistics.  “But don’t the dreams just happen randomly?  I thought we didn’t know the triggers for those.”

“Maybe I do.”  Her voice was soft, thinking.  “They used to happen more when I was a lot younger.”

Magic often got stronger, but Jamie kept quiet.  She was headed somewhere with this.

“And the other day, with Marion.”  She looked up.  “I know it got way out of hand, but at the beginning, it felt more like one of the dreams than an attack.”

“Came like a semi truck after that, though.”  Caro had joined them, bright red knitting on her needles. 

“I know.”  Hannah nodded grimly.  “But it started differently, and I think maybe that matters.”

Reverberations of that particular semi truck were still ricocheting around Witch Central, but Jamie pushed that aside.  He knew the value of data anomalies, even ones followed by earthquakes.  “So if your visions of Marion came kind of like a dream, and you had more of them when your magic first started, what’s the connection?”

She met his eyes, one witch analyst to another.  “I wasn’t as afraid.”

Proverbial ball out of left field.  And a really smart one.

“When I was fifteen, the first visions weren’t so scary.  Silly things about my brother and stuff.”  Hannah’s fingers worked her little loom, entirely on autopilot.  “And then they got really awful and I didn’t want them anymore.  But when I was sitting with Marion—” She paused, looking over at Caro.

“You wanted to know that her future would be better.  No shame in that, or in the telling of it.”

Jamie blessed the steadfast common sense of the woman all of them had leaned on at one time or another.  And then felt more of the pieces snapping into place.  “Wait.  You think that’s the trigger for the dreams.  Inviting the magic.”  Or at a minimum, not hating its infernal guts.

Hannah nodded very slowly.  “It’s the first time in more than ten years that I wanted to know, at least a little bit.”

Excellent witch detective work.  And now he knew why he was here.  “You want to try that again.”

She looked at him, eyes sad and serious and determined as all hell.  “Ask me something about the future you want to know.  Something small and happy.”

He cast around for something to fulfill those requirements.  “Is Caro going to make me leave here with yarn, and if so, what color?”  Precog liked sensory details—maybe that would help.

The shop owner snorted.  “You don’t need magic to answer that one, smarty pants.”

He had a smarty-pants reply ready to go—and then realized that everyone else in the room had left the station without him.

Hannah’s hands tightened around the loom, her eyes holding the kind of focus he usually only saw in Nat’s.  His mother’s emanating cloud of calm was strong enough to put half of Berkeley to sleep.  And Caro’s knitting hung from her hands, silent witness to the main action and brain clamp opened only the tiniest bit.

Jamie held very still and tried to think only of knitting and how much he disliked it.

For a long several minutes, nothing moved in the bowels of Berkeley’s best yarn shop.

And then Hannah’s eyes cleared, and his mother and Caro cracked grins big enough to be seen in Nova Scotia.

Hannah’s smile was very lopsided—but it was there.  “Well, it looks like I have to practice my weaving skills a bit more.  I have no idea on the yarn.  But you’re having meatballs for dinner.”

Jamie stared.  Far across the continent, in a small Nova Scotia fishing village, Aaron Shaw was indeed cooking meatballs.

Damn.  It had actually worked.

And the witch who had pulled it off was soaking her victory into every atom.

-o0o-

Moira looked at the enormous basket building on her kitchen table and smiled.  It was a gift of great thoughtfulness—and very eclectic tastes.

Lizzie had added a small pail of blueberries—and the rest of the basket’s contributors had managed not to eat most of them.

Kevin had found a couple of books in the library on the history of weaving, one with some very intriguing pictures.

Sophie and Ginia had assembled a spa kit, imbued with magics large and small. 

Aaron had offered up a container of tasty treats and an iPod loaded with Kevin and Cassidy’s latest fiddle meanderings in his kitchen.

Elorie had put together a small container of tools, wire, sea glass, and instructions for assembly.

Sean, grinning, had dropped in a treasure map and a pirate eye patch.

And Morgan, clueless on the purpose but wanting to join the fun, had added three slightly mangled flowers to the pile.

A basket full of love and lots of things to calm, content, and occupy a witch.  Just in case she got lonely when Witch Central headed en masse to Nova Scotia for a wedding.

A consolation prize of sorts—and a thank you for her bravery in pushing them all to go.

Ginia looked up from the chamomile lotion she was spelling.  “Do you think it will work?”

It would likely overwhelm its recipient with all sorts of things unintended.  “I think it’s a wonderful gesture, child.  I’m sure Hannah will appreciate it.”  Moira touched the small green woven square under her mug.  A full set had come as a wee thank you for a bit of tea rendered—Gran’s yarn, finally met its use.  Any witch who understood the giving of exceedingly thoughtful gifts would surely understand the receiving of them.

“We don’t want her to be lonely.”  Ginia closed the lotion pot and picked up her next concoction, this one purple and very glittery.

Moira didn’t ask.  Purple and glittery was its own gift, no matter what the purpose.  And if Hannah suddenly started running besotted after frogs, well, that could be fixed.  “She’ll be fine, sweet girl.  I suspect she’s used to spending a few hours alone.”

“I know.”  Their young healer’s eyes filled with empathy.  “But maybe she doesn’t want to remember those hours too much.”

A very good point.  Moira steadied one of Morgan’s flowers threatening to slide off the top of the pile.  “I’ll just go get a small something of my own to add to the basket.”

Ginia’s eyes glowed.  “What are you gonna give her?”

Moira laughed.  “A towel.  I hear there’s a water fight in the offing.”  Just one more way for Witch Central to leave their newest member in good spirits and feeling loved.

-o0o-

It was the craziest water fight ever.

Jamie jumped in front of Lauren, who was standing motionless in the direct path of Nathan and Mia’s frontal assault, and hit them both with his mutant super-blaster hose.  Two spluttering, laughing combatants dove for cover.