A Nomadic Witch

Chapter 5

Hell was at the door. Marcus sprang up in the dark, sleep fleeing as he prepared to fight the barbarians at the gates.

And realized, all too late, that the barbarian was still in his chair, screaming like she’d been run through. Gods. A tiny, flailing ball of mad with the lungs of a staff sergeant.

Smart men slept alone.

He squinted at the old clock on his mantel. 5:30 a.m. The time of the mists.

Shadows of terror still lurching through his nerves, Marcus reached for the baby, annoyed lullaby at the ready-and realized the fear he felt wasn’t all his. Her brain was frantic, a tiny maelstrom of fright.

It pummeled his heart. And then she did, little fists and heels beating into his chest as he cuddled her close. “Shh, sweet girl. Shh. It’s just the night. I’ve got you now. Shh.”

She was so cold. He grabbed one of Moira’s throws off the back of the couch, cursing his total incompetence. What idiot let a baby sleep half naked? Fire power wasn’t in his arsenal, but he pushed energy into the air around her, calling the molecules to a faster dance.

One last piercing wail and the five-alarm cries stopped, replaced by hiccupping sniffles that did funny things to his ability to breathe. “Shh, sweetheart, that’s it now.” Morgan snuggled close, soothed by the magic, warm wool, and soft words.

Marcus was soothed by none of them.

Guilt stomped across familiar pathways in his soul, kicking the occasional rock for good measure. What kind of utter moron couldn’t manage to keep a baby fed and warm for a few hours? He looked down into bright eyes, shaking his head in disgust. “This should be a lesson to both of us, girl-child.”

She only looked up at him, a stray hiccup all that disturbed the picture of wide-awake contentment.

Marcus sighed. “Not going back to sleep, are you?” Amusement snuck in, despite his efforts to bar the gates. “Aunt Moira says wee girls who wake up early are destined to rule the world.” Which sounded like utter hogwash until you were peering into sparkling eyes at 5:30 a.m.

Hecate’s hells. Babies didn’t sparkle, and grown men didn’t listen to old Irish fairy tales.

He glowered down at the girl in his arms-and snorted in surprise as she glowered right back. Feisty little thing, are you?

She scrunched up her face one more time-and then an explosion of major proportions rocked her lower half.

Marcus hadn’t been born yesterday. Anyone stuck in Fisher’s Cove for the last two months knew that babies pooped with a vengeance.

Very carefully, he shifted his hands away from the danger zone.

Time to give her back to the experts. They could hardly blame him that she’d picked 5 a.m. to empty her bowels.

Moira smiled into her tea as shadows moved in her garden. Either the faeries were dancing in her flowers again, or a tall man with a baby in his arms was coming for a visit.

She’d be fine with either.

The shadows moved toward her back entry. Marcus and Morgan, then. She got up to pour another cup of tea-her nephew wasn’t a morning witch.

Her back carefully to the door, she waited until the latch closed behind him. No point making it easy for him to run. “The best of the morning to you, then. Scones will be a minute in the oven yet.”

“She’s filled her diaper.”

Moira tucked her grin away before she turned around. “Well, and good morning to you too, nephew.”

He held out the baby at arms’ length. Carefully.

Silly man. Moira picked up his cup of tea and moved toward the table where her cup still beckoned. “You’ll be needing that bag of supplies we sent home with you.” Not entirely true-she always had a nappy or two tucked away-but time he started to learn the basic rules of caring for a wee one.

He looked like she’d asked him to stroll across the ocean barefoot and bring her back a nice Irish cuppa.

Trying desperately not to giggle, Moira bent over her tea cup, inhaling deeply. “You’ll be wanting a fresh diaper and some of the wet cloths in the purple pouch.” Baby paraphernalia had come a long way since her day. She’d stitched whimsies onto the purple wipes pouch herself.

“Bag.” The item in question slammed down on the table.

“Baby.” Marcus towered above her, holding out the tiny girl with curious eyes. “Anything else you need?”

