A Nomadic Witch

Chapter 6

A quick shimmer of magic was all the warning Marcus got. A small boy materialized in the middle of his kitchen, offering smiles and a plate of cookies. “Mama sent me. She says you’re really cranky and you could use some cuddles.”

Anvils and cuddles. Nell was a very dangerous witch. And he was a weak and tired man unable to resist the invitation in big brown eyes. Or cookies. “Want some milk to go with those?”

“Yup. One for you too-these are dunkers. You can dunk them in tea if you want, but only really old people do that.”

A stray chuckle escaped Marcus’s throat. Aervyn might be the only person alive who didn’t throw him in with the old people. “Two glasses of milk, then.”

Aervyn climbed onto a stool next to the counter, helping himself to a cookie. “Where’s Morgan?”

It took Marcus a moment to connect the name with the pesky infant sleeping in his living room after countless poopy diapers, another long walk on the beach, and one of the bottles that kept mysteriously showing up on his countertop. “Taking a nap.”

“You should try to remember her name.” His pint-sized therapist handed over a cookie along with the lecture.

It probably didn’t take a psychologist to figure out why he preferred to think of her as “that girl-child.” Marcus poured two glasses of milk. “I’m not used to babies.”

“I am.” Aervyn nodded sagely. “Babies are trouble.”

Marcus blinked. That wasn’t the direction he’d expected this to head.

His visitor broke a cookie in two and dropped one half into a glass of milk. “Mama says they grow up to be more fun, but when they’re little, they just cry a lot and make everybody really grumpy and you have to be quiet all the time.”

That was quite the list of grievances, especially from a source who rarely complained about anything. Marcus tried to dig out of his sleep-deprived depression for a moment. It occurred to him that Fisher’s Cove wasn’t the only place invaded by babies this spring. “Kenna’s keeping everyone busy, is she?”

Aervyn grinned in one of the lightning changes of mood cookies often produced. “She’s trying to crawl now, but she keeps putting her bum-bum in the air and her face on the ground.” He shook his head at the obvious silliness of such an effort. “I’m trying to teach her, but she doesn’t listen very well.”

Probably all to the good-babies were problematic enough when they just flailed like turtles on their backs wherever you put them. He shuddered to imagine Fisher’s Cove when the baby herd mastered mobility. “Perhaps you should just leave her in one place, my young friend. Run while you can.”

“Can’t.” All the weight of the world sat on five-year-old shoulders. “Mama says I have to be nice to her and help her learn how to be a witch and all that stuff.”

There were advantages to being a crusty old bachelor. However, even he wasn’t dumb enough to foment rebellion in everyone’s favorite superwitch. “I’m sure there are other people to help Kenna learn those things.”

“Lots.” The answer came easily and accompanied by cookie crumbs. “But Mama says every witchling has some really special helpers, and I’m a’posed to decide whether I want to be one of Kenna’s.”

Nell really was a dangerous witch. “And what have you decided?”

Half of Aervyn’s head reappeared from behind a beer mug of milk-the cottage drinking glass collection was still a little sparse. “I don’t know yet. She’s kind of annoying, and she cries a lot and doesn’t pay very good attention when I show her magic tricks.” He grinned. “But she likes it when I port her places.”

Marcus felt his grumpy old adult neurons firing. “Is that safe?” Kenna was only a few months old-that seemed a little young for magical joyrides.

“Uncle Jamie said it’s smarter than leaving her to her own devices.” Aervyn’s forehead wrinkled. “But I don’t think Kenna has any devices yet-she chewed on Auntie Nat’s iPhone once, but Gramma Retha made her give it back.” He winced. “She yelled really loud. Kenna, I mean-not Gramma Retha.”

Marcus had reason to know Retha had excellent lungs too, but he was more interested in the tidbit that babies liked iPhones. Good to know.

“If you wanna try it…” his cookie-monster companion leaned in and whispered, “Uncle Jamie says it’s a really good idea to put a waterproofing spell on the phone first.”

Baby drool on his precious electronics. Gods-had he really fallen that far? “Morgan won’t be staying long. We need to find out where she really belongs.”

“She belongs with you.” Said with the calm conviction of a witchling used to believing his elders. “Aunt Moira says so, and she’s never wrong about babies.”

Maybe not-but she was wrong about one grown man. They all were. Even if Morgan was Evan-sent, he could hardly keep a baby.

“Sure you can.” Aervyn, blithely mindreading, offered milk-soaked cookie crumbs to the suddenly friendly cat. “Mama says you have a really hard head, but it’s not totally stupid.” He grinned. “Well, she used a different word, but her head said ‘stupid.’”

Marcus could only imagine-Nell’s opinion of him had never been very high. However, she sent him cookies and company, and both managed to squirm into his heart on far too regular a basis.

