A Nomadic Witch

Chapter 18

Sophie looked out the window of the inn, trying to identify the source of the commotion-and saw Marcus standing in the street, surrounded by clamoring children, Morgan strapped in her familiar position on his chest.

His gaudy, purple-paisley chest. Perfectly matched to the gaudy purple baby carrier.

She didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. Giggling helplessly, she motioned Elorie and Aunt Moira to the window.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” Moira managed a few words around convulsive laughter. “Did wee Lizzie help him shop, then?”

That seemed like an unfair commentary on their youngest healer’s fashion sense.

Elorie, the artist of the group, just looked pained. “Maybe he’s color blind.”

“Perhaps-” Moira’s laughter hiccupped to a stop. “Perhaps it’s a hopeful sign. Coming out of his shell, so to speak.”

Sophie grinned. “It’s a pretty purple. Kind of matches Morgan’s eyes.”

Aaron rolled into the room, a tray of berries and scones in his hands. “What’s up?”

“Uncle Marcus got new shirts,” said his wife, with a more-or-less straight face.

“Great.” Aaron laid his tray on the table. “He said Morgan had puked on all his old ones, so I sent him to that website you shop on for all of my stuff.”

“I think-” Elorie spluttered to a stop, gasping for air. “I think he took a wrong turn into the retro Hawaiian beachwear section.”

Aaron stared a moment at his wife, dissolved onto the couch in a pile of giggles. And then walked over to look out the window. Sophie watched as he manfully swallowed. Several times. “Well, it’s not black.”

“Indeed it’s not,” said Moira staunchly, lips quirking. “I think I’ll just go put on one of my sunniest skirts. We could use a little more color around here.”

Lizzie burst in the door of the Inn. “Sophie! Gran! I need something purple to wear. Uncle Marcus said it’s Purple People Eater Day and anyone who isn’t wearing purple might end up getting eaten by the one-eyed monster.” She didn’t look at all upset by this possibility. “He’s gonna teach us the song and everything.”

Marcus knew the Purple People Eater song? Sophie looked over at Aaron. “This is still Fisher’s Cove, right?”

He just shrugged his shoulders, eyes twinkling. “No idea, but I’ll go bake more scones. Pretty sure we’re about to get overrun by witches.”

Absolutely. Marcus gone crazy was bound to be a tourist attraction. Sophie grinned and grabbed Lizzie’s hand. “Come on. I’m pretty sure I have purple glitter glue tucked away in one of my healer kits.” It fixed any number of minor ailments, but she was willing to sacrifice for a good cause.

Lizzie danced a quick jig. “I bet Gran will let us pick some of her purple flowers, too.”

Also likely.

They were about to have a party. Instigated by Marcus Buchanan, a shopping disaster, and a bright-eyed girl with purple eyes.

Sophie shook her head. Wonders would never cease.

Moira slipped into her garden, a pair of shears in her hand, and discovered Sophie already there. “Standing guard, are you?”

“I promised Lizzie the last of the purple flowers.” She looked behind her ruefully. “Good thing Ginia’s bringing some backup-I think we’re down to a couple of fairly sad specimens.”

Young Ginia’s garden was bold, creative, and festooned with purple. “I was just hoping for a wee gardenia for my hair.”

Sophie grinned. “How do you feel about white or yellow?”

Moira looked down at her bright floral dress and purple hand-knit scarf. She looked a bit like a garden explosion already. “Either of those ought to do nicely.” She smiled, mentally running through her list. “And a bit of mint for the lemonade, and let’s see if we have any beets we can speed up a little, shall we? I’ve a mind to make some purple soup.”

“Aaron’s making blueberry squish muffins.” Sophie leaned into the herb patch, snipping competently. “And last I heard, Sean and Kevin were trying to turn some poor, unsuspecting corn-on-the-cob purple.”

She’d eaten stranger things. “Uncle Billy’s bringing us in a nice load of lobster.” The spring ones always tasted the nicest, and if the pinging of her phone was any indication, there was quite the crowd coming.

Once upon a time, she’d owned nary a device that pinged.

Sophie held out a basket brimful with purple mint. “Enough?”

“Barring a full-scale invasion.” Moira took the basket, enjoying the lively aroma of mint and flower cuttings. “Has my nephew gone into hiding yet?” The last she’d heard, Lizzie had been trying to convince him to run purple streamers down from the church steeple.

“No.” Sophie smiled quietly. “He’s on your front porch. Helping Sean turn T-shirts purple.”

Moira felt the lump hit her throat, and looked around for a place to sit. She needed to shed a few tears before this party got underway.

Sophie tucked in beside her, a soothing arm around her shoulders. “He’s finally becoming the man you’ve always believed him to be.”

“He is.” Moira let the tears trickle down her cheeks. She didn’t speak of what might come. Of what was coming-she felt it in her bones. “I hope it’s enough.”

