Witches in flight, p.8
Witches in Flight, page 8
However, the assignment required three poems. And if she had to sit here and suffer, maybe she could use one of them to screw her head back on straight.
Body in ratty jeans,
Mind in a three-piece business suit.
Crap. Clearly her head was still a Josh-hazed mess. His mind didn’t match the ratty jeans, but he was no suit, inside or out. Lizard scribbled out the last line and tried again.
Body in ratty jeans,
Mind the sharp, circling gaze
Of a shark. A nice one.
Jeebers. Lizard refrained from banging her head on the desk. Barely. That last line belonged in a bad kindergarten poem. She didn’t usually have this much trouble expressing herself. She could feel the need tugging on her now—the demand to find exactly the right words.
Body in ratty jeans,
Mind…
No. That was the end, not the beginning. Now she had it.
Some will see the suit.
Some the shark.
I see a mind set on a life worth living.
Dangerous temptation in ratty jeans.
Lizard stared at the words. And then, barely breathing, tucked them away, somewhere warm and dark and hopelessly deep.
It was Grammie’s fault. All the poems about sidewalks and a world of endless possibilities. She’d spent way too much of her life longing for things she couldn’t have. Josh was just one more of those things.
Lizard slowly unwrapped her fingers from their death-grip on the edge of the desk. This was getting her nowhere close to twelve stupid lines she could actually hand in. Time to write poetry about the grocery-checkout guy. Or Romano’s linguine. Or anything where the words didn’t strip a piece of her soul on the way out.
And if an ode to linguine helped her to avoid thinking about the guy in ratty jeans who had managed to invade even her poetry, that was just fine.
Bean stirred in his basket, spiky baby mohawk half stuck to his cheek. Lizard bent over, willing him back to sleep—and felt the Hallmark card words line up in her head.
That one couldn’t get handed in either—it would totally ruin her image.
~ ~ ~
Jamie ducked, the sword swooshing a hairsbreadth from his nose. “Easy there, superboy. No fighting unarmed knights.”
“Work faster, Uncle Jamie. My sword’s all finished and everything. And Elsie-Belsie’s almost done too. She says I can be the princess and you can come rescue me.”
Jamie looked up at his nephew, dressed in a fireman hat and Superman cape, and armed with a sword and something that looked like pink snowballs. The kid had learned “playing princess” from his three older sisters. Any “rescue” would probably involve several sword fights with the princess and defusing whatever mischief was in the pink snowballs.
No fainting damsels-in-distress in this family.
Elsie sat hunched over the sword she had been meticulously coloring with glittery markers for over thirty minutes. His nieces were going to be so jealous. “You know it’s probably going to get destroyed in this sword fight, right?” Cardboard had a short lifespan, particularly when wielded with four-year-old enthusiasm.
She grinned. “You assume I can’t fight.”
Not anymore. “If your sword doesn’t break, you aren’t having any fun.” And fun was the point of the afternoon. Elsie took her Silly Jar assignments very seriously. At least this one wouldn’t scorch the couch cushions—Nell had been unimpressed with the aftermath of toasting marshmallows in a pillow fort.
It was hardly Jamie’s fault Aervyn had decided to dragon-roast his marshmallows. Apparently dragons didn’t have very good aim.
Aervyn’s bouncing was getting wilder. Time to go entertain an impatient princess. Jamie wiggled his fingers, and Elsie’s glittery sword lit up.
She managed not to swallow her marker when it happened. Good. One witch was getting a little more used to silly antics. Jamie grinned and waved at the back yard. “Let’s go—our princess awaits.” It was hard to do much permanent damage outside.
Elsie picked up her sword, giggling. “Just so I have the storyline straight here. The dragon and the knight are best friends, and we have to go rescue the princess, which basically involves fighting her, I mean him, into submission?”
“Yup.” And the dragon sometimes switched allegiance mid-fight, but he figured the laws of the land didn’t require that he tell her that just yet. “And no porting, since you can’t, but there’s probably no way Aervyn’s feet are going to stay on the ground.” Elsie’s probably wouldn’t either—Aervyn was pretty convinced dragons needed to fly, and he was more than capable of helping her do it.