Aervyn hopped off his stool and crawled into Marcus’s lap. “So, were you really mean?”

Marcus rested his chin on a curly head. “I guess I was.”

It did strange things to his heart when the easy love that always flowed from Aervyn’s mind didn’t waver. “You can have that last cookie, then. It will help you to be sweeter when Morgan wakes up.”

For just a moment, Marcus wished he lived in a world where things could be that simple.

Sophie scooped up the last of the jars from the table. Herbs and lids back to being properly matched-and Lizzie had gotten some nice practice identifying plants in their dried, crumbly forms.

It was more fun when they were green and could be tempted to grow a pretty flower-but any Fisher’s Cove healer who couldn’t tell the difference between feverfew and lady’s mantle from just a careful whiff would likely end up locked in Moira’s kitchen until they could.

Lizzie had been smart enough to focus on herbal crumbles.

She looked up from the table, the last mysterious sample still rolling in her fingers. “Lady’s mantle? It doesn’t smell like that, really-more like moldy chamomile, but it vibrates like lady’s mantle. Maybe a little slower, though.”

It had taken Sophie ten years of hard practice to pick up plant vibrations. Lizzie and Ginia both did it with ease. Nothing like a couple of witchlings to keep you humble. “Those are good clues. It’s tricky when your fingers and your nose are telling you something different. Your job is to figure out which one to trust.”

Her pupil frowned. “Can I taste it?”

Always an alternative fraught with risk. “What do you think?”

“Well, if it’s feverfew, then tasting it would be fine. But if it’s lady’s mantle, then it will taste like oyster poo and make me burp for three days.”

Sophie hid a grin-oyster poo was a particularly apt description. “Well, if you had a patient to dose and you weren’t sure if you had the right herb, what would you do?”

“Protect the patient.” The answer came quickly-healer ethics weren’t Lizzie’s problem. “So I guess I’d have to taste it. Or give some to Sean, because he deserves three days of burps.”

Well, maybe her trainee’s ethics still had the occasional hiccup. “What did he do now?” There was always something-Sean breathed trouble.

“He said only girls have babies, so it must be really easy.” Lizzie’s eyes held mutiny now. “I told him that boys would be too scaredy to push out a baby. Except for maybe Uncle Aaron-he’s really brave.”

Aaron had earned a ton of respect during the twins’ birth. Little Aislin had arrived weak and blue and he’d willed life into her, one slow breath at a time.

It had taken Sophie a week to help Lizzie understand why none of the healers in the room had intervened. What any of them could have done with one finger had taken every ounce of Aaron’s love and will-and that had been the right choice.

Learning when not to use magic was one of the harder lessons of being a witch.

“One day Sean will learn how wrong he is.” Sophie bent down to kiss Lizzie’s head-and made a mental note to have a chat with their misguided troublemaker. “And being a daddy isn’t an easy job either.” She touched the mystery herb-gently. She didn’t want burps. “Do you have it figured out yet?”

“It’s lady’s mantle.” Lizzie sounded more definite now. “Ginia said feverfew feels slimy if you listen to it for long enough. This one’s not slimy.” She looked entirely relieved to have avoided oyster poo.

Sophie was duly impressed-it was an old jar, and crumbled well beyond visual recognition. “It’s time to replace it anyhow. We can do some moon harvesting-tomorrow night’s the right timing.”

Staying up late was still a serious treat for a six-year-old girl. Freed from lessons, she hopped around like a dizzy ping-pong ball. “Can Ginia come?”

Lizzie, an only child, adored her fellow healer trainee. Sophie blessed the technology that let two girls on opposite sides of the continent gather at will. Healing was often a very lonely craft. “Of course. We’ll do a moon circle first.”

“I’ll go tell Gran.” Small feet dashed for the door and then skidded to a halt. Lizzie turned, face scrunched up. “So, is Uncle Marcus Morgan’s mommy now?”

Almost a year back in Fisher’s Cove, and Sophie still wasn’t used to the lightning changes in topic that came with being six. “He’s taking care of Morgan for a while.”

“Like a mommy.” Lizzie’s eyes brightened.

Apparently Sean wasn’t the only witchling with some gender prejudices. “Aaron and Mike both take care of babies. It’s not just a mommy’s job.”

“They’re daddies.” Lizzie shrugged and turned to leave. “That’s just a fancy name for a mommy with more ear hairs.”

Sophie shook her head in the direction of the now-empty doorway and chuckled. She’d learned not to argue with six-year-old logic. Especially when ear hairs were involved.

He was not losing a staring contest with a baby. Marcus glared and tried to add reason to his cause. “You need to sleep, girl-child. You might think you can out-cranky me, but it’s not true, I promise you.”