Sophie looked out at the garden for a long, long time. And then touched Moira’s hand in quiet comfort. “It’s the flowers that bloom last that hold best against the fall frosts.”

Aye. And this flower was finally planting himself in good, strong soil. But in the end, the frosts almost always won.

Jamie looked over at Daniel. “At what point do you think we’re supposed to step in and carry him home?”

Daniel grinned. “If I’d known he’d be this happy a drunk, I’d have gotten him sloshed fifteen years ago.”

“There’s not a drop of alcohol in him.” Moira squeezed in between them, two glasses of mint lemonade in her hands.

Jamie looked over at Marcus, leading a rousing and entirely off-key rendition of Purple People Eaters. They’d finally found someone who sang badly with more enthusiasm than Aervyn. And none of the several dozen people who’d crashed a quiet day in Fisher’s Cove seemed to mind.

Nor did the villagers. Jamie was pretty sure an impromptu lobster bake was in the works. Which was good-that way there would be someone awake to play with Kenna at 2 a.m. Maybe he’d actually get to sleep with his wife for a change. He spotted her happy head, dancing with the triplets while a growing crowd belted out the Purple People Eater chorus.

No one loved a spontaneous party more than Nat.

Moira slid a glass into his hand. “The babies are all still napping. I checked.”

So had Jamie. All five of them, lined up in baskets on Moira’s porch, happily sleeping through enough noise to wake the dead. “I dropped the TV remote yesterday and it woke Kenna up.”

Daniel snorted. “Nathan slept through all four home games of the world series. But if a chair creaked while he slept? Nell threatened to send me to remedial ninja training.”

If there was such a thing, he was signing up. Jamie squeezed Moira’s shoulders and collected Daniel’s empty glass. Time to go see if Aaron needed help feeding this crew.

He made it two steps. And then sun-bright power flashed from Moira’s porch.

The babies.

Jamie got there first-but only because he ported. Marcus thundered onto the porch an instant later, one blazing ball of purple fury.

One look at Morgan, and they both knew. She had the still, terrifying translucence of a body that had just parted with its soul.

And then Jamie looked at his own daughter, and his fear went nuclear. He dropped to his knees at her side, yanking for power and screaming. KENNA!

Gone. She wasn’t there. His sweet girl was gone.

He looked up into his wife’s eyes, their worst nightmare alive and hunting. And clawed, one fingernail at a time, back onto the ledge of sanity. Marcus. Nell. Sophie. Devin. We need a circle. NOW.

He’d named the four points. He trusted they’d collect the witches they needed.

Aervyn charged through the crowd, Lauren on his heels. I can cast, Uncle Jamie. I can do it.

It would shame Jamie for eternity that for just a split second, he considered it. And then he bent down and cradled the boy he loved like his own son. “Not today, superboy. I’ll cast. I need you to monitor, okay? Help Lauren-it’s going to be a really big job.”

He zeroed in on Lauren with the tightest mind channel he could muster. If I don’t come back, you break the connection. Don’t let him come after me.

Lauren turned sheet white. And nodded.

Spinning around, Jamie looked for his circle. And found them already pulling power. Nell on fire point, eyes blazing. She would give everything she had for his little girl.

Sophie leading earth’s trio, her husband at her shoulder. She’d already linked with Nell. They’d buy him every second of warmth possible.

Devin, water witch and warrior, holding monumental power in his hands. Jamie blinked at the sheer volume-and then saw Sierra and Lizzie behind him.

Praying, Jamie turned to the last element. It was air that would power the journey he had to take-and Marcus was the strongest air witch of their generation.

If he could function.

Jamie met the eyes of the man who would hold his life in his hands-and looked deep. Beyond the horror, beyond the desperate, screaming fear.

And found what he needed. Solid rock. Reaching out, he touched Nat’s mind with wordless love-and then stretched his arms to the sky.

Jamie felt power explode in his hands. Damn. They had some seriously hyped-up witches. Astral plane, people, not the moon.

The power dimmed. Some.

Fine. Soon enough, he’d need it all.

Carefully, ignoring the queasy feeling in his belly, Jamie leaned into the column of power at his back. His own magic spasmed in his veins, rejecting the invasion. Jamie leaned harder, ruthless, and felt his consciousness splitting off, tethered only by the circle’s magic. One quiver and he’d be the astral plane’s next permanent resident.

Him and two very unhappy, hungry girls.

A wisp of humor floated through the torrent of magic. Someone with the bravery to laugh. Jamie grabbed it with both magical hands-laughter was life!-and rode it up into the sky. Seeking. Reaching.

Gray clouded all his senses. Jamie trusted thirty years of training and ignored it.

Kenna!

For now, he had to trust the two would be together. If they weren’t, he’d cross that terrifying bridge when it came. His magic would seek a lot more easily for the child of his blood.