She rolled her eyes and opened the back door. “I can’t believe you do this on Mondays, and go to investor meetings on Tuesdays. You have a really weird life.”
That caught his attention. “You’re not going to the meeting?”
“No. I’m just a small fish, and I’ve already seen the prototype.” Elsie’s eyes twinkled. “But I’ll make sure Lizard gets there.”
Jamie grinned. Elsie was becoming a pretty cool witch. “You lead a fairly weird life yourself, you know.”
Elsie looked down at her glowing sword. “I guess I do.”
It took almost twenty minutes to rescue the princess, but only half that for Aervyn to nearly fly Elsie into the branches of the big climbing tree. And if Jamie could have bottled the giggles from the event, he could have cured the world of depression.
His good deed for the day done, Jamie leaned contentedly against the tree, soaking in the late afternoon sun. He watched as Aervyn climbed into Elsie’s lap, still cuddling the bedraggled remnants of his weapon. “You’re an awesome dragon, Elsie-Belsie. Sorry I broke your sword.”
Elsie looked over at the two halves lying on the grass. “It’s okay. I bet I can find glitter glue and some of the pink tape we used on Gertrude Geronimo and fix it right back up.”
Jamie grinned. As a veteran of glitter-glue repairs, he was pretty sure Elsie’s sword was beyond redemption.
His nephew snuggled in for some post-rescue cuddles. “You make a really good kid, Elsie-Belsie. I hope you never grow up.”
She tried to hide it, but Jamie felt the pain hit her eyes and mind. He shielded Aervyn, sure she didn’t want him to know—and pondered. Some pieces of the Elsie-in-progress were in pretty good shape. But he was getting the sudden feeling that some of them made her bedraggled sword look good.
Change was hard. Even when you were a brave and mighty dragon.
~ ~ ~
--------------------------------------
To: veronica.liantro@witchlight.org
From: Jennie Adams
Subject: Re: Perhaps I am a silly old man.
--------------------------------------
Dear Melvin,
Your pendants have never been wrong—but they don’t always speak plainly, either. Perhaps something moves in Elsie’s life that we are not aware of, and her nighttime escapades are not the source of concern.
I’m glad that, for now, Vero can help Elsie to enjoy spreading her new wings. I imagine your wife understands the draw of slightly clandestine romance better than any of us. And one day, I expect the full story of how she ended up in the arms of a quiet accountant. I know—much of the story is the stuff of Witch Central legend. But the photographer in me says there’s more.
Which is nicely distracting me from worries about Elsie. Let Vero play in the sky with her. The rest of us can hold the corners of the safety net. She won’t be the first witch traveling in such a formation. We’re good at being both roots and wings.
Caro apparently got a visit from a highly frazzled Lizard today—with Bean in her arms and Josh Hennessey on her heels. Which seems like a whole lot of domestic bliss for our poet fairy, and pretty much guaranteed to make her squirm, if the knitting ladies haven’t already accomplished that.
I wonder if she knows yet how much her heart yearns—or how much his does. And how little anything else truly matters.
Jennie
~ ~ ~
Caro walked over to the other side of her townhouse, homemade baguette in one hand, fresh butter in the other. Time to have a chat with an unhappy witch.
She squatted down, juggling bread and butter, to snip off some oregano—and smiled as the door behind her opened. Lizard might use her mind talents more for blocking than for listening, but she usually heard you coming. “Afternoon. Just made butter—thought you might like some.”
Lizard’s eyes were wary. “Witches don’t just accidentally drop by. What’s up?”
Caro sighed. Witches dropped by all the time—Lizard just hadn’t gotten much of a taste of uncomplicated friendship yet. Too much meddling.
Well, she wasn’t here to meddle. Exactly.
But since the girl wasn’t at all stupid, she’d probably best start by being honest. “Heard you crashing around over here, all tangled up.” She stood and handed the snipped oregano to Lizard. “Seems like the young man who followed you into my store earlier today might have something to do with it.”
