Witches in flight, p.22
Witches in Flight, page 22
Elsie laughed—that wasn’t so far from the truth. A garage’s worth of musical instruments was on her list.
Lauren reached into a drawer for keys and tossed them to Lizard. “Go take a walk—it’s not far. Rent will be sixteen hundred a month, plus a steady supply of snickerdoodles.”
Elsie closed her eyes, savoring the grown-up version of straddling Gertrude Geronimo at the top of the hill. She could do sixteen hundred. It was going to work.
And then opened her eyes and lifted her feet. “Let’s go.”
~ ~ ~
She could feel endings drawing near. Vero moved sheet music around on her piano, a sure sign she had things on her mind.
Some endings were joyful, meant to be greeted with celebration. Lizard and Elsie neared the end of their formal journeys with WitchLight, and that was all well and good. They were nicely ensconced in the witching community now, their feet set on interesting paths.
Their journeys would not be over, of course. They never truly were.
She needed to remember that. There were other journeys drawing to a close as well, ones that lay bittersweet on her heart. Melvin held her hand quietly more often these days—he knew it too.
Vero shook her head, chuckling. Maudlin had never suited her for very long. Her student would be here soon, and if Jennie’s emails were to be believed, Elsie was readying to leave the nest. Which carried bittersweet tinges of its own—Vero was rather fond of this particular little birdling.
She looked up as Elsie entered the music room, clutching her beloved guitar. “Ah, tired of listening to my piano, are you?”
“Not ever.” Elsie’s smile was soft, with a hint of something else. “But I can’t play the piano, and I have something to sing for you.”
Forty years on stage taught you to recognize moments—the ones that would stay behind your eyes for decades to come. Vero knew she was about to be blessed with one more. And she knew how to be an audience. Slowly, she rearranged herself on the piano bench, eyes attentive, heart waiting.
Elsie pulled over a stool and sat quietly tuning her guitar. The girl had an excellent ear, even if she couldn’t play to save her life. And then she looked up, with still hands and gathering passions.
Vero waited.
She knew the song the moment Elsie struck the first chords. They’d sung Hallelujah together many times. Sad versions and glorious ones, some gritty and others light as angel wings.
This one was different. This one held all those things.
The song of a woman who had finally begun to understand all her notes.
Vero listened as the music soared. Elsie’s voice was competent, no more. Her guitar playing, not even adequate. And it was a song that would have pulled a sold-out concert hall to its feet.
It spoke of a heart open to possibility, a mind aware of the thorns, and a soul’s courage.
It was the song of a woman in flight.
~ ~ ~
Lizard sat on the front steps of the little apartment building and surveyed the street. She could name the people who lived in at least half the houses she could see. That was a good start.
Most of them had messy, lived-in yards. Also good. The cars weren’t too shiny, the diner was around the corner, and the skateboarder was the fifth kid on wheels in the last ten minutes.
It could work.
Leaving her two-ton book bag on the stoop, she let herself in the front door. Two apartments up, two on the main level. The vacant one with the lockbox was up and to the right.
She cursed when her hands shook typing in the code. This was no big deal. No freaking big deal at all.
“Hello, dearie.” The voice came from a tiny old man who barely reached to Lizard’s shoulder. “I’m Frankie. You moving into Mabel’s old place? It’s a good one.”
Frack—had somebody died here? “What happened to Mabel?”
“Went to live with her daughter. Don’t you worry about her at all—someone that grumpy’s bound to live until she’s 103.” Frankie peered up at Lizard. “You’re not grumpy, are you now?”
“Depends who you ask.”
Frankie cackled and pushed open the door. “Come on in—I’ll show you around. You young people don’t have any idea how to check a place out. You have to look in all the nooks and crannies, check out the bones of a place.” He grinned. “I’ll even show you the secret trapdoor. You can let your boyfriends in and out that way.”
She wandered into the main room, letting Frankie’s chatter wash over her. Good light. Nice window seat. Cozy, or it would be with a couch and a chair or two.