Slowly, not wanting to shake the circle, he separated the power streams at his back. Leaning hard on Nell and her trio, he sent out a web of fire power, like seeking like. Kenna’s strongest magic was fire-and the deeper they got into the astral world, the less useful it would be.

Next he reached to Devin. Blood of Kenna’s blood-and there was no water anywhere he couldn’t bond with. Shedding the innate distrust of a fire witch for anything liquid, Jamie slid into the mists, using his brother’s strength to feed flowing currents of power.

KENNA!

He was getting cold. Relentlessly, he tugged on the earth trio’s flow and felt the healing gift packaged with it. His circle was getting creative-and his feet were no longer going numb.

The webs of water and air had stretched as far as magic could take them. Time to mindseek. Jamie shaped a channel and discovered that his mind talents were far less clunky than usual. Marcus. Hot damn.

The gray was thicker now, a choking fog that seemed to swallow magic whole.

Silently, Jamie pushed with his mind-and thanks to his wife, with his heart. Kenna, lovey-show me where you are. It’s time to go home, baby girl. He pictured her in his mind-whole, safe, and holding tight to a tiny girl with purple eyes that matched her daddy’s shirt. And then laughed as the obvious hit. This was a world of cold, wet dark-his little fire witch would be mad as hell.

Surer now, he reached into the eternal gray, wishing a temper tantrum into his arms.

A whisper at first-so faint he wasn’t sure it was real.

And then again.

Hope blasting, he swam through the fog. Nothing. Silence. Frantic now, he yanked at the circle’s power flows. Not fire-they were in too deep for that. He could feel Devin’s fierceness, swimming in the mist beside him.

Kenna!

Not Kenna. Morgan. The words were feather-dust light, pushed into the sky through a mountain of power.

Jamie froze, in agony-and then he understood. It was Morgan who had carried them away. It was her trail he needed to find.

The father in him screamed in protest, but the witch understood.

MORGAN!

The cold was beginning to suck at him. He dared not imagine what it did to small girls. Purple eyes. He looked for purple eyes.

And this time, the whisper of sound came with more power. Jamie swam forward, struggling against the enervating gray cold-and then felt a tornado hit his back. Marcus.

Jamie clung to the funnel with everything he had-and trusted a father’s love.

It was Morgan’s eyes he saw first, blazing through the mists. And then his furious daughter, throwing spluttering bolts of fire at the cold.

Jamie wrapped them both tight in his arms-and waited for the love of twelve to reel them home.

Marcus wrapped his hands around the tall green glass and chugged, immune to its taste by now.

It was his third.

His abused power channels still hurt, but it no longer felt like an army of fire ants trying to eat their way out. One last gulp and he set the glass back into the hands of the witch who had delivered it. “I think that’s enough.”

“I should hope so,” said Moira briskly, patting the pillow behind his head. “The last time I had to dose you three times was when you got into Uncle Billy’s whiskey stash.”

He was pretty sure her intent back then had been punishment, not cure. Marcus looked down at the small girl curled up in his lap like a sleeping kitten. “I had to do it.”

“Uncle Billy surely didn’t think so.”

He watched her shuffle things around on a tray, making room for a glass that would have fit in the first place. “In the circle. Jamie was running out of bandwidth. I had to give him a push.”

“Did I say any different?” She reached in behind him again, poking and squishing, her forehead inches from his. And for just a fraction of a moment, his battered mental powers functioned, and he felt her soul shaking.

He should have known. Her Irish always thickened in sorrow and fear. He stopped her hands as gently as he could. “Enough with the infernal pillow plumping. I’m fine.” He glanced down at Morgan. “We both are.”

Her breath caught.

He ignored it. The rock of his life was terrified-and he needed her brave. “We’re in a castle guarded by the world’s best coding team and half the witches of Realm.” He touched her cheek. “And if Aervyn’s been let loose again, probably a couple of alligators, too.”

He could feel her mighty heart finding its footing as he spoke.

So he kept talking. Babbling. “Ginia says Aaron’s got the kitchen under control, the garden’s a mess, and Kenna’s learning to crawl out on the ramparts.”

Moira sniffled, brushing invisible crumbs off his chest. “She’s a fierce wee thing, that one. Didn’t even stop for a nap first.”

He dug for his best gruff bachelor voice. “She’ll end up alligator bait if she’s not careful.”

“Alligators don’t eat witches.” The light in her eyes was dim-but it was there. “Aervyn promised me so.”

He could feel the boost from the green goo fading. “We can always dangle him over the moat and see what happens.”

“His toes are pretty stinky.” Moira laid a hand on his forehead, eyes twinkling properly now. “And Nell would dangle you next.”

She would. He could feel his eyes getting heavy. Blasted healers and their sleep spells. He had things to do.

“Tomorrow,” said Moira softly. “We’ll watch over you both tonight.”

He smiled as he faded into haze. His rock was back.