A Nomadic Witch

Chapter 9

Adam wanted an early morning walk-and Sophie had drawn the short stick. Or rather, Mike hadn’t wakened enough to draw a stick, and she hadn’t had the heart to wake him.

She pulled the door quietly closed behind her and debated the dawn-lit landscape. “What do you think, sweet boy? Gardens, beach, or a meandering stroll through the village?”

Dark eyes looked up from the wrap she’d swaddled him in. He never seemed to much care, so long as it got him closer to earth and sky. Her child of the outdoor spaces. Probably not shocking, with earth-witch genes traveling from both parents.

Power didn’t pass that simply, but it heartened Sophie to think that her baby might have a reason for all his demands, especially ones that involved early morning walks on two hours of sleep.

Not that most of the lost sleep had been his fault. By the time she’d gotten Marcus and Morgan settled back in their cottage on the edge of the village, small pink rays had been venturing over the horizon.

Sophie turned her feet in the direction of Moira’s gardens. Maybe she could do a little flower clean-up before the village woke. Or try a soak-Adam loved the hot pool. It was the getting-out part he disliked. Loudly.

Maybe they’d stick to the gardens.

A wail split the dawn silence. Sophie looked down, momentarily confused. No, not Adam. And coming from the front side of Moira’s house.

Moving more quickly now, Sophie rounded the side of the cottage-and found a man pulling his hair out. Literally. All while cursing at a basket up on the porch. The one with all Morgan’s earthly possessions piled up beside it.

Healers trained to take in a scene in seconds-sometimes life depended on it.

This time, she was tempted to mete out death instead. Three steps and she swooped Morgan out of the basket. One more and she planted the tight ball of baby fury on Marcus’s chest. “What, you think you can dump her on a little old lady and run for the hills?”

His cheeks blazed with color. “I can’t do this. I won’t.”

“So you think Moira should do it instead?”

“There are a hundred people in this village who will help her. They just won’t help me.”

“Because she told them not to, you great clodding idiot.” That got his attention, and Sophie was mad enough to keep using the same club. “The first lesson she teaches all of us, right in the cradle, is about responsibility. She’s still trying to beat that one through your thick head.”

Red changed to chalk white. Marcus looked down at Morgan and squeezed his eyes shut. “I won’t watch her die. I won’t be responsible for that. Not again.”

Oh, God. Guilt slashed at Sophie’s temper. “Nobody working alone has ever called a traveler back. Not ever, Marcus. How could you expect to do it as a boy of five?” She anguished for the mauled boy inside the man. “No one has ever blamed you.”

“Imagine it was your baby. Imagine it was Adam who ran into the mists and never came back.” Marcus’s eyes glittered, his voice sandpaper and blood. “There are no words that would make you feel less responsible.”

Horror coated Sophie’s soul as the picture he painted hit her in full color.

“I can’t live through this again.” Every word was a quiet scream of pain. “And the mists won’t let me die.”

They stood face-to-face, locked in a moment of shared hell-and then Sophie desperately juggled to catch the baby he all but threw at her. She watched, frozen, as he ran, all the hounds of hell at his heels.

And prayed as Morgan howled in reply.

Moira flew out of her cottage, a baby’s fury and pain giving her legs youth. The last thing she expected to find was Sophie, sheet white and clutching two babies. She reached for the one making all the noise.

Morgan, wrapped in at least three of her hand-knit throws. With cornflowers tucked inside. Blessed Mother. “Did she travel again?”

“No.” Sophie pointed down the street. “He’s leaving.”

When you’d lived more than seventy years, you recognized a crisis of life and death. The village was slowly healing Marcus. If he left, he’d never come back.

Evan, she hadn’t been able to hold. She wasn’t losing this one.

Moira looked at the shrieking Morgan, swaddled in blankets and healing flowers. “I need a mind witch. A strong one.”

“He’s currently leaving town.” Sophie’s voice flooded with helplessness and fear. “Kevin’s talents are small.”

“Use one of your infernal devices.” The howling baby was undoing them all. “Fetch Lauren or Caro. Now.” Marcus was nearing the edge of town.

Confusion blanketed Sophie’s face, but she was well trained. Sometimes healers had to do first and ask questions later. She began typing frantically into her phone, and not ten seconds later, Lauren materialized beside them, rubbing her eyes.

“Broadcast the baby.” Moira snapped the order, needing instant results-Marcus was nearly at his car door. “Now, Lauren. As loudly as you can.”

One half-awake witch gaped in astonishment-and Morgan’s cries transmitted through the village, a thousand babies loud.

Moira blessed the quick obedience and stared down the street. Hell and salvation have come for you, nephew. Time to choose.

Two women joined her, shoulder to shoulder.