Eyes that belonged in Moira’s garden stared at him-and looked not remotely sleepy. “At your age, you’re supposed to take at least three naps a day.” Or so the Google had assured him. “The afternoon’s half gone and you haven’t slept a wink in hours.”

He eyed his easy chair wistfully. Once upon a time, he’d actually been able to sit down when his legs got wobbly and tired. And his arms had lost all feeling several hours ago.

Dammit, he was not a whiny witch. And this negotiating and coddling of small creatures was getting ridiculous. Marcus straightened up and glared at the baby in his arms. “Morgan of Mystery, it is damn well time for you to go to sleep.”

A snort behind him was all the warning he got that company had arrived. Marcus turned, curious-and stared. “What are you doing here?”

Daniel chuckled, unloading strange paraphernalia from his arms. “I’m here to give you a babywearing lesson.”

A what? Marcus stared in stupefied silence.

Daniel picked up one of the contraptions he’d dumped on the couch. “I brought our entire collection. Slings, pouches, Mei Tai, three different wraps. Aervyn liked the sling best, so let’s start with that one.”

It was a swatch of fabric bright enough to stun the eyes of any sensible person, complete with gold rings and a tassel.

His uninvited guest grinned. “You’ll get used to the stripes. They say babies can’t see colors yet, but Aervyn screamed if I put him in the nice, boring, khaki one.” Daniel dumped the thing over his shoulders and reached for the baby. “Let me show you how it ends, and then we can start back at the beginning.”

A few quick moves and Morgan was nestled on Daniel’s chest, held tight by snug stripes and cooing happily.

Marcus didn’t know whether to be jealous or to take the moment of opportunity and run like hell. And he was still deeply suspicious-Nell Walker didn’t do anything by accident. “Why are you here?”

Daniel stroked fuzzy red hair. “Because my wife has taken pity on you, and you can’t tell me this is women’s work.”

He didn’t need pity-from Nell or anyone else. “I hardly need to learn to strap a baby to my chest. She’s not staying.”

He spoke into a void. Daniel snuggled a contented baby head under his chin and swayed, quietly humming.

Marcus tried to pick up the tune-Aunt Moira’s lullaby had lost its luster by the six hundredth repetition. “What are you singing?”

“Bob.” Daniel looked up. “Aervyn liked Aerosmith and Tina Turner best, but the girls all liked Bob.”

It took a moment, even with the hint. Daniel, uber-dad of the universe, had Morgan inches from sleep-to the reggae sounds of No Woman, No Cry.

The irony hit Marcus’s sleep-deprived sense of humor square between the eyes.

And then Daniel reached for one of the sling’s gold rings and slid an entirely unimpressed baby out of her happy, snuggly place. “That’s how it’s done.” He held out the sling, juggling a fussy girl one-handed. “Your turn.”

It had been at least ten years since Marcus had done battle with Daniel in Realm-but he’d learned one thing very well all those years ago. Nobody beat The Hacker when he’d staked his ground. Nobody. And behind Daniel’s easy grin was a mind suddenly walled in steely determination.

This wasn’t about striped slings or baby carriers or lessons.

It was war. And Nell had sent her most potent weapon.

Nell slid into the hot water and sighed in bliss. There were few manifestations of magic more awesome than Moira’s pool.

The other inhabitants of the pool smiled in welcome. Sophie handed over a glass of something tall, cool, and minty. “I thought we’d really moved up in the world when we started having our chats in the Witches’ Lounge, but this beats even that.”

Nell grinned. When you were a new mama, a hot soak and a chat were hard to come by. “Mike has Adam?”

“Mmm, hmm.” Sophie leaned her head back against a convenient pillowy rock. “He laughed when Daniel came by to reclaim most of the babywearing gear.”

Their collection of slings and pouches had done a lot of rounds over the years. And the sight of Mike wearing a tiny babe in a bright orange fleece pouch brought back lots of memories-it had been Mia’s favorite place to ride.

Moira bent down a flower stem and sniffed. “Spring has really come. It’s a good time of year to take the wee ones for long walks on the beach.”

Sophie’s eyes twinkled. “The grapevine says Marcus was out there with Morgan half the night.”

Nell tried to quell the squirt of sympathy. If Marcus’s arms were ready to fall off, it was his own darned fault. The man had been watching witch babies travel in slings and pouches and wraps for most of his natural life. A smart man would have asked for help the moment a baby landed in his lap.

“Your Daniel is a good man.” Moira’s hands created slow ripples in the warm waters-physical therapy, even now. “If anyone can get help through my nephew’s thick head, he’ll be the one.”

