A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) (26 page)

But it was Marcus who shone incandescent.

A man who had stumbled out of the dust of his life into Eden—and found the wherewithal to stay.

It was time to recognize his miracle with the words of history and ritual and love.

Moira stepped forward, as did Nan on the other side of the circle, and began the words that would forever cement the three who had already joined.

“With joy and love and light and power

We bring magic and gladness of heart to this hour.”

Already, power stirred.  It was going to be a wedding to remember.

-o0o-

Hannah shifted the reed on her lap loom, the familiar movements finally doing their job of numbing her mind.  The cotton was lovely—sturdy and smooth and a multitude of purples, plucked off Caro’s shelves for just this purpose.

A quick weave with instant finger appeal.  Her first attempt at making something specifically to sell.  A taste of handwoven for those who didn’t want or couldn’t find the spare dollars for one of her more complicated designs.

Simple and mindless.  Nothing about it should have been squeezing her head, but she’d been fending off an impending migraine for hours.

Twelve years of practice, and she was halfway into a single day of solitude and already whimpering.

This called for chocolate.

She contemplated the fifteen different varieties sitting on the side table and smiled.   Somehow, Witch Central had known.  The lockdown basket that had seemed entirely like overkill suddenly carried a new message—the vibration of a whole bunch of hearts who understood.

-o0o-

Nell felt the buoyant love of the day break loose as the structure of the wedding circle dissipated.   Witches shifting from disciplined joy to their usual chaos.

Still communing—but unhooking from the rigor and ritual and history that shaped their most important magics.

This circle had been particularly high in the joy factor.  Witches had a special affinity for souls redeemed from life’s dust pile.

Morgan stood in the center of what had once been a circle, purple eyes drinking in the tapestry of this day.  Marcus crouched down in front of her, his hand burrowing into the wild grasses of summer, and sprang up a carpet of daffodils that would have done ten earth witches proud.

Nell grinned.  Now
there
was a man happy to be married.

Morgan danced in place in delight, toddler attention span overwhelmed by abundance.  And then turned and hid her face in the folds of Cass’s dress.  A child’s heart, entirely full.

Irish fiddler hands reached down to pick her up, Cassidy’s rich laughter ringing through the gardens.

And then Marcus enfolded them both.

Nell turned away, sniffling, as a swell of laughter and love rose from the watching crowd.  Not bad for a crusty old bachelor.

Not bad at all.

-o0o-

Hannah stared out the window, a great surging of emotion rising up from that place in her gut where Jamie said the soul lived.

Laughter.  Love.  A small girl with purple eyes.

And a circle unending of people who loved them.

A circle—coated in glimmer.

She had just enough warning for fear to ice over her soul.

And then the attack hit, full force, and all Hannah could do was pray to outlive it.

-o0o-

Aervyn tugged on Lauren’s hand, oddly insistent.  “Why is Lizard holding your boots and crying?”

She looked down, trying to put his question together with her husband’s impromptu conga train through the new field of daffodils.  “Hmm—what’s that, kiddo?”

His forehead furrowed.  “Lizard has your boots.  And she’s really, really sad.”

Lauren scanned the crowd, puzzled.  And spied her assistant, about five back from Devin in the conga line.  “She’s fine, sweetie.”

“Ginie.”  The plaintive wail in his little-boy voice cut to the quick of her soul.  “Don’t drink it, please.”

She looked down at him in horror—and barely caught him as he dropped to the ground, a fire hydrant of magic streaming into his head.

Yanking power, she slammed down barriers around him a foot thick.  And watched the torrent flow through, entirely unchecked.

Oh, God. 
NELL!  SOPHIE!  JAMIE!

He was so white.  So small.  And terrifyingly rigid as she laid him carefully on the ground.

Jamie landed at her side, power pouring from his hands, crashing barriers down next to hers with the vengeance of an infuriated death ray.

The torrent tossed them off like flotsam.