What the heck is going on? Lauren’s mind voice was a lot more awake now.

Sophie rocked Adam, her hands over his ears. Marcus is trying to run. Aunt Moira’s just played our ace card to call him back.

Ah. The megaphone broadcasting Morgan’s screams instantly shut off. Then let’s try it this way, shall we, and not wake up half the village.

Command died on Moira’s lips as she watched Marcus lurch against his car door, hands over his ears. Clearly the volume hadn’t gone down for him.

Lauren stood straighter, face taut with effort. He’s fighting to close his mind barriers.

Moira stood, wailing girl in her arms, and willed light into the battle for her nephew’s soul. Cry, sweet girl. Remind him that you live.

A stray tear leaked down Lauren’s cheek. He hurts. Oh, holy God, he hurts.

Touching a wounded mind was pain a healer understood all too well. Moira reached for Lauren’s hand, sending her strength. We can’t heal him if he leaves.

Then I need more. Lauren reached for Morgan. Her mind does more than cry. She calls him.

Morgan’s cries cut off, the silence nearly knocking Moira to her knees. Bright lavender eyes stared at Lauren, who grinned even as her face strained in effort. “You’re one smart cookie, little girl. Let’s hit him with everything we’ve got.”

Everything. Morgan wasn’t everything.

There was more to give. Moira faced her nephew, far down the street, and called to all the magic still hers to command.

“I call on water and earth, dear to me

I offer up this message three.

An old woman’s love for boy and man,

A healer’s need to heal and stand.

The call of blood, running deep

A promise made and now to keep.

Carry this, my message three

To ears and heart most dear to me.

Let him open, let him see,

As I will, so mote it be.”

Her eyes hazed, consciousness leaking. She’d reached too hard-even in her youth, that kind of power hadn’t been hers.

And then strength poured in from the healer beside her.

Moira redoubled her call-and trusted love, freely given, to hold her up.

Lauren felt the moment they won, the tiny girl and the old woman.

The hiccup in time when a mad fight to survive and flee gave way to beaten acceptance.

She dialed down the volume-Marcus wasn’t resisting now. He wasn’t anything at all. With the slow, shuffling gait of a man about to meet his hundredth birthday, Marcus inched back down the street. One foot, then another, reeled in by the twin ropes of love and need coming from Moira and Morgan.

It was the saddest magic Lauren had ever seen.

Tears leaked down Moira’s cheeks. “He comes.”

He did. But not for himself. There was nothing of Marcus in the shell of a man walking up the road. “He comes for you. And the baby.”

Sophie nodded quietly. “It’s enough that he comes.”

Lauren tightened her barriers. The vacant pain in his mind was overwhelming. “He’s broken, Soph. I’ve never felt anything like it.” And it killed her to think she might be responsible.

“You did right.” Moira’s hand slid firm in hers. “We had to ask-and I’m sorry for it.”

She’d blindly followed orders and blasted hell at another mind-one in agony before she’d even started. All because she trusted the old woman who loved him.

Lauren suddenly longed for the warm arms and reckless heart of the man who loved her.

She watched the pathetic shuffle, Marcus’s eyes glued to the baby in her arms. “He’s not going to make it all the way back.”

Moira’s hand turned to steel. “He needs to come all the way. On his own.”

No. She wasn’t holding a drowning man under water any longer. Ducking out from Moira’s hand, Lauren moved to unite him with his life raft.

“Forty-three years.” Moira’s voice held plea now, and a sadness that melted rebellion. “I’ve walked down the street to meet him every day of more than four decades. Not once has he ever walked all the way back with me.”

The love in her mind punctured Lauren’s lungs. Breathless, she cuddled Morgan tight and closed ranks again with the toughest witch she knew. And prayed the gamble worked.

The last steps took a thousand years. Each.

Marcus stopped in front of Lauren-and lifted up arms weighted by an infinity of chains. He took the bundle that was Morgan, blankets, cornflowers, and all. And cradled her in his arms like spun glass.

One man. And the baby who was his.

When he finally looked back up, there were shadows of Marcus in his mind. “Why has this stupid infant picked me?”

Lauren laughed, something akin to joy tickling her ribs. “I have no earthly idea.”

Nell landed in Sophie’s kitchen, a monster plate of Nutella cookies in her hands. Mike stood over the stove, stirring something that smelled like pure heaven. He smiled in greeting and snagged a cookie. “Food’ll be ready in a few minutes, but these will probably go over well in the meantime.”

They’d better-she’d stolen Jamie’s entire backup supply. “How’s everyone doing?”

Mike shrugged, light worry lines between his eyes. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me that. My healing talents don’t run to psychology.” He waved at a tray on the counter. “Mind carrying that in?”