For a guy in a yarn store, Josh Hennessey had seemed right at home. He had even charmed Marion, which was a pretty impressive feat for any male over the age of two.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Lizard’s mind shrouded. “I’m not Elsie, searching for some guy with strong arms to replace the father who took off.”
It was a pretty astute summary, and exactly what had Caro worried, but Elsie wasn’t the witch she’d come to talk about. She leaned over for some chives to add to the oregano. “You’re smart. And you keep your eyes open and watch a lot, just like me.”
“I have eyes.” Lizard squirmed, dismissing the compliments like she always did. “I don’t need a guy.”
“Got that part.” Caro balanced the chives on top of the butter and walked up Lizard’s steps. Sometimes you had to create your own invitation. “I don’t need yarn, either, but my life’s a lot happier for having it around.”
Lizard snorted. “You’re totally addicted to your yarn.”
Okay, perhaps not the best of examples. “I’m not much for beating around the bush, so I’m just going to say what I came to say, and then you can decide whether you want to share my bread or not.”
“Fine.” Lizard sat down on a stool and looked about as friendly as the guy behind the counter at the post office.
Caro fiddled with the fresh herbs, trying to line up her thoughts. She picked up a handful of flour, letting it sift through her fingers. “Bread’s just flour and water and yeast and salt. You can fancify it with other things, but at the end of the day, it’s just those four things.”
Lizard’s lips quirked. “You’re here to give me a cooking lesson?”
It would probably be easier. “No. Just talking about something we both know. The flour and the yeast are just ingredients. We get to decide if they turn into bread, or biscuits, or Jennie’s rock-hard cookies.”
Amusement shaded Lizard’s mind. “If you make me produce cookie rocks, I’m moving out.”
This talking in paragraphs was challenging. Caro pushed on. “Our pasts are kind of like ingredients. Elsie can’t change not having a father, but she can decide how she mixes it up. Whether she’s making bread or rocks. So can you.”
Lizard froze, merriment draining from her eyes. For a long, long time, she said nothing.
Caro wished desperately for a pair of knitting needles.
Finally the girl’s mind opened, just a sliver. “You’re a sneaky witch.”
“So I’ve been told.” Caro reached for the baguette. “Want some bread?”
“Yeah.” Lizard was quiet for a long time again. “Thanks.”
For a woman of few words, that was all that needed to be said.
Chapter 9
Lizard climbed the steps of the warehouse where Josh’s company offices lived, cursing elevators, business suits, and leftover details for the client from hell that had kept her distracted enough she’d completely blanked on the investor meeting. Until she’d gone down for breakfast and found Elsie’s reminder note stuck to the fridge.
At which point the whole sad, deluded project had exploded back in her brain.
Josh was a nice guy. A smart guy. And he wasn’t peddling her a pile of crap on purpose. But people just didn’t offer millions of dollars to delinquents. Hell, people didn’t offer that kind of money to anyone, even if she dressed up and didn’t scowl and told them her name was Liz.
She’d faked it for Claire Jameson, but she was going to get a big, fat commission out of that one.
This maps thing was just what Grammie would have called “pure horse manure.”
And if you had to wade through crap, you might as well dress for it.
Lizard hit the fourth floor gasping for air. Dammit. Thanks to her cushy job, she now had the lung capacity of an emphysemic eighty-year-old. Life just got better and better. She’d probably have to go to one of those spinning classes or something, where skinny type-A women peddled as fast as humanly possible without going anywhere.
Seriously—who peddled a hundred miles an hour to nowhere?
Stupid fracking day.
“Good morning,” said an amused voice over her shoulder. Nice delinquent regalia there.
Lizard scowled down at her outfit. It had taken some serious work to find it at the bottom of her closet. “Josh said I could wear whatever I wanted.”
Jamie looked down at his jeans and T-shirt. “He said I could, too.”
Wait. What the hell was Jamie doing in Josh’s building? Why are you here?
“I heard there’s a meeting to invest in your maps idea. If you’re here, I figure my information’s probably right.”
