Witches in Flight (14 page)

No fainting damsels-in-distress in this family.

Elsie sat hunched over the sword she had been meticulously coloring
with glittery markers for over thirty minutes.
 
His nieces were going to be so jealous.
 
“You know it’s probably going to get
destroyed in this sword fight, right?”
 
Cardboard had a short lifespan, particularly when wielded with
four-year-old enthusiasm.

She grinned.
 
“You
assume I can’t fight.”

Not anymore.
 
“If
your sword doesn’t break, you aren’t having any fun.”
 
And fun was the point of the afternoon.
 
Elsie took her Silly Jar assignments
very seriously.
 
At least this one
wouldn’t scorch the couch cushions—Nell had been unimpressed with the
aftermath of toasting marshmallows in a pillow fort.

It was hardly Jamie’s fault Aervyn had decided to dragon-roast
his marshmallows.
 
Apparently
dragons didn’t have very good aim.

Aervyn’s bouncing was getting wilder.
 
Time to go entertain an impatient princess.
 
Jamie wiggled his fingers, and Elsie’s
glittery sword lit up.

She managed not to swallow her marker when it happened.
 
Good.
 
One witch was getting a little more used to silly
antics.
 
Jamie grinned and waved at
the back yard.
 
“Let’s go—our
princess awaits.”
 
It was hard to
do much permanent damage outside.
 

Elsie picked up her sword, giggling.
 
“Just so I have the storyline straight here. The dragon and
the knight are best friends, and we have to go rescue the princess, which
basically involves fighting her, I mean him, into submission?”

“Yup.”
 
And the
dragon sometimes switched allegiance mid-fight, but he figured the laws of the
land didn’t require that he tell her that just yet.
 
“And no porting, since you can’t, but there’s probably no
way Aervyn’s feet are going to stay on the ground.”
 
Elsie’s probably wouldn’t either—Aervyn was pretty
convinced dragons needed to fly, and he was more than capable of helping her do
it.

She rolled her eyes and opened the back door.
 
“I can’t believe you do this on
Mondays, and go to investor meetings on Tuesdays.
 
You have a really weird life.”

That caught his attention.
 
“You’re not going to the meeting?”

“No.
 
I’m just a
small fish, and I’ve already seen the prototype.”
 
Elsie’s eyes twinkled.
 
“But I’ll make sure Lizard gets there.”

Jamie grinned.
 
Elsie was becoming a pretty cool witch.
 
“You lead a fairly weird life yourself, you know.”

Elsie looked down at her glowing sword.
 
“I guess I do.”

It took almost twenty minutes to rescue the princess, but only
half that for Aervyn to nearly fly Elsie into the branches of the big climbing
tree.
 
And if Jamie could have
bottled the giggles from the event, he could have cured the world of
depression.

His good deed for the day done, Jamie leaned contentedly against
the tree, soaking in the late afternoon sun.
 
He watched as Aervyn climbed into Elsie’s lap, still
cuddling the bedraggled remnants of his weapon.
 
“You’re an awesome dragon, Elsie-Belsie.
 
Sorry I broke your sword.”
 

Elsie looked over at the two halves lying on the grass.
 
“It’s okay.
 
I bet I can find glitter glue and some of the pink tape we
used on Gertrude Geronimo and fix it right back up.”

Jamie grinned.
 
As a
veteran of glitter-glue repairs, he was pretty sure Elsie’s sword was beyond
redemption.

His nephew snuggled in for some post-rescue cuddles.
 
“You make a really good kid,
Elsie-Belsie.
 
I hope you never
grow up.”

She tried to hide it, but Jamie felt the pain hit her eyes and
mind.
 
He shielded Aervyn, sure she
didn’t want him to know—and pondered.
 
Some pieces of the Elsie-in-progress were in pretty good
shape.
 
But he was getting the
sudden feeling that some of them made her bedraggled sword look good.

Change was hard.
 
Even when you were a brave and mighty dragon.

~ ~ ~

--------------------------------------

To:
[email protected]

From:
Jennie Adams <
[email protected]
>

Subject:
Re: Perhaps I am a silly old man.

--------------------------------------

Dear
Melvin,

Your pendants have never been wrong—but they don’t always
speak plainly, either.
 
Perhaps
something moves in Elsie’s life that we are not aware of, and her nighttime
escapades are not the source of concern.
 

I’m glad that, for now, Vero can help Elsie to enjoy spreading
her new wings.
 
I imagine your wife
understands the draw of slightly clandestine romance better than any of
us.
 
And one day, I expect the full
story of how she ended up in the arms of a quiet accountant.
 
I know—much of the story is the
stuff of Witch Central legend.
 
But
the photographer in me says there’s more.

Which is nicely distracting me from worries about Elsie.
 
Let Vero play in the sky with her.
 
The rest of us can hold the corners of
the safety net.
 
She won’t be the
first witch traveling in such a formation.
 
We’re good at being both roots and wings.

