Debora Geary: A Nomadic Witch

Because of Net power. “The ghost in Realm.” And the mysterious alarms. Not danger. Evan. More of Kevin’s data points.

“Yeah.” Blue eyes twinkled. “The babies were always happy to see me. You, not so much.”

Pain seized Marcus’s heart again. “You came to see me?”

“Not often.” Sorrow weighted Evan’s entire body. “The mists were never strong enough. I could hear you calling.” He paused, gulping painfully. “I don’t think you could hear me answer.”

Never. Not once.

Evan punched him in the arm. “And then Net power happened and I could finally come and all you would freaking think about was turnips and kissing and how I was this stupid voice from your mind’s filing cabinet.”

Gods. “I’m sorry.” The words rasped out over a throat dry as dust.

His brother reached into a small sack and pulled out a bottle. “Here. Water.” His eyes twinkled again. “The one thing we have plenty of around here.”

Marcus drank and looked at the small boy who was his twin. And needed to say the words deep in his heart. “To be able to still laugh here-” he rasped in a breath, determined to get the rest out, “is an act of courage beyond measure.”

“It’s why I liked to visit the babies.” Evan looked down at the ground, chin wobbling with unshed tears. “Some days I was running out.”

Marcus regretted every day in forty-three years that he hadn’t sent laughter out into the universe. He would never make that mistake again.

“Morgan’s giggles are magic,” said his brother softly. “For both of us.”

Morgan. The reason he was here. “How did you do it? How did you get into Realm?” Where Evan could go, maybe the mists could follow.

“Net power rocks.” Evan’s grin was back. “When I go to the edge of the mists, I can see it.”

“They connect?” The thought scared Marcus silly.

“No.” His brother seemed very sure. “It’s like a bridge that’s missing the middle. But it gives me something to aim at.”

This was beginning to sound like one of the dumber pirate stunts they’d pulled as boys. “Just exactly how are you getting across?”

“I jump.” Evan took a swig of water. “Missed a couple of times, but I have it pretty much figured out now.”

A couple of stray dots connected in Marcus’s head. “Wait. You said that fire witches lose their magic in the mists. What are you using to power all this?”

“The mists,” said Evan, holding out his palms, a small energy flow moving between them. “The same way astral travelers are powered. I channel it much like fire power. It weaves and folds and wraps into spells-not happily, but it can be done.” He put his chin back on his knees. “I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”

A spellcaster in the mists. “It’s how you sent Adele. And Morgan.”

Humor flooded into his brother’s eyes. “Adele was easy. Realm’s this huge, gleaming fortress of Net power, and that fetching spell of Nell’s is very handy.” He grimaced. “Your front porch was harder.”

Marcus had a hundred questions, but he could feel power lines tugging him now. They didn’t have a lot more time. “Tell me about Morgan.”

“She’s the daughter of the only traveler I couldn’t send home.” Evan’s mind drenched in guilt. “I think giving birth triggered emergence of her magic, and it was stronger than anything I’ve ever seen. Twice I managed to send her back, but the third time she came, Morgan was with her.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Her soul’s tether had already snapped.”

Marcus could read the rest. “She left the baby with you.”

“I couldn’t keep her. This is no place for a baby.” Evan looked up, eyes hollow with grief. “Tell Morgan her mama’s name was Emma, and she loved her very much.”

The power tug was much stronger now. “How do I keep her safe?”

Evan shook his head. “I don’t know.” His grin was achingly lopsided. “But I know you’re the smartest brother I’ve got.”

Marcus grabbed his brother in a bear hug. “I’ll come back.”

“No.” Evan held tight. “You can’t-it’s too dangerous. I won’t always be here to catch you.”

Protest died as Marcus realized how much magic was working to keep him safe.

Two small hands cupped his face-but the eyes belonged to a man who had lived centuries. “Do the one thing I can’t.” Evan’s face crumpled. “Go home. Live.”

Lauren clung to her husband. Marcus’s sadness was awful. Evan’s was worse.

She no longer tried to block it. Every word, every stitch of laughter and anger and grief-all telegraphed down the mighty rope of power and love that anchored Marcus into the world of the living.

Shutting it off might have weakened the rope-so she’d done her job and let what was happening in the mists rip her to shreds.

He was coming back to them now. She could feel the rope folding in on itself, filaments stretched to their limits settling back into less-abused forms.

Marcus was horribly, desperately sad-but some important part of him was no longer dead.

And then minds far stronger than hers were throwing up walls, and it all went blessedly silent.

Sophie practically crawled into the hot pool, wondering how she’d ever lived without one.

“You’ve exhausted yourself, lovey.” Moira held out a hand. “Come. I’ve a wee bit of healing left in me. Let me clear your channels, at least.”

It was a very sweet offer from a witch who had done yeoman’s work already. “Mike took care of that much. I could use some of that tea, though.” It smelled vaguely like skunk, which meant it was one of Moira’s stiffer brews.

“Be careful what you wish for,” said the grandmother of her heart, chuckling. “Lizzie steamed it up for us. She’s got a heavy hand with the tisanes yet.”

“Never fear.” Nell set down a tray at pool’s edge. “The chili is doctored too, but Aaron is willing to bet the inn that you can’t taste it.”

Aaron’s chili was legend in Fisher’s Cove-guaranteed to kill taste buds dead on contact.

“He’s a good man.” Moira held out her hands for the offered bowl. “His heart didn’t waver for a moment as we sat in my garden holding those babies.”

It was a good thing he hadn’t seen his wife when the circle ended. Sophie kept her eyes on her chili. One of the reasons she was so exhausted was the healing push she’d shoveled into Elorie before Aervyn had ported her to the garden.

“And any witch,” continued Moira blandly, “who thinks I can’t smell a healing spell at ten paces would be sorely mistaken.”

Busted. “I couldn’t send her back half conscious.” For starters, one elderly healer would have done herself damage trying to fix it.

Nell sniffled in the corner, wiping tears away. “This chili’s insane. It’s making everything run.”

Sophie managed a grin, grateful for the distraction. Aunt Moira hated it when they coddled her. “I thought fire witches liked spicy.”

Nell just rolled her eyes.

“Not to worry, dear.” Moira chuckled and began to spoon in her own chili. “Take a couple more bites and everything will go numb.”

The easy banter was balm for Sophie’s soul. It had been a brutally difficult circle.

Nell looked over, echoes of what they’d been through in her eyes. “How’s Lauren doing?”

They’d all lived through the emotional earthquake when Marcus had first seen his brother. And then Lauren had battened down the hatches, forcing it to flow only through her. An act of enormous sacrifice, and one that still had her intermittently sobbing in Devin’s arms. “It’s going to take her a while to grieve.” No one came through an experience like that unscathed. Living through sixty seconds of it had flattened the rest of them-Lauren had hung on for more than two hours.