Lizard turned left into the kitchen, expecting standard rental blugness. And gaped. Frankie grinned. “Mabel was a real cook. Lived here twenty-five years and talked the landlord into every kind of gadget.”
She’d met the landlord—talking him into a stainless-steel range and a marble-topped island must have required Lauren-sized negotiation skills.
The marble would rock for biscuit making. Not the pay-your-way-onto-Freddie’s-bus biscuits. Just the regular old share-with-your-neighbors kind.
She looked around one more time. Yeah. She could see it. Lizard’s halfway house.
Chapter 23
“You’re not going to tell, are you.”
Elsie looked up as Nat entered the studio space, eyes twinkling. “Tell what?”
“Whatever has you so happy. You’ll drive Witch Central crazy by sunset.” Nat bent down, starting to re-roll the mats Elsie had just cleaned. “Am I about to lose my intern again?”
Pangs hit Elsie’s heart—and then she caught sight of Nat’s happy smile. “Sort of. I have some ideas about how we can keep working together, if you might be interested. We can talk after the big reveal tomorrow.” And after she turned half a kitchen’s worth of tomatoes into spaghetti sauce.
“The answer will be yes.” Nat paused in her rolling. “And the door is open anytime you need a space to move and breathe.”
“I have roots here.” Elsie could feel the truth of it in the warm strength of the bamboo beneath her feet. “You helped me learn how to do that, to find a way to move inside and breathe my way out of emptiness. I won’t forget.”
“And now you’ll pass it on.”
Elsie eyed her mentor and friend. “They’re really sure you’re not a mindreading witch?”
“Just a woman with eyes.” Nat scooped up a pile of six mats in a way that would have caused an avalanche if anyone else had tried it. “You like to help. You thrived leading the workshop. Once you’ve tasted that, it’s a hard thing to let go.”
“I didn’t do it alone.” That was one of the reminders to herself Elsie had neatly inscribed in her business plan. “And I won’t do this next part alone either.” She liked being part of a team—and that was one of the WitchLight discoveries she treasured most.
As was the one that the best therapists had a bit of witch in them. And often didn’t call themselves therapists.
“It’s good you plan to give us something to do.” Nat’s lips twitched. “Getting Witch Central out of your hair might involve a move to Outer Mongolia.”
“Not a problem.” Elsie stretched, her shoulders a little scrunched from mat scrubbing. “I have a list of jobs a mile long people can help with.” She giggled suddenly, remembering one in particular. “I have Jamie’s name down for managing the lime-green tape.”
“I can be there when you give it to him, right?” Nat’s eyes lit with glee. “I think I might even have your original roll in the back office somewhere.” She headed in the direction of the hallway. “Wait here, I’ll go see if I can find it.”
Elsie hoped she did—it would be the perfect parting gift. And she had one for Nat, as well. Steps tinged with regret, she walked out to the front reception area, stepping behind the counter one last time. A basket of clean towels waited, just like it always did. And just like she always did now, Elsie reached out with magic, warming the one on the top of the pile. Warm towels had become a quiet Spirit Yoga sensation, and one of Elsie’s very favorite ways to drip kindness into the universe.
Fingers appreciating the ritual, she started to fold, one towel and then the next, murmuring the words Aervyn had helped her package. A simple spell for one small boy. Not at all simple for one repurposed psychologist.
She pulled out the cookies he’d helpfully tucked in her pocket. Her pint-sized helper had been right—she was running out of magical gas.
“Found it.” Nat came out from the back, clutching lime-green in her hand—and grinned when she saw Elsie behind the counter. “I really do know how to fold towels, you know.”
“These ones are special now.” Elsie held out a towel, suddenly at a loss for words.
Nat reached for the towel, a puzzled look on her face—until her fingers touched the delicious warmth.