Oh, Daniel would get the job done. Nell had seen the hints of steel in his eyes as he ported into Marcus’s living room. There wasn’t a better father on the planet-and he’d taken the “women’s work” comment as a rather personal challenge.

And if that didn’t work, there was always Ginia’s green goo. Nell pulled out of her steam-induced reverie enough to actually talk out loud. “Ginia has some herb requests, if you have them. Something about moon-harvested sage, and lemon balm, I think. Apparently hers isn’t old enough yet.” Their entire back yard was turning into a witch apothecary-or at least the garden precursors.

Moira sipped her tea, eyes sharp with sudden interest. “Those are potent herbs-what’s she brewing?”

Chuckles from the other side of the pool had them both looking at Sophie, who grinned. “Three guesses.”

Nell didn’t even have one guess, but earth magics weren’t her realm. Moira contemplated a moment. “Ah, that’s a most interesting use. If it works, maybe she can brew up a batch for Marcus.”

Being lost at sea in a discussion of plants and remedies was becoming an all-too-familiar sensation. Nell raised her eyebrow and waited-usually some herb-smart witch eventually took pity.

“It’s a potion to increase tolerance.” Soft laughs from the elder healer in the group. “An old Irish remedy housewives use on their husbands-it’s supposed to make them easier to live with. I suspect our Ginia’s planning to use it on her wee brother.”

Aervyn hadn’t been up to more than his usual mischief. “I’m not sure I want her magicking him into a more cooperative sibling.”

“It’s not for her.” Sophie smiled, love for her student in her eyes. “She’s trying to help him accept Kenna.”

Oh. Understanding hit Nell, along with a swelling pride in her girl. “He’s been struggling.”

“She knows.” Moira’s hands still moved lightly in the water. “It’s a healer’s job to know, and to help hearts and minds and bodies adjust.” She leaned back, looking well satisfied. “Our girl is finding her healer’s wisdom.” Her eyes hazed in thought. “And it just might be an excellent remedy for Marcus as well.”

Sophie nodded, amused. “Fine. I’ll make it, but you get to deliver it.”

Moira eyed the flowers carefully. “Make the airborne version. I’m thinking it’s time for my nephew’s home to be brightened with some of the blooms of spring.”

Nell made a mental note to be suspicious of any new flower bouquets. Parenting a healer had some hidden dangers.

Then again, it beat raising witchlings who set things on fire and ported themselves into the back yard in the wee hours of the night. Jamie was losing serious sleep to Kenna’s antics. Marcus had it easy.

Nell was very glad those days were mostly behind her. She found a new spot on a rock for her lolling head, and had almost managed to sink back into hot-pool stupor when the obvious finally hit. Nell’s eyes flew open-and met Moira’s, watching her closely. The old witch nodded. “Figured it out, have you? I was wondering when someone would.”

Sophie frowned. “What’s up?”

Nell felt the worry squeeze in on her. “None of us are reading that Morgan has power.”

“Aye.” Moira’s eyes held the kind of bravery that only came with a long life well lived. “Not yet.”

The newest mama in the group was still catching up. “You think Morgan is a witchling? Or will be?”

Nell waited. Even sleep deprived, Sophie was a very quick witch.

A hissed-in breath said she’d arrived. “You think she might be a traveler.”

“We don’t know.” Moira’s voice oozed calm. Her mind held strength-and fear. “We only know that Evan sent her. For now, she’s just a wee babe who needs lots of holding.”

Which wasn’t at all reassuring-their most powerful witches were often the most sensitive as babies.

“Do we tell Marcus?” Sophie looked justifiably squeamish at the thought.

Nell remembered the shattered man on the porch half a day earlier. Even Daniel wasn’t going to make headway with a catatonic Marcus.

Moira finally shook her head. “No. He’ll see it for himself when he’s ready. For now, he’s finding a small girl who eats and poops and sometimes sleeps quite terrifying enough.”

Sophie nodded slowly. “I’ll put a light temperature scan in place. If it triggers, we’ll know to start setting the monitoring spells.”

Just the thought sent ice running in Nell’s veins. She’d set the watching spells every day for three years-until they were absolutely sure Aervyn wasn’t a traveler. If tiny, happy Morgan of the lavender eyes might be…

“We’ll watch,” said Moira briskly. “But for now, I prefer an alternate explanation.” Her face gleamed with pure Irish mischief. “I believe Evan’s decided it’s time for his brother to join the land of the living. What better way than a baby?”

Sophie’s face lightened. “And you plan to help.”

Nell rolled her eyes. Witches always planned to help.

“Aye.” Moira leaned back against her pillow rock again and winked at Nell. “We’ve been trying to root Marcus in Fisher’s Cove soil for a year now. I’m thinking that maybe spring has finally arrived.”

One grumpy plant, about to be watered.