Moira knew a key moment in battle when she met one. “A bit more honey for my tea would be nice, but that can wait until you’ve gotten Morgan a new nappy.”

“I don’t change diapers.” Said with the finality of the Grim Reaper.

“You do now.” Her nephew wasn’t the only witch who could use that tone.

It took a very long time, but Marcus finally blinked. “You change every baby in the village. Why not this one?”

Victors could be gracious-and whether he knew it or not yet, this battle was over. “I do. And I’ll be happy to help you with her care from time to time.” She tried to find words that would make sense to his agile, narrow-minded brain. “When you train a witchling, do you take care of all the magic for them?” She knew the answer-few trainers were tougher on their charges than her nephew.

“No.” The answer came grudgingly. Followed by a small light of defiance. “But you assume I want to learn how to change a diaper.”

Ah, how she enjoyed a dance of wits. “Not at all. I assume it’s a skill you need to acquire. There’s a world of difference.”

“Caring for babies is women’s work.”

For that, he deserved a cup of tea poured on his head-but sometimes the best revenge wasn’t the most obvious one. Moira knew her village, her neighbors, and her nephew. “Fine then. Feel free to find a woman who agrees with you.” She picked up her tea, willing the twinkle out of her eyes. “I’d say you have a couple more minutes before wee Morgan becomes quite unhappy with her current state of affairs.”

She’d have sworn two lavender eyes twinkled right back at her.

Dark brown ones snapped with fear-tinged fury. “What is this, some kind of twisted revenge?”

No, my sweet, wounded boy. Moira set the thought free, trusting his mind would be unable to ignore it. I believe it’s a long-needed gift.

She held her breath until Marcus stormed out, oddly contented babe still in his arms. And considered it a fine start to her morning.

Nell looked at the Taj Mahal of hotels dominating the landscape in front of them and glanced over at her brother. “She lives in a casino?”

Jamie grinned. “No. A few blocks away. Maybe Daniel thinks we should try the slots first.”

Great. A Realm taxi driver with a sense of humor-just what they needed. Nell picked up her phone to text her husband, and laughed as a nine-year-old face came onscreen instead. “Sorry, Mama. Aervyn wanted to help, and he missed a little.”

Even better-apparently they were letting five-year-olds drive now. “Uncle Jamie will practice with him later. Can you beam us to Adele’s offices now?”

Mia nodded, full of repressed humor. “They’re really sparkly.”

That was quite the statement from the Queen of Glitter. “I’ll tell Uncle Jamie to put on his sunglasses. Beam us over, Scotty.”

“Beaming.” Mia looked down-and Nell felt the odd suck of a Realm transport spell.

When she popped out the other end, the first thing she did was grab her brother’s sunglasses. “Holy hell.” “Sparkly” was an entirely inadequate adjective for the bedazzled view.

“It takes work to out-glitter Las Vegas,” said an amused voice over her shoulder. Nell spun around-and found herself nose-to-nose with gold lamé.

She’s not surprised to see us. Jamie’s mindsend was cautious, but impressed.

“Course I’m not.” Adele nodded at the glitzy woman standing by the door and headed into the office building of Underwood International. “You’re smart people, and I’m not hard to find.”

Nell slammed down her mental barriers. “You mindread?”

Gold shoulders shrugged and angled toward the private elevator. “Only when someone with decent power is being sloppy.” Adele eyed them both. “And that’s the last advantage I give up on my turf.”

Message received, loud and clear. Adele Underwood was a force to be reckoned with. A very shiny force.

Which meant it was time for an apology. “Sorry. Witches who live in Berkeley shouldn’t throw stones or make fast judgments based on appearances.” Nell held out her hand. “We have a mystery to solve, and we’d really appreciate your help.”

“You’d have had it anyhow.” Adele’s eyes outsparkled her rings. “But since you’re going to play nicely, I won’t mess with you for a few days before I give it.”

She could have done it-that was abundantly clear. Nell nodded. “You’re a witch. One who can do more than just the occasional fire globe.”

“Not much more.” Adele ushered them both out of the elevator onto carpet four inches thick. “A stitch of mindreading, intermittent empathy, a little precog. And occasionally the dead talk to me.”

“Not what your bio says.” Jamie paused, taking in the gold-plated view of Adele Underwood’s private office. “You peddle snake oil.”

Oh, boy. Clearly her brother wasn’t quite ready to extend his respects to a fellow witch.

“I don’t.” Adele gestured to two chairs. “I used to work the customer service hotline at a telephone company. You wouldn’t believe the number of people who called just to chat. People need someone to talk to. I provide that.”

“For $4.99 a minute.”

Ah. Now Nell knew why Jamie was still circling the wagons. He’d done most of the digging on Underwood International.

“For the first three minutes. Rest of the call’s free. Up to an hour.” Adele dropped into a facing chair. “I assumed a skilled investor like yourself would have read the fine print.”

Nell’s eyes snapped away from the windows. Jamie invested very quietly. Adele had done some digging of her own-deep and fast. “You don’t build this kind of empire charging fifteen dollars an hour.”

“Nope.” Adele poured coffee into three cups. She winked at Jamie. “I have some investments. They do pretty well. This here is all just pretty wrapping so folks feel like they’re getting their money’s worth when they call to talk to my people.”

Her baby brother had a hell of a poker face, but Nell could feel the neurons in his brain shorting. “You promise messages from the dead.”

“Sure do.” Adele set down her coffee cup, eyes suddenly serious. “You ever talked to the dead? They pretty much all have only one thing they want to say. ‘I love you.’” She shrugged. “And the occasional dead asshat who doesn’t want to say that isn’t getting any of my help.”

Game, set, match. Nell grinned-no way Jamie could hold out against a woman who stood against dead asshats.

It took a moment. And then humor flooded into his eyes, along with something deeper. “Evan’s message wasn’t that simple.”

“No.” Adele’s voice leaked sadness. “Although the love is there too, whenever folks are ready to believe it.”

Nell tried not to feel sorry for one crusty old bachelor. “He expects us to believe messages about soldiers and babies instead?”

“Not all of you. Just enough of you to keep the child safe.” Adele sat up straighter. “Wait. Has Morgan arrived?”

It didn’t take a mindreader to pick up her racing concern. Nell sipped her coffee, willing the caffeine to her brain. “She did. Last night. We need to know more about what’s going on. She arrived coated in magic.”

Adele nodded slowly. “She would have. He would have taken every precaution.”

“He? Evan?” Jamie leaned forward. “He’s alive?”

“No.” Adele stood up and walked toward the windows. “He’s a traveler. One with the strongest magic I’ve ever seen.”

Nell felt the world shifting under her feet. “Wait. Astral travelers aren’t dead?”

“To most of us, they are.” Sparkly fingers danced in the early morning light. “I only know what little Evan has been able to explain. There’s a world between, one that travelers can visit.”

“Most don’t come back.” Jamie’s voice was tight with fear.

Adele’s face softened. “Your Kenna isn’t a traveler. Evan said to tell you that.”

Nell watched a weight lift from her brother’s shoulders-one she hadn’t even known existed.

His breath whooshed out. “I have some precog. She’s got so much magic…”

“Not this one.” Adele patted his shoulder. “He seemed very sure.”

Jamie nodded, mind heavy with gratitude.

Nell said quiet thanks to a dead man she’d never met. “He’s still in that world-the in-between one?” And he couldn’t come back-that much she could read in their occasional medium’s eyes.

“Yes. He calls it the halfway house.” Eyes met Nell’s over her brother’s head. “He does what he can to help the souls passing through. Sends on the dead peacefully, chases the occasional traveler back to safety.”

Traveling was a talent most witchlings grew out of-if they lived. Evan had been the last witchling lost to the astral plane. The dots connected. “He sends our travelers back?”

Adele nodded. “He kept saying something about ‘with great power comes great responsibility.’”

Nell felt the lump hit her throat. “If you talk to him again, tell him thank you. And that his aunt Moira would be very proud of him.”