Lizard stared. The investors are supposed to be rich old guys in suits.
Jamie looked down at his clothes again and grinned. Apparently Josh isn’t as picky about his investors as you are.
Okay, first Elsie, and now Jamie. This was ridiculous. “This could be a big, fat, stinking failure. You have a baby coming and everything. You can’t afford to do this.” Did no one in Witch Central have any brains?
An arm settled around her shoulders. “We try not to scare the investors away before they even get in the room.” Josh reached out to shake Jamie’s hand.
“I’m not taking money from my friends.” Lizard wiggled out from under his arm, turned, and glared, ready to do battle. “I thought you said you knew rich guys.”
Josh shrugged. “Anyone with boatloads more money than I have qualifies as rich. Come on in to the meeting room—there are several other people here already.” He grinned wryly. “It’d be great if you could stash the ‘big, fat, stinking failure’ line for a bit. Not everyone in the room knows you as well as Jamie does.”
Most of his words just trailed in one of her ears and out the other. Lizard was still stuck on his first sentence. Jamie had more money than Josh?
Yup. Even if you crash and burn, we’ll still be able to feed the baby. Jamie’s mind was a mix of humor, empathy, and kick-in-the-pants. Thanks for caring, though. Now get over yourself and head into that room and pretend you actually know how to sell stuff.
She did know how to sell stuff. Claire Jameson had made an offer on a house. She was a freaking selling genius.
Better. Jamie grinned.
Lizard scowled. What is this, the standard-issue witch pep talk? It was oddly effective, but that was beside the point.
Hell, no. Jamie snickered and laid a hand on her shoulder. You seem to require the level-three version.
She wasn’t going to ask how many levels there were. For a laid-back guy in jeans, Jamie could be really pushy—and apparently he wasn’t even trying hard yet.
Crap. Her pushy guy suddenly sounded oddly contrite. Sorry, I think I’ve just blown your cover. He shrugged a shoulder in Josh’s direction.
Lizard looked—and found Josh staring at her, eyes wide with curiosity. “You can do that same mindreading thing Jamie can do?”
Holy fracking hell. She heard her mouth babbling instinctive denial, but it was obvious from Josh’s mind that she was wasting her time. Lizard ground to a halt, preparing to hit and run. “I don’t know how you found out about that, but I’m not a freak. And I’m not invading your mind. And if you tell anyone, they’ll just lock you up and call you crazy.” Or lock her up, but she could jibber in terror about that later.
His eyes narrowed, puzzled and… hurt. “I know that. Jamie explained how it works, and the ethics and everything.” His face crinkled into a half-smile. “And if you don’t want people to know, you should stop having mind-conversations in public.”
She knew that. She knew the risks. She’d been sucked in by the fake safety of Witch Central and a neighborhood of people who all thought witches were groovy.
Jamie’s thought bounced hard through her mind barriers. Don’t be an idiot. Read him, Lizard.
Her reply was white-hot fury. Screw that. You got me into this mess.
Josh reached out a hand, twining his fingers in hers. “I don’t think you’re a freak. I was just thinking that if you can do what he can do, that might be useful in the meeting. You can monitor my thoughts, right? The outside ones I want you to hear?”
Lizard stared. The guy was holding hands with a mind witch ready to cook his neurons, and talking business strategy. “You know I could fry your brain or make you dance like a chicken, right?” Probably. Maybe.
His grin was only a little wobbly. “I’d rather you didn’t. We have a bunch of suits in there who might find the chicken dance a little frightening.”
The suits. Oh, God. She’d forgotten about the suits.
~ ~ ~
Josh headed to the meeting room, Lizard’s hand firmly clasped in his. The suits awaited, and he wasn’t convinced she would walk into the room unaided.
And damn, he had other things on his mind. She was a witch. A totally hot witch, even in a grunge leather jacket and jeans with more holes than fabric.
He was pretty sure the outfit wasn’t for his benefit. Or rather, he wasn’t supposed to appreciate it.
Pretty smart for a non-witch, said Jamie’s voice in his head, amused.