Caro apparently got a visit from a highly frazzled Lizard
today—with Bean in her arms and Josh Hennessey on her heels.
 
Which seems like a whole lot of
domestic bliss for our poet fairy, and pretty much guaranteed to make her
squirm, if the knitting ladies haven’t already accomplished that.

I wonder if she knows yet how much her heart yearns—or how
much his does.
 
And how little
anything else truly matters.

Jennie

~ ~ ~

Caro walked over to the other side of her townhouse, homemade
baguette in one hand, fresh butter in the other.
 
Time to have a chat with an unhappy witch.

She squatted down, juggling bread and butter, to snip off some
oregano—and smiled as the door behind her opened.
 
Lizard might use her mind talents more
for blocking than for listening, but she usually heard you coming.
 
“Afternoon.
 
Just made butter—thought you might like some.”

Lizard’s eyes were wary.
 
“Witches don’t just accidentally drop by.
 
What’s up?”

Caro sighed.
 
Witches dropped by all the time—Lizard just hadn’t gotten much of
a taste of uncomplicated friendship yet.
 
Too much meddling.

Well, she wasn’t here to meddle.
 
Exactly.

But since the girl wasn’t at all stupid, she’d probably best
start by being honest.
 
“Heard you
crashing around over here, all tangled up.”
 
She
 
stood and handed
the snipped oregano to Lizard.
 
“Seems like the young man who followed you into my store earlier today
might have something to do with it.”

For a guy in a yarn store, Josh Hennessey had seemed right at
home.
 
He had even charmed Marion,
which was a pretty impressive feat for any male over the age of two.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”
 
Lizard’s mind shrouded.
 
“I’m not Elsie, searching for some guy with strong arms to
replace the father who took off.”

It was a pretty astute summary, and exactly what had Caro
worried, but Elsie wasn’t the witch she’d come to talk about.
 
She leaned over for some chives to add
to the oregano.
 
“You’re
smart.
 
And you keep your eyes open
and watch a lot, just like me.”

“I have eyes.”
 
Lizard squirmed, dismissing the compliments like she always did.
 
“I don’t need a guy.”

“Got that part.”
 
Caro balanced the chives on top of the butter and walked up Lizard’s
steps.
 
Sometimes you had to create
your own invitation.
 
“I don’t need
yarn, either, but my life’s a lot happier for having it around.”

Lizard snorted.
 
“You’re totally addicted to your yarn.”

Okay, perhaps not the best of examples.
 
“I’m not much for beating around the
bush, so I’m just going to say what I came to say, and then you can decide
whether you want to share my bread or not.”

“Fine.”
 
Lizard sat
down on a stool and looked about as friendly as the guy behind the counter at
the post office.

Caro fiddled with the fresh herbs, trying to line up her
thoughts.
 
She picked up a handful
of flour, letting it sift through her fingers.
 
“Bread’s just flour and water and yeast and salt.
 
You can fancify it with other things,
but at the end of the day, it’s just those four things.”

Lizard’s lips quirked.
 
“You’re here to give me a cooking lesson?”

It would probably be easier.
 
“No.
 
Just
talking about something we both know.
 
The flour and the yeast are just ingredients.
 
We get to decide if they turn into bread, or biscuits, or
Jennie’s rock-hard cookies.”

Amusement shaded Lizard’s mind.
 
“If you make me produce cookie rocks, I’m moving out.”

This talking in paragraphs was challenging.
 
Caro pushed on.
 
“Our pasts are kind of like
ingredients.
 
Elsie can’t change
not having a father, but she can decide how she mixes it up.
 
Whether she’s making bread or rocks.
 
So can you.”

Lizard froze, merriment draining from her eyes.
 
For a long, long time, she said nothing.

Caro wished desperately for a pair of knitting needles.

Finally the girl’s mind opened, just a sliver.
 
“You’re a sneaky witch.”

“So I’ve been told.”
 
Caro reached for the baguette.
 
“Want some bread?”

“Yeah.”
 
Lizard was
quiet for a long time again.
 
“Thanks.”

For a woman of few words, that was all that needed to be said.

Lizard climbed the steps of the warehouse where Josh’s company offices
lived, cursing elevators, business suits, and leftover details for the client
from hell that had kept her distracted enough she’d completely blanked on the
investor meeting.
 
Until she’d gone
down for breakfast and found Elsie’s reminder note stuck to the fridge.

At which point the whole sad, deluded project had exploded back
in her brain.

Josh was a nice guy.
 
A smart guy.
 
And he wasn’t
peddling her a pile of crap on purpose.
 
But people just didn’t offer millions of dollars to delinquents.
 
Hell, people didn’t offer that kind of
money to anyone, even if she dressed up and didn’t scowl and told them her name
was Liz.

She’d faked it for Claire Jameson, but she was going to get a
big, fat commission out of that one.

This maps thing was just what Grammie would have called “pure
horse manure.”