Witches in Flight (7 page)

Freddie grinned, tension draining in a relieved swoosh.
 
“Seems like you finally got yourself
one worth seeing, girlie.
 
You put
any meat in that spaghetti for me?”

“Yeah.”
 
Lizard
turned around and yelled down the hall,
 
“Yo, Elsie.
 
One incoming
carnivore.”
 
She winked at
Freddie.
 
“Go get a plate before
the hordes beat you to the kitchen.”

Jennie turned around at the giggles behind her—and
realized half of Witch Central was lined up in the front yard.
 
Tomato sauce was better than a bat
signal.
 
And then she realized she
should have expected a crowd, sauce or not.
 
In Lizard’s world, homes weren’t buildings.
 
They were neighborhoods.

~ ~ ~

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

To:
[email protected]

From:
Jennie Adams <
[email protected]
>

Subject:
One tired monkey.

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

Dear
Vero,

I am, at long last, tucked in at home—and I can’t sleep.
I’m sure arriving home to what turned into a major party didn’t help.
 
My husband lies snoring beside me, a
talent of his I’ve envied for all of our married life.
 

It’s hard to imagine that the bedraggled blonde fairy and the
precise psychologist have evolved into a partnership that can roll with a Witch
Central invasion. Heck, I think they planned it, although I never got in enough
words with either of them to find out.

You would have truly loved the quiet story going on underneath, however.
 
Lizard invited Freddie and his wife to
what is I’m sure the strangest Sunday dinner they’ve ever attended.
 
Both of her families—the Grenadines
in their Sunday best, and Witch Central in our typical chaos.
 
It took about two minutes, one bite of
Elsie’s delectable sauce, and a certain witchling in Freddie’s lap, for
Lizard’s worlds to meld.
 

Somehow, a big black man without a whit of magic is now one of
us.
 
And his wife sat down beside
Helga, pulled out her knitting needles, and didn’t move the rest of the
night.
 
My husband just chuckles
and says it’s likely my fault.

I only wish I could take the credit.

The quiet story doesn’t end there, however.
 
Somewhere in the middle of all the
chaos, I realized that our Italian witch stood holding court over her pot of
sauce.
 
Not bewildered this time,
not scared and searching for a foothold.
 

We’ve always seen Elsie as a born organizer.
 
That’s far too sterile a term.
 
She’s a born matriarch.
 
And today, in that kitchen, I could
finally see it.
 
I wonder if she
does.

Full
of noodles and headed to bed,

Jennie

~ ~ ~

Caro’s eyes flew open, the fog of sleep vanishing from her
brain.
 
She frowned at the streak
of moonlight kissing her cheek—it wasn’t moonbeams that had woken her up,
even frisky ones.

Elsie was dreaming again.

The trapeze dream had ebbed in the past few nights.
 
Snippets still flew in Elsie’s sleeping
head, but usually not with enough emotional force to wake anyone else up for
long.
 
Caro reached out
gently—no, Lizard was still sleeping.
 
Good—and a smart thing for all witches to be doing at
3 a.m.
 
She stretched and gave her
pillow an extra squoosh, enjoying the feel of the soft silk yarn under her
cheek.

She’d just settled her eyes closed when Elsie’s dream trail
started up again.
 
Disjointed and
blurry, but with the deep ruts of a dream played over and over.
 
Strange.
 
Caro pulled down her mind barriers a little more
tightly.
 
The girl hadn’t asked for
monitoring, and purposely intruding on someone’s sleeping thoughts was far
outside of ethical.

But it was interesting, and a little concerning, that Elsie was
dancing under the stars held by a sexy cowboy with Freddie’s face.
 
It didn’t take a psychology degree to
interpret that one.
 
The girl
needed a father—and a little sexy dancing in the moonlight.

Both were important.
 
And both could dig Elsie into a world of trouble, even with the newly
bold head on her shoulders.
 
Or
perhaps because of it.

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

To:
[email protected]

From:
Vero Liantro <
[email protected]
>

Subject:
Re: One tired monkey.

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

Lovely
Jennie,

I hope you’ve slept well, nestled in the comfort of being
home.
 
You and I have always been
witches who ranged far and wide with ease—and I think for world
travelers, coming back to our roost is a particular pleasure.

It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Witch Central adopted
Freddie and his wife—we have big hearts, but we would have treasured him
simply for loving one of ours.
 
It
also doesn’t surprise me that the witch leading the envelopment was
Aervyn.
 
Tell him to enjoy driving
Freddie’s bus (how could that not happen one day soon?)—and perhaps
suggest that he keep the wheels on the ground.
 
Our Freddie might not be used to witchling antics just yet.

Melvin would like to know why I’m giggling.
 