MAMA.
 Aervyn’s body curled up in wild pain, his mind screaming for Nell. 

She stormed to his side, sheathed in the power of an avenging goddess.  And watched her might swallowed by the raging torrent attacking her son.  Frantic, Nell dropped to Aervyn’s side.

A mother unhinged.  A warrior desperate for a target.

Mama.

The whimper finished what the scream had started.  Melting panic hit the minds of the strongest witching family in five generations.

And one anguished witch did the only thing she could.

Battling to her feet, hanging tight to power and shields and the blinding need of the small boy she loved beyond measure, Lauren stepped in front of the torrent.

For one tiny, infinitely precious moment, she saw Aervyn’s body go limp.

And then hell swallowed her whole.

-o0o-

It had finally happened.

Retha felt the world moving in infinitely slow motion, her thoughts the only things traveling faster than light.

An attack had finally breached the mighty Sullivan walls, aimed at the small, magical boy they would all die for.

She had felt Lauren’s choice.

And rejected it.  Fury lit in the deepest regions of her heart.  Be
damned
if a Sullivan was going to die this day.

Retha smashed mental channels through to the children she loved—and had raised for this moment. 
NELL.  DEVIN.  JAMIE. 
They had power, oceans of it.

HERE.
  One word, a thousand strong, coming from witches far and wide.  Streaming in from those gathered, from Realm, from history, from the source of all magic.

She felt them lining up, elements organizing.  Collective witch instinct.

A weapon, ready to aim.

They needed only a target.

Gramma.
 Aervyn’s voice was a barest whisper.  A small boy drained of all the magic he owned. 
It’s Hannah.  Her head hurts.

She felt him vanish, conked on the head by a swarming team of healers. 

Hannah?  This was precog?

Retha turned, aiming a magical grappling hook at the torrent shattering Lauren.

And was mentally flattened by her own daughter.

No.
 Nell’s mindvoice was driven, unyielding steel. 

I need to see.

Like hell you do.

Go to Hannah. 
Devin’s voice flowed fast and strong. 
Caro and Tab are leaving now.

Fear razored her soul.  Courageous idiots.  They would get eaten alive.

Her bravest son’s mind trembled like a leaf.  He had Lauren curled in his big, shaking arms. 
Go. Please.

Retha’s heart broke.

Waves aren’t stopped at the beach.
 
They’re stopped at the source.  Go.  Save my wife.

Retha felt the transport spell hit.

And prayed, desperately, for the strength not to fail.

-o0o-

Sophie landed, clutching the precious, dangerous jar in her hand.

Ginia looked up, eyes fierce.  “They can’t stop it.”  Mike knelt beside her, working ferociously, trying to sustain the energies of the nine who circled Hannah.

Retha.  Tabitha.  Caro.  Lizard.  Marcus.  Kevin.  Edric.  Jennie.  Nell.  Mind witches, all.  And a man Sophie didn’t know holding Hannah’s head in his lap, abject terror on his face.

It didn’t take a healer to know they were failing.

Faces, chalk white, strained against an unseen force, the weakest of them fading fast.

“That’s Dr. Max with Hannah.  I’m going to have to pull Edric soon.”  Mike’s voice was low and grim.  “His heart is old.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.”  Moira landed beside Sophie, potions bag in her hands, eyes already assessing.  “How are Hannah’s vitals?”

“Fine for now.”  Mike’s face was coated in horror.  “I don’t know how she does this.  Max said it’s too late for the sedatives—they’d leave her a vegetable.  And it might kill Lauren.”

Sophie’s fingers tightened around the jar. 

A hand settled over hers.  Moira, icy calm.  “What is it?”

“Something I mixed up.  I thought it might help temper her attacks.”  Sophie pushed her beating fear to the place where healers banished all impeding emotions.  “A larger dose might stop one.  Or it might kill her.”  She looked into the eyes of the woman who had taught her everything, including the harsh edge of compassion.  “It’s valerian, passionflower, hyssop, and skullcap.”

“You simmered the hyssop?  And used thrice-propagated valerian?”  Moira shook her head.  “Of course you did.”  She considered the jar a moment longer.  And then cupped it in her hands.

A benediction.

From the healer with the finest, bravest heart Sophie had ever known.

Calling all the magic that was hers to summon, Sophie bent down beside her patient and began the magic she hoped would save two lives.

Chapter 20

The first thing Lauren felt was Devin’s hands.  Warm and strong and absolutely insistent that she stay.

The next was the small, breathing presence curled up at her side.  She didn’t need mindtouch to know who it was—his gentle, dreaming mental signature was as familiar as the beating of her own heart.

Aervyn lived.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

“Ah, I do believe she’s coming round.”  Moira’s fingers brushed her forehead, and an insistent ball of fluff pushed on her cheek.  The old healer chuckled.  “Fuzzball would like to say hello.”

Her cheeks worked.  And her tears.  Lauren wasn’t entirely convinced anything else would ever work again.  Her brain felt like it had been trampled by Jupiter-sized dinosaurs.

“Shh, now.”  Again, the gentle touch on the forehead.  “We’re waking Ginia.  She’ll be able to help you more than I can.”

Lauren heard the sorrow in the old healer’s voice.  Work she could no longer do.  And tried to send a thought. 
Just hold my hand.

“Cut that out.”  Lizard’s voice was stuffed full of love and chiding and tears barely restrained.  “You shouldn’t be doing anything witchy for at least a decade.  Healer’s orders.  And your mind barriers are crap.  You just think quietly in there—I’ll translate for anyone who can’t hear what you’re saying.”

She wasn’t the only one with leaky barriers.  Her assistant didn’t scare easily, but if she packed any more worried misery into her head, it was going to be flammable.

Smart ass.
  Some of the worry fled.

God.  Even mental amusement hurt.

Small, warm hands touched the sides of her head.  A moment of uncomfortable heat, and then life felt light years better.  “Stupidhead.”  Ginia sounded almost normal.  “You were supposed to stay conked out until I got up from my nap.”

There was a whole lot of name-calling going on.  Lauren felt her instincts breathing life into fear. 
Is everyone else okay?  Hannah?

Yeah.
  Lizard was there in an instant. 
All doing better than you right now.  Any chance you can open your eyes?  Not everyone can feel your smart-ass brain coming to life, and I haven’t got enough juice left to do that cool transmission thing you do.

Witch Central didn’t scare easily, either. 
What happened?

She could feel Lizard’s mental arms crossing. 
Open your eyes and then we’ll talk.

So much for coddling the patient.

Lauren tried to direct instructions to her eyelids, and felt Ginia’s hands at her temples again.  A couple more quick bursts of power and then neon-bright lights came through her tiny eye slits. 
Ow.

Suck it up if you can.
  Lizard sounded worried again. 
Ginia’s looking kind of pale
.

Holy hell.  What had happened? 
Got any sunglasses?

A pair slapped down on her nose two seconds later, oversized and blessedly dark.  Jamie chuckled.  “Stylin’.”

Better.  Lauren got both eyes open, just in time to watch her husband wipe deep worry off his face.  Oh, shit.  She squeezed his fingers.  “That bad?”

“Pretty bad.”  Dev managed half a grin.  “Fortunately, Sophie had a potion handy.”

He’d tried to pull off casual—and if she’d been a hairsbreadth less coherent, it would have worked.  Lauren picked up the fleeting edge of the thought Jamie had tried to help him jam into a mental vault.

It had been a very close call.

She closed her eyes.  That wasn’t news.  Hannah’s visions hadn’t stinted on close-ups of the urn in Devin’s hands.

She squeezed her husband’s fingers again.  They were going to have to talk about his taste in pottery.  “What happened?”