Herbal tea-and coffee? Nell frowned. Fisher’s Cove served up a hundred varieties of tea, but getting a good cup of coffee usually required magic or a drive down the road. “Who’s here?”

“Lauren.” Mike raised an eyebrow. “Nobody filled you in?”

Apparently not. Witches weren’t always the best communicators at the crack of dawn. “I thought Marcus tried to leave.”

“Yeah.” Mike added bowls of berries to the tray. “Lauren cracked him over the head with Morgan’s crying and he came back. Or something like that. Sophie was a little vague on the details-Adam was hungry.”

All this before 4 a.m. Berkeley time. Nell covered a yawn with her hand. Next time they were going to fetch a witch who kept more polite hours. She picked up the tray-time to go find out what the heck had happened.

The sheer exhaustion in the living room was obvious before she made it halfway down the hall. Nell stepped into the doorway, surveying the wreckage-moms of five were good at that. A pale Sophie lay on the couch, Adam curled in the crook of her arm. Moira looked twenty years older than the last time Nell had seen her, and Lauren turned toward coffee fumes like a woman halfway across the Sahara.

Yikes.

Nell dispensed coffee, sugar, and quick hugs, and then took a seat and waited for a roomful of witches to recuperate.

It was Lauren, gulping coffee along with her Nutella fix, who recovered first. “Hand out enough of these cookies, and I’m pretty sure you could be president.”

Sophie’s grin was wan, but real. “The world might not live through Aervyn in the White House.”

Jokes were a sign of witch recovery. “Give me some warning next time, and you can have warm, fresh ones.” A sleepy Jamie had thawed the ones in his freezer before sending them over, but a few had crispy edges-he wasn’t at his best at 4 a.m. either.

“None of us had any warning.” Moira still sounded like she’d been up a week. “’Twas Sophie who found Marcus leaving in the first light of morning. The rest of us got rather rude awakenings.”

Nell listened as three voices filled in snippets of the story. And listened harder to what wasn’t said. “Where are Marcus and Morgan now?”

“Napping.” Sophie was beginning to look more human. “Mike hit them both with a sleep spell, and he’s not very subtle.”

“So he tried to ditch the baby and leave town, you dragged him back by the ear hairs, and he’s going to wake up with a headache and a baby who can travel snuggled in his arms?”

Sophie winced. “Yeah.”

“We don’t know that Morgan can reach the astral plane.” Moira gripped her teacup like a lifeline. “Only that she might.”

Nell knew the levels of traveler magic-she’d lived in vigilant fear of them for Aervyn’s first three years. Some babies just got cold, touched in passing by the mists. Some floated, still firmly tethered to their bodies. Only a terrifying few stretched that connection to the whisper-thin strand necessary to reach the astral plane. But to a parent holding a cold child in their arms, it was a possibility that caused jibbering terror. Only a few would truly travel-but most of those didn’t come back. Whisper-thin cords broke all too easily.

And Morgan had gotten cold twice now.

A quick tug on fire power and Nell pumped more heat into the living room. It wouldn’t help Morgan-but it might help the rest of them clutching coffee and tea, yearning for warmth.

“Thank you, my dear.” Moira gazed into her tea, an old witch seeking answers to the unknowable.

Nell stared into the liquid depths of her own cup. The most solitary witch she knew, responsible for a baby with the potential for life-threatening magic. And so many hearts helpless on the sidelines.

Nell knew her job now. “I’ll get Jamie and Daniel on organizing a standby circle.” They had about twelve hours until dusk. That should be plenty of time-travelers were safe during the day.

Three witches stared at her, astonished.

“We’ve enough witches to watch her from here.” Moira cozied her feet under a soft green blanket. “A monitoring spell’s easy enough to set.”

“The circle’s not for Morgan.” Nell reached for another cookie. “It’s for Marcus.”

It was Lauren who connected the dots first-quietly. A sense of power for him. And it will give a lot of unhappy witches something to do.

Yup. Sitting watch would help keep the feelings of impotence at bay. We’ll have enough volunteers for three circles.

The light slowly dawned in Sophie’s eyes. “He needs to know we’re there for him. Ready.”

Nell nodded. “Yes. Ready, but not too close. We’ll use Realm-give him some panic buttons to push.” A circle in waiting, a finger tap away.

“You’ve such wisdom in you, my dear.” Moira’s eyes finally had some of her usual zip in them. “And enough Irish canniness to make my gran proud.”

“Are you calling me a sneaky witch?” Nell grinned-she’d learned from the best. “I figure he won’t tolerate the usual variety of witch invasion. So we’ll use the back door.” The witches who loved him needed one.

And even if the world’s crankiest witch didn’t realize it, he needed one too. Nell knew what it was to fear the magic running through your baby’s veins.

You needed love at your back.