I don’t precisely know, but I liked
Freddie very much in our brief time together at the Starry Plough.
 
And it was clear that he has the kind
of steady rock in his life that I do with my Melvin, so I’m sure I’ll very much
enjoy his wife as well.
 

It sounds like we may need to brave Jamie’s computer transport
again soon.
 
If anyone had told me
I’d be beaming around like those cute boys from Star Trek, I’d have eaten my
rather ample corset—but Realm’s taxi service has some lovely benefits,
even if I do feel a bit concerned part of me might not make the journey.
 
Jamie assures me I have nothing to be
worried about, and Melvin tells me I’ve done far crazier things in my life.

He might have a point.

It occurs to me that perhaps Lizard has brought her worlds
together in preparation.
 
I think
that her next step is to honestly see the woman she’s become.
 
Letting us all look at her at the same
time is a good first step.

Then again, we weren’t all there.
 
She still keeps that sexy boy far away.
 
Someday I’ll have to tell her the story
of the man I held far away—those are the most dangerous kind.

And of course Elsie is a matriarch.
 
Her instincts led her to psychology years ago, and I don’t
think that was entirely a miss.
 
She was born to mother and to lead—hers isn’t the heart of a
soloist, even though she’s been flying alone for a very long time.
 
Now that she’s surrounded by people who
love her, I believe we’ll see the stirring of her need to make a
difference—properly directed this time.

But that is for the lovely Natalia to help her with, I
think.
 
My job is to help Elsie
find her passions.
 
All of them,
including the less comfortable ones still eluding her.

She will be a force, our Elsie.
 
I can hear it in the music that calls to her soul.
 
It will be such fun watching her
discover her truth.

Welcome
home, Jennie dear,

Vero

~ ~ ~

Nat looked at the image on her computer screen and sighed.
 
The graphic was beautiful—one of
Caro’s paintings.
 
The lettering
said everything it needed to.
 
And
the flyer was still ugly.
 
Spirit
Yoga didn’t do ugly.

She looked up as the door to the studio opened.
 
Her prodigal intern, looking happy and
full of energy.
 
Ah, perfect.
 
“Good morning!
 
How are you at visual design?”

Elsie blinked.
 
“I’m
not much of an artist—what are you working on?”

“A flyer for our new yoga workshop, but I can’t make it look
right.”
 
She peered at her screen
again.
 
“It’s not balanced or
something.”

Elsie moved in behind her and considered.
 
“Try moving the title to the bottom
third.
 
It’ll ground the text.
 
Right now it looks like it’s floating,
and that’s uncomfortable to the eye.”

You had to ground text?
 
Nat grinned.
 
Yoga for
marketing materials.
 
She carefully
dragged the title down, aiming for the bottom third.
 
“That looks a lot better.
 
Any other ideas?”
 
Then she looked up and realized Elsie’s hands were practically
twitching.
 
“You’re clearly a lot more
skilled at this than I am—why don’t you see if you can make it look a
little better?
 
I’ll get us some
tea.”

She took her time, enjoying the delicate smells of the steeping
tea and the lovely lack of morning nausea.
 
Second trimester rocked.
 
When the tea was ready, Nat got down two pretty and delicate
cups—an indulgence that made her husband chuckle.
 
She figured teleporting witches could
break just about anything, and teacups were replaceable.

On the way out, she grabbed a tin of muffins as well—the
second trimester had apparently woken her hungry gene, too.
 
She carried the tea back up to the
front counter—and nearly dropped a cup when she saw the flyer coming off
the printer.
 
“Wow.
 
You did that?”

Elsie smiled, looking rather proud of herself.
 
“You had all the elements.
 
I just moved them around a little.”

The flyer no longer focused on the center of Caro’s art, but
teased your eye to the edges.
 
It
exuded invitation and a taste of mystery.
 
It was absolutely perfect—a message on more than one level,
reaching out to both heart and mind.
 
Nat touched her pendant lightly.
 
“Sometimes I have a student who is out of alignment.
 
Often it’s just a light touch in the
right place that’s needed, and everything falls into balance.”
 
She smiled at Elsie.
 
“Knowing the right place to touch is an
art.
 
You touched this flyer in
exactly the right way.”

“I just used some of the basic rules of visual design.”
 
Elsie picked up her tea, looking somewhat
embarrassed.
 
“I used to do a lot
of things like this for my practice.
 
It’s something I enjoy.”

Nat picked up the flyer.
 
“Did you actually read this, or just make it beautiful?”

“Mostly the second.”
 
Elsie blushed and reached for the paper.
 
“Reading the words is distracting when you’re focusing on
the visuals.
 
You’re offering a
workshop?”

“No.”
 
Nat reached
out a hand.
 
“
We
are.
 
Sometimes
journeys are more fun with company.”