“That will be up to him.” Adele sat down again, picking up her coffee. “He comes to me. I just listen and deliver messages. And crash into your Witches’ Lounge against my better judgment. He weaves a hell of a spell, that one.”

Jamie’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Evan got you into Realm?”

Adele’s laugh was loud, long, and sent every inch of gold lamé shimmering. “You think I’m that kind of computer genius, honey boy?”

Nell filed away the “honey boy” for the next time she needed to poleax Jamie. Big sisters took their advantages where they could. “You’re saying a five-year-old boy lives in the in-between world and throws around enough magic to transport babies and full-grown witches?”

“You got a better explanation?” Adele refilled coffee cups. “And he’s not five any more. I’ve been chatting with a grown man-that much I know for sure.”

The dead grew up? Nell pushed her coffee away, trying to wrap her head around the strangeness, and leaned instead on the question that really mattered. “Why did he send us Morgan?”

“I’m not sure.” For the first time since they’d arrived, Adele’s mind clouded. “He said only that it was necessary to keep her safe.”

That wasn’t good enough. “We can’t just keep a baby because of a cryptic message.” Well, they could, but it might be every kind of wrong.

Adele eyed Nell. “You put a fetching spell out into the ether. It fetched. Evan said to thank you for the spell-it made his work much easier.”

A dead witch had hijacked her spell? This morning could not get any weirder. “It’s supposed to fetch witches.” Morgan had arrived covered in magic, but it hadn’t been hers-every competent witch in Fisher’s Cove had checked.

“Sometimes the universe doesn’t go exactly like you planned.” The humor in gold-flecked eyes was hard not to warm to. “A mother of five ought to understand that just fine.”

Yeah. She did. “If he talks to you again…”

Adele nodded, the eyes behind the glitz as solid as Nell’s own. “I’ll let you know.”

Sophie looked over at Elorie, competently juggling two nursers. The inn’s parlor had become their favorite gathering place in the mornings-big enough to contain babies and all those who wanted to rock them, and close to the kitchen. Aaron calmly fed whoever arrived and claimed it was good for business.

Probably true-Aislin and Lucas happily showered smiles on anyone who looked their direction. Adam, a month younger, hadn’t found his smiles yet-but he radiated newborn cuteness.

It was these moments of peace that kept Sophie sane when her unhappily nocturnal baby fussed all hours of the night.

Elorie glanced up in surprise as the floorboards of the inn’s parlor shook. The shadow filling the doorway moments later answered one question-and created many more.

Marcus held out the Moses basket, presumably filled with baby. “Where do I put her?”

It was a dangerous question-Sophie had stopped off to say good morning to Aunt Moira before coming to the inn. “Wherever you like-is she sleeping?”

“Yes.” His eyes held a strange light of victory. “She’s diapered, fed, burped, and had some blanket time in a warm, sunny spot. She should sleep until noon.”

Not if there was any justice in the world, but it was a pretty impressive list. “Sounds like you’ve had a productive morning.”

“I spent the morning demonstrating that any minimally competent adult with an Internet connection can take care of a baby’s basic needs.” Marcus set the basket down in a corner-with a gentleness totally at odds with his gruffness. “Perhaps now we can have a more mature discussion about who should be responsible for Morgan’s care until we sort out whatever tragic mistake landed her on my doorstep.”

It was a very nice speech. Rehearsed, even. Sophie weighed her choices. “You don’t believe she was sent here?”

“Hardly.” His glare cracked, momentarily distracted by movement in the basket. “And with the possible exception of my misguided aunt, doubt runs rampant in the rest of you as well.”

It had been-she couldn’t deny it. But as Sophie watched the crankiest man she knew sing a quiet lullaby in the direction of a restless baby, doubts began to leak away.

Sometimes magic worked in very mysterious ways.

And Sophie decided it could perhaps use her help. “Elorie and I have our hands full at the moment, and fishing season is in full swing.” The village was at its yearly busiest.

