Debora Geary - A Nomadic Witch

Elorie laughed. “I think he’d be claimed before he made it out of Fisher’s Cove.” She started unloading the picnic basket. “He said something about fried chicken in here.”

No wonder the basket smelled like seventeen kinds of awesome. Nell reached over to help. “Think we’re done?”

Her partner looked up and down the beach. “I want to take one more walk around all the wards after we eat. Just to be sure.”

They’d already walked the lines three times, but Nell wasn’t arguing. She took the lid off the container of chicken and nearly wept. “If Witch Central finds out about this, you guys are going to have to add a second wing to the Inn.”

“Tell that to my husband.” Elorie rolled her eyes. “He’s been talking about having regular Friday night chicken dinners. Here and in Realm.”

“He’s totally insane.” Nell grinned and contemplated crispy golden goodness. “We’ll be lining up halfway to California.”

“I think that’s the idea.” Elorie touched her pendant gently. “We all have our own ways of trying to build comfort and ritual into this new way of life. My husband believes in the power of food.”

It wasn’t just Marcus whose life had been upturned by the full-time move to Realm. The gravitational center of Fisher’s Cove had also shifted. And a small fishing community steeped in tradition was doing its very best to rebalance. Villagers entirely unused to technology were braving transport spells to come visit Marcus’s online abode, bearing pies and berries and glasses of tangy lemonade.

And several dozen coders had found themselves hijacked to the beach one night, swept up in a heady mix of Celtic fiddling, lobster, and old-fashioned hospitality.

They journeyed to Realm, the people of Fisher’s Cove-and they kept the home fires burning bright.

Nell bit into her chicken and figured they had some awfully good weapons. This was the kind of food people dreamed about. “It’s a good idea. We need to find him some sous chefs.”

“Good luck with that.” Elorie chuckled. “I think the last witch he tried to deputize was Sean. It didn’t end well.”

Maybe Aaron needed a little help selecting his apprentices. “He might try Sierra. She’s responsible, safe with a knife, and she could use some cooking lessons.” The triplets reported a lot of boxed mac and cheese during their frequent visits.

Elorie nodded slowly. “That could work, especially the cooking lessons part. I like it.”

Nell grinned. It was good to get back to the normal, garden-variety witch meddling. She reached for another drumstick. “Anything else to solve while we eat?”

“Teach Sean your air-weave-loop trick?” Quiet pride radiated from the woman responsible for witchling training in Fisher’s Cove. “He has the skills, I think, and some tightly controlled magic would be good for him.”

Nell had plenty of experience with boys of Sean’s variety. “How about I teach Kevin first?”

Elorie blinked. “You think he can do it?”

It would be a stretch-but yeah, she did. And if the last couple of weeks had taught her anything, it was that the quiet twins should never be underestimated. “Only one way to find out.”

“Ha.” Elorie dug in the basket for napkins, highly amused. “Sean will practice until his magic runs dry if his twin has a trick he can’t do.”

Nell grinned. That was the idea. “The power of a dare.” And Kevin wouldn’t have to say a word.

Elorie quieted, her mind suddenly solemn. “It’s what Evan did, isn’t it?” She sat a moment, arranging her words. “This village has spent more than forty years trying to get Marcus back into the land of the living.” Her smile was a mix of wistful and impressed. “And all it really took was a dare from his twin.”

Nell looked around the beach-and hoped she and Elorie were adding one more strand to keep the dare alive. Evan had told Marcus to go home and live.

They were trying to make the first part of that possible.

Once, long ago, he’d sat in her gardens, just as he did now. Moira watched her nephew, sitting in the castle’s cornflowers, playing with a pile of shiny rocks.

And a set of small, green toy soldiers.

Her heart caught. Oh, Evan. Her soul ached for the boy who couldn’t come to play-and rejoiced for the one who finally had. “Good afternoon. Can an old lady join you?”

Marcus only scowled a little.

She took that by way of greeting and made her way through the flowers. “I heard wee Morgan has figured out how to roll over.”

He nodded glumly. “Sad, but true. She gets in enough trouble as it is.”

She had a lot of mobile helpers. Moira reached over and rescued the flower the baby had trapped in her pudgy toes. “No eating that one, sweet girl-it’ll give you a tummy ache.”

Marcus continued to move shiny pebbles and toy soldiers aimlessly in the dirt.

She knew the stages of grief. And could find joy in him finally moving through them, even if it hurt her to the core to watch. She reached out and touched his hand. “Tell me about my boy.”

Her nephew’s body jerked. “He lives in a gray hell and he can’t leave.”

“I know.” She’d had a long and tearful cup of tea with Lauren. “And the fierce injustice of it makes me want to kick a hole in the sky.”

Marcus looked up, face full of surprise.

“Aye.” She pulled dead petals off a flower with far more force than necessary. “You’re not the only one who would like to throw a witch-sized temper tantrum. One big enough to blast light into every corner of that awful gray.”

“We can’t.” His voice carried the full weight of that helplessness. “But I really appreciate the offer.”

“It’s not for you that I’d try.” Moira waited until he looked up. “I’d give anything to hold him on my lap, just one time, and tell him that I loved him. How proud I am of the man he’s become.”

“I forgot to tell him.” Tears swam in her nephew’s eyes.

“My dear boy.” She reached for his cheek, her own tears threatening. “You most surely didn’t. The two of you never needed words.”

It comforted his bruised heart-she could see it.

His fingers traveled again, a winding path over soldiers and shiny rocks. Pieces of home.

She picked up one of the pebbles. Evan had always loved them.

His hand wrapped around one of the soldiers. “This isn’t home,” he said softly. “It’s an amazing thing everyone’s done for us, and it’s keeping Morgan safe…”

But it wasn’t home. And while she sat in the flowers of her real garden every day, and drank tea at her kitchen table every night, he stayed here with the child he loved.

She closed her eyes and hoped Nell and Elorie were almost finished. Marcus had finally put his heart’s roots in the soil of Fisher’s Cove. It was time to nourish them.

Escape.

Marcus climbed out of the car and breathed in the tang of salt, letting the glorious emptiness wash over his soul.

Alone.

Well, except for his sidekick.

After a week trapped in Realm, they had both earned this. They had every precaution dozens of witches could devise, a car filled with every baby item ever made, and thirty minutes of freedom.

Evan had told him to go home and live. Well, this was home, the happy and the sad of it.

He walked around to the back door and bent in, grinning as Morgan blew bubbles and tried to grab his hair. “Ready to play on the beach, girl-child?”

Marcus touched Elorie’s pendant around his neck. He could get them back to Realm at any whiff of trouble. As could any of the witches standing guard all over the village. And there wasn’t going to be trouble. The day was bright and sunny, Morgan had already slept like a rock, and he’d swaddled her in twenty-five warding spells.