“Aervyn helped me figure out a spell I could do that would work longer.” Elsie swallowed the lumps trying to block her throat. “It should last for at least a month or two, and then I’ll come back and refresh it. I want to do it.” The words tumbled out now. “He could make it permanent, but it’s something I’d like to do. A way for a bit of me to stay here.”
Nat didn’t say a word—she didn’t need to. Her hug, a warm towel wedged between them, said everything Elsie needed to hear.
~ ~ ~
Buying shoes for a secret event was Lizard’s personal definition of insanity.
Scratch that. Shoe stores for any reason were her personal definition of insanity. She looked over at Lauren doubtfully. “You sure you want to go in there? Those women are circling like street-corner druggies right after the really good stuff arrives.”
Lauren grinned. “I’ll take your word for that.” She pulled open the door. “Trust me—it’s the best shoe sale in the city, and no realtor worth her name should be able to count all her pairs of shoes on one hand.”
“Two pairs.” Lizard tried her latest Elizabeth Monroe look, designed to reduce Claire Jamison clients to cooperative mush. “You try to make me buy any more than that and I want a raise.”
“Have I taught you nothing?” Lauren shook her head mournfully. “Nobody makes us buy shoes. We covet them and their precious beauty.”
“Covet” was not nearly strong enough a word for the pandemonium inside the store. Lizard inched slowly toward a pair of Doc Martens in the corner. Black. Good for tromping all over the city. Done.
Unfortunately, the river of humanity seemed destined to keep her and sane black boots as far apart as possible. Lizard tried not to fall down—she suddenly believed the news stories about people getting trampled to death in stampedes. Some punk kid yelling “fire” could probably take out half the female population of Berkeley.
Scratch that—they probably wouldn’t even hear him. “Sale” was apparently the only word that mattered.
Lauren waved some bits of red leather in her face. “How about these? Your size, I think, and they’d go with your power skirt.”
Lizard’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we were shopping for shoes for Elsie’s big party.” Power skirts didn’t belong at secret parties. Probably.
“Uh, huh.” Her boss was totally distracted by something black and sparkly. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t get shoes for other occasions too.” She waved the red leather again. “Imagine closing your first really big deal in these. Totally perfect, no?”
Only if she wanted to smack her face into the client’s chest as she tripped over her own two feet. Lizard had learned her strappy sandals lesson—only wear them if you planned to stand entirely still. On non-skid surfaces. She needed something more practical. “Do they have any boots in this place?”
“Oh, yeah.” Lauren’s eyes lit up with maniacal glee. “Follow me.”
Three minutes and a good imitation of a New York cab driver, and Lauren deposited the two of them on the far side of the room, in front of a rack of boots. Boots on SALE—the sign said so, in letters bigger than Lizard’s head.
“Oooh.” Lauren reached for something tall, black, and handsome, her brain doing the kinds of gooey things it did when Bean came to visit.
Lizard rolled her eyes, ready to run for the hills—when she saw them. Two columns of butter-soft leather in eye-popping purple. Her fingers reached out, no longer attached to her brain. Chunky heels, size six, and probably less than next month’s rent.
It wasn’t until she was halfway into the second one, writing mental odes to the perfect pair of purple boots, that she caught the smirk on her boss’s face. “What? They’re totally practical. I could walk ten miles in these.” Maybe.
Lauren laughed. “Those are what you’re going to wear to Elsie’s big reveal?”
Yes. She was. They were never leaving her feet again. “They’re perfect.” She grinned at Lauren, entirely smitten by her sexy purple feet. “I’m pretty sure they match Gertrude Geronimo’s pom-poms.”
~ ~ ~
--------------------------------------
To: veronica.liantro@witchlight.org
From: Jennie Adams
Subject: Two in flight.
--------------------------------------
Dear Vero,
I can’t escape the feeling that this might be my last official email about these two.
Lizard has made a decision that has left the steady, adaptable Lauren in tears. Berkeley Realty will have a realtor team of two now—and apparently Lizard already has her eyes on a new assistant. I can only imagine. Lauren is a brave woman.
