A Nomadic Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 4) (32 page)

Hell, it had probably been decades.

With considerably more effort than it had taken in his youth, Marcus danced around until his feet were naked.  “Well, that was about as graceful as a bull walrus.”  He peered down at his pale toes.  “And those look like fish bait.”  Decades-old fish bait.

His toes scrunched up—he’d forgotten how cold the rocks could be on a Nova Scotia June morning.  Wimpy old fart.  It was, however, a far easier task to hop across the remaining stretch of boulders.

Problem number two showed up when he took the final hop onto the sand.

The very cold, wet sand.  High tide—damn.  He offered Morgan a knuckle to chew on, distracted.  “Looks like we have a bit of an impediment to our lazing around.”  And he hadn’t escaped civilization just to have his feet turn into sand popsicles.

Morgan gave his finger a particularly good chomp.  Marcus chuckled.  “What are you, a baby dinosaur?”  Probably not.  Too much drool—her onesie was half soaked already.  With a quick finger wave, he activated the portable quick-dry spell on his iPhone.  Bless Aervyn and his endless fire power.

Endless fire power.

Marcus grinned.  “One patch of warm, dry sand, coming up.”  He pushed several buttons on his phone.  Using the same spell ten times in a row wasn’t the most elegant way to solve a problem, but it was working.  The sand under his toes heated nicely.

Grateful for small pleasures, Marcus pulled Morgan out of the pouch and sank down onto the now-toasty circle of beach.  “Welcome to tropical paradise, baby girl.” 

He chuckled as her bare toes slipped out the bottom of the blanket.  “Want to feel the sand under your feet, do you?”  The baby manual probably frowned on such things, but he was in far too good a mood to care. 

He unwrapped her little sausage of a body and laid her down on the sand—and then winced as she promptly wiggled around in paroxysms of happiness.  Dang it.  Sand probably wasn’t all that easy to get out of baby hair.

Ah, well.

Feeling oddly mischievous, he picked up a handful of sand and trickled it over her feet, grinning in victory as her giggles rolled out over the sand.  “Like that, do you?”

He loved watching her laugh—her entire body got into the act.  And if it was laughter Evan wanted to hear, Morgan’s could melt the earth and sky.  One more time, he scooped up sand in his hand…

And froze as magic exploded in front of his eyes.

~ ~ ~

Marcus grabbed the tiny, lifeless girl lying on the sand, the tornado of horror in his mind a tiny wind compared to the keening wail in his heart.

No warning.  No alerts.

Not asleep.  Just gone.

Frantically, he reached for his phone and the life-saving Realm transport spell—and then realized the obvious.  Her soul was gone.  Moving her body to Realm now would kill her.

She was so still.  So cold. 

Just like Evan.

The helpless, anguished fury of a small boy took over Marcus, body and soul.  He sank into a heap on the sand, the babe he loved as his own curled in his arms.  Not again.  Oh, gods, not again.

The tortured moan that escaped his lips was all he had left.  Marcus closed his eyes—and wished for the mists to take him too.  Morgan would need company.  The mists would be terrifying for such a tiny girl.

Don’t be a stupid-head.

Marcus’s eyes shot open, seeking. 
Evan?

Nothing.  Empty silence.

And a tiny, insistent thread of hope stirring in his heart.

He wasn’t alone.  This time,
he wasn’t alone
.  He wasn’t a small boy with barely-born magic and a circle too far away to matter.

Marcus charged to his feet—grown men didn’t fight sitting down.  Strength burning back into his limbs, he tucked Morgan into her sling against his heart.  It would keep her body warm—and he needed two hands to type.

Thumbs flying, he blasted an emergency alert to every witch in virtual earshot.  He needed a circle.
 Now.
 

Barely pausing to breathe, he tossed the Realm spell library, activating spells as fast as his fingers could move.  A rooting spell to hold him while he went after Morgan.  More heat.  And cornflowers.  He needed cornflowers.  When some appeared in his hand, roots, dirt, and all, he could have wept.  Aervyn.

And then the pendant around his neck blazed, white hot. 

Help was on the way.  It was time to go find his girl.

Wait!
  Jamie landed on the beach in front of him, breathless.  “I’ll go.  I’ll cast.  You do point on air, just like last time.  The circle’s forming in Realm right now.” 