“She handles two.” Marcus glanced Elorie’s direction. “Surely adding another for a few days wouldn’t trouble you much.”

Arrogant ass. “I haven’t slept eight hours straight in a month.” Hell, she hadn’t slept two hours in a row, but no point scaring him silly. “One baby is plenty for me and Mike, and it seems you’ve shown yourself to be quite competent this morning.”

“I’m hardly the appropriate person to care for an infant.” Marcus glowered. “And if neither of you can make time in your busy, couch-sitting schedules, I’ll find one of the village women to care for her until we can straighten this mess out.”

Not if Moira had done her job and gotten to them first. Marcus was about to discover that the legendary helpfulness of Fisher’s Cove had gone on vacation.

And if the steam coming out of Elorie’s ears was any indication, he royally deserved it.

Jamie was going to owe her for this. Fixing every stupid man in the world was not in her job description. Nell donned mental armor-if she was heading into the bear’s cave, it paid to be prepared.

A growl was all the warning she had that the bear had come out to meet her. Marcus stepped out onto his porch, beer in one hand, imaginary shotgun in the other. “What, now they’ve called in reinforcements?”

Nell threw up a training circle. It seemed like a smart precaution-and it would send a message to the man acting like a snotty child.

Scratch that-her children had far better manners.

Marcus scowled and swatted the circle down. “If you came here to blow magical bubbles at me, you can just jump on your shiny steed and head back home. I have the girl, and the ever-meddling witches have made darned sure I have to keep her until I can get someone sane to drive out here and pick her up.”

Oh, shit. “Pick her up?”

“I called child services. They seem to be the appropriate authorities to take responsibility in this matter. The woman I spoke to seemed quite competent.”

They’d just finished rescuing Sierra from child services. Be damned if they were shipping someone off in trade. “She was sent for you, Marcus-not some nameless bureaucrat.”

“Well then, someone made a rather sizable mistake, don’t you think?” His eyes were cold, ocean-washed granite. “I’m simply fixing it.”

Time to lay down her hand. “I went to see Adele this morning. She’s the medium who brought the message from Evan.”

The granite went flying at his brother’s name, replaced by volcanic spew. “Evan’s dead. And the next person who brings him into this will deserve what she gets.” Marcus turned to look over the sea, repressed violence in every line of his body. Dismissed. Get out.

Sometimes, you just couldn’t leave the wounded bear alone. Nell threw up another training circle-a lot stronger this time. “You can duck your head and play ostrich, but you don’t get to take your temper out on every living thing.”

Marcus whirled. “I’ve had no sleep and the last of my patience ran screaming several hours ago. I can’t control what obscenities the rest of you choose to believe, but I’m not going to sit here and pretend my brain leaked out of my head.”

“What’s not to believe?” Nell was ready to crack Moira’s cauldron over his thick skull. “Let’s talk about facts. Fact-Adele got into Realm, and she didn’t do it with code or spell. Fact-she brought a message and something in it knocked you out cold. I can only presume it was truth.”

She paused, reining in her temper. A little. “Fact-the message spoke of a baby coming. She came. And she arrived coated in the kind of magic you can’t possibly explain away as a paperwork mix-up.”

His head snapped up. “We have no idea what kind of magic it was.”

She did now. And had scans and graphs and data to prove it. “The not-of-this-world kind.”

He was a smart man-and Nell could see the moment when truth finally punched him in the gut. “Evan.” One whispered word from a man literally slammed to his knees.

Any other man she would have gathered in her arms like one of her boys. This one was far too fragile. Nell stood vigil as his soul trembled-and sent all the love she dared.

Finally, he looked up, anguish in his eyes. “Evan sent the baby?”

It killed her to do it. But she owed it to a witch she’d never met. “Yes. He sent her to you.”

And, just maybe, Evan Buchanan had sent the key that would crack the Ice Age in his twin brother’s heart.

It was a war worth fighting. Nell looked at the shattered man bowed down in front of her-and signed up.

She’d give him a couple hours of peace-and then she’d launch her assault.