I have to say, I’m rather delighted with Lizard’s decision. Josh offered her the moon and sky, and I can’t imagine she’d have been unhappy taking them. But our poet fairy has a rare talent for understanding what makes a home—and Berkeley will be much richer for having her share that talent.
I’ve been assigned the job of taking Lizard’s headshot for her new business cards. Capturing our funky witch in one square inch is an oddly daunting task. I must be getting old.
Which leaves Josh. And perhaps I’m a sentimental old woman, but I just don’t believe that story’s done yet.
Elsie’s last steps at WitchLight are shrouded in secrecy—but the kind of secrecy that makes her dance down the street in broad daylight. Nothing that generates so much joy could possibly be bad.
We know only that it requires a sizable house on a hill with a soundproof garage and landlord permission to redecorate. Once again, I can only imagine. I hope she’s ready for all the help lining up to inflate her dream, as soon as she points us at the right balloons.
There is nothing Witch Central loves more than joy. Especially if there’s noise, decorating, or food involved.
I’m sure I’ll see you shortly. I don’t imagine our pendants will let us miss the final acts.
All my love,
Jennie
~ ~ ~
Vero stopped in the doorway, watching her husband’s quiet, methodical packing. It wasn’t his shirt folding that had her attention, however—it was his sad, slightly lost face.
Once upon a time, she’d put that look on his face far too often—and in her own way, she was the cause of it this day as well. She’d put her foot down. It was time.
He looked up, a smile chasing some of the lost away. “Standing there watching me, are you? You never did like to pack.”
Her version of packing involved tossing things in the general direction of a portable vessel. His involved folding and labels and a neat orderliness that she admired, but couldn’t begin to replicate. “They’re all more ready for this than you think.”
“It’s not them.” He smiled softly and folded another shirt. One of hers this time. “It’s my heart that’s not quite convinced it’s ready.”
He wasn’t alone. She walked over and sat beside him on the bed. When the orchestra hit your cue, it was time to go, ready or not.
She slid her fingers into his, as always feeling the echoes of the first time she’d done that and finally understood she was meant to be his.
There were echoes this time too—she just wasn’t entirely sure what they meant yet.
Chapter 24
Lizard pulled two pretty green plates out of the cupboard—and tried to forget the first breakfast she’d eaten off them. Just one of the many slow, hesitant steps she and Elsie had taken toward friendship.
She looked over at her roommate pulling soufflés out of the oven. “This feels so weird.”
Elsie smiled. “We can’t live here forever. When do I get to come see your new place?”
Lizard reached into her pocket and slid a key down the counter. “Whenever you feel like.” No big deal. None of this was any big deal.
Or it wasn’t until Elsie’s eyes got all leaky. “Don’t do that.” Lizard grabbed blindly for biscuits. “It’s your big day and everything.” No waterworks, no gooey stuff.
“’Kay.” Elsie sniffled. “Those are the rockingest purple boots ever—did you sleep in them?”
She’d considered it—which was a sure sign Lizard Monroe was going crazy. Or had gone through one of those shape-shifter machines and gotten stuck in some skin that wasn’t hers. And okay, that was officially enough imaginative thinking before breakfast. “Need any help packing?”
“Nope.” Elsie grinned. “Thanks to the bonfire, I’m leaving with a lot less stuff than I came with. It all fit into a couple of bags.”
Lizard frowned—she was leaving with a lot more stuff than she’d arrived with. And her roommate had just been on a wild, two-day shopping spree. “Where’s all the new stuff?”
“At the new house.” Elsie glared. “Don’t peek.”
A herd full of mind witches, and they still had no idea what Elsie was up to. Well, they had lots of guesses, but those ranged from starting a circus to opening a halfway house for wayward musicians. Lizard had placed her bet on a bike-decorating service, but only because Ginia had been harassing her unmercifully for a guess.
Someone should maybe warn Elsie that she had a bike-decorating team already making signs.