It shamed Marcus that he considered it, even for a moment.  The mists still terrified him.  “No.  It’s mine to do.”  He shuddered in a breath and wrapped his arms around the still, cold bundle on his chest.  For Morgan, he could do this. 

She was his.

Jamie met his eyes—witch to witch.  Father to father.  And saw whatever he needed to see.  “We’ll have your back.”  And then he was gone.

Marcus wrapped his hand around his pendant, feeling the gathering power.  The steady, deep drumbeat of the earth trio, already linking with fire’s heat.  They’d keep his precious girl’s body warm.  The pulse and flow of water, ready.  And then air linked in.  Jamie was in place.

They were ready.  Marcus reached his arms to the sky, calling the powers his to claim.  And froze as a fifth power stream joined in. 

It’s Elorie, Ginia, and Kevin.
  Lauren’s mental voice rang calm and sure in his mind. 
They’re feeding you Net power.

Impossible.
  Marcus punched out in fury. 
Circles have four elements.  Five is out of balance. 

Jamie says it can be done. 
The dare was clear.

Impudent wench.
 Marcus growled—and then he understood.  And with understanding came charging hope.  Net power would give him real magic up there in the mists.  Again, he reached for the sky—and this time, for the child in his arms as well.

“I call on water, call on air,

These feeble magics mine to bear

I go to find the child I love

From power below to power above.

With my circle, five times three

As I will, so mote it be.”

Power exploded up through his channels, a torrent of sheer energy.  Marcus wove madly, trying to bring five raging flows into balance.  For a man who’d spent his whole life managing four, it was a hell of a brain stretch. 

And it wasn’t right.  He could feel it.  The circle wobbled, tilted on an axis of uneven power. 

His mind raced, seeking a solution.  Jamie said it could be done.

And then he had it. 
Kevin!
 
Niece!  Warrior Girl!
 Marcus mindsent what he needed, praying it made sense.

The circle’s power flows wobbled dangerously, trio leaders straining to right the tilt—and then snapped into place.  Four streaming columns of energy, wrapped in a dancing weave of Net power.

Net power wasn’t a fifth element.  It was the energy that united them, held them together in community.  Rooted them.

And it was the power that would bring Morgan home.

He was not alone this time.

Quickly now, Marcus leaned back into the streaming power flows, ignoring the aching shear as soul separated from body. 

His mind already sought lavender eyes. 
Morgan.  Baby girl, let me see you.
 The mists closed in more quickly this time—thick and green and full of evil.

No.  The mists weren’t evil.  They just
were
.

Marcus clenched mental fists and imagined them as ocean waves or tornado winds.  Mighty.  Sometimes deadly.  But not evil.

I’m coming, sweet girl.
  He tried to hold an image of her in his mind.  The ethereal, fairylike waif that flitted in front of his eyes annoyed the hell out of him.  His Morgan was no fairy.  
It’s cold up here, silly widget, and I bet you’ve kicked off your socks again.
 Her image firmed up.  Better.  He kicked, the streaming power of the circle at his back. 
I bet you’d like a bottle of that mysterious white stuff, and a nice walk on the beach.

Beach.  They’d been on the beach.

He felt humor shining through the fear.
 You’ve still got sand in your hair, don’t you
?
 Good, solid Nova Scotia beach sand, up here in the mists with you.
  Her face danced in his mind now, real and solid and blowing raspberries.

Raspberries.

Marcus pulled on every ounce of mind power he’d ever had, his fingers madly weaving a broadcasting spell with Net magic, and held the sound of Morgan’s best and loudest raspberry in his mind. 
I bet you can’t do that again.

This time, it wasn’t just his head that heard her reply.

Mind and heart wide open, Marcus grabbed the power of fifteen willing witches and hurtled toward his baby girl.

~ ~ ~

She was warm.

Before he ever opened his eyes, Marcus knew his beautiful girl was just fine.

She was warm—and blowing raspberries.

He nuzzled into her soft hair.  “I bet your uncle Evan found those rather amusing.”  He hadn’t seen his brother—but when he’d reached Morgan, Evan’s presence had been thick around her.  Protecting.  Calling. 

Sending the sound of one small girