Debora Geary - A Nomadic Witch

Marcus was terribly afraid he didn’t need them. The dots were connecting all too well.

Morgan had arrived bathed in strange magic-but it was Elorie who had been able to see the spell lines best. Close to Net power-but not quite. Affinities. Dot.

Babies and ghosts and visitors in gold lamé. Marcus was no stranger to big magic-and all of those spells, regardless of how they’d been done, needed a circle-or a spellcaster in his prime. Dot.

Soldiers under the steps and teasing voices in his head. Perhaps simply random chance and fraudulent dreams. Or not. Dot.

He watched as the others filed in, helping themselves to cookies and quiet conversation.

He listened, in a surreal bubble, as Kevin carefully recited the facts they’d discovered. As minds and voices worked together to connect the dots. He let them say their pieces-it only confirmed what he already knew.

Dots and lines. Without Kevin’s quiet bravery, he’d never have found the courage to look.

Mists that were dangerous, but not evil. Dot.

And a ghost that amused small girls with purple eyes. The last of the lines connected. Marcus shuddered. He looked down at the beautiful, warm, live girl sleeping on his chest. And then he looked up at the room, bubble gone. “I need to go to the mists.”

Conversations stopped in mid-sentence. Moira turned gray.

He avoided her eyes, seeking those of the boy who had taught him of courage. “I need to find my brother and collect more data.” He nodded at Kevin. “Of all of us, you’ve been the one least afraid to look-and you’ve found the most answers because of it.”

“We know a lot.” Kevin looked down at Morgan’s dreaming face, and then up at Marcus, eyes pleading. “Maybe we know enough.”

Marcus felt the terror behind his words. And the love. He tugged the unresisting boy in for a hug. “We might.” His eyes circled around the room, and finished with his aunt. “But I can’t take that chance.”

Sophie held her husband’s hand. Their part of this circle would be easy. Roots and rocks. It was Elorie, currently sitting with tiny Aislin in her arms, who would stand in harm’s way.

And Elorie who was fiercely arguing for that right. She glared at Jamie. “I’m the strongest Net witch we have. You can code anything you want between now and morning, but if Uncle Marcus is wandering off into the mists, I’m damn well going to be the one holding the rope.”

“We can put Net witches in each trio, manage magical affinity that way.” Jamie drew lines in the air as he talked, a witch diplomat at the end of his tether. “There’s no reason for you to take all the risk.”

“There is,” said Elorie softly. “We don’t have four Net witches of decent power over the age of twelve.”

She didn’t have to say anything more. Dissent in the room vanished. No one wanted witchlings anywhere near this circle.

Sophie closed her eyes, hiding tears. She didn’t want the sister of her heart anywhere near it either.

“How can we help?” It was Moira, voice quavery, who broke the silence.

“You can hold my baby girl.” Elorie touched the top of her daughter’s head, bald as a Nova Scotia beach boulder.

Sophie fretted at the sidelining of their oldest witch-and then realized what Elorie really asked. The grandmother and daughter of her blood, together. An anchor, rooted in ancient women’s magic.

The request brought a solidity to Aunt Moira’s aura that hadn’t been there for weeks. Mike squeezed her hand-he could see it too.

Elorie turned next to Nell and Jamie, trio leaders for fire and air. “I need you to spellcode safeguards. Whatever this circle touches, I want it to stay in the circle.”

Lots of nods-they’d have all the help they needed.

“We have an idea.” Devin stuck his hand up from over in the corner, Lauren in his lap. “We’re thinking it might be a good idea to include this sexy wife of mine in the water trio.”

Sophie blinked. Lauren was an impressive mind witch, but she didn’t have a stitch of water power.

For the first time since the meeting started, Marcus leaned forward, eyes intent. “Why?”

Devin shrugged. “When Jamie was up there last time, he used water and air to move, but he cast out with his mind. We’re thinking that if we can blend Lauren’s power into the water stream, and Elorie can shovel it all up to you, you’ll be able to reach out both together.”

It broke every rule of circle magic. And every witch in the room was seriously considering the idea. Sophie felt Mike’s hand, linked in hers. “The bond between the two of you is strong-you’d know how to mesh energies by now.”

Lauren’s spluttered laughter decreased the tension in the room several degrees.

Sophie grinned. She hadn’t been thinking about that in particular, but it would help as well.

“It must still be three.” Moira sounded firm on that point. “Can you manage the water trio without Lizzie?”

“Yeah.” Devin sounded equally firm. “It’s bad enough we need to use Sierra.”

“It’s not a death circle,” said Marcus dryly. “I’m glad you all seem so sure I’m coming back.”

The unspeakable had finally been said.

And it was the oldest witch in the room who answered.

“Oh, you’re coming back.” Moira sounded like she was taking tea orders. “I’ve asked Morgan to fill a nappy at just the right time.”

Sophie watched in awe as a man about to face the fear that had shadowed his whole life laughed until tears ran down his face.

Over baby poop.

It was always thus, far back in history. Men prepared for war-and women wept behind them.

Moira leaned over her tea cup, willing it to hold her up. And willing the sense of dread in her heart to lessen just a little.

It wasn’t war that called Marcus. It was truth.

And fatherhood.

She didn’t turn as the back door slid quietly open and strong arms wrapped around hers.

She gripped Elorie’s hands, an old woman clinging to young life. “I can’t lose them both, darling girl. I just can’t.”

“We won’t.” Her granddaughter’s eyes were fierce. “We know how to hold him now. And he knows how to come back.”

It shamed her that she doubted. But the blood in her veins couldn’t forget. The mists had won far too often.

Marcus stood on the rock promontory of Evan’s beach, the first rays of dawn teasing the sky in front of him. The mists were strong still-but the light was coming. A time carefully chosen.

For him, it would be the time of seeking.

Either there was a place, somewhere in the in-between, where his brother cast spells and reached his magic back out into the world.

Or the mists were only pure, enveloping evil, as he’d believed all his life.

He needed to know. If he had an ally in the mists, he had to find out.

He could feel his circle behind him, standing strong in the pre-dawn light. Moira sat a half-mile away in her garden, Aaron and the twins with her. They’d all refused to leave Fisher’s Cove.

They’d refused to leave Elorie.

Adam was with Kenna and Morgan, barricaded in Realm and protected by an irrationally large contingent of guardian angels.

Marcus was grateful for every last one of them.

He cast one last look over Evan’s beach-and then turned to the circle at his back. Time to seek his brother’s soul.

The traditional words of Devin calling water steadied the heart bashing around in his chest. He waited as the other elements joined the circle, a tight and competent flow of power woven by the strongest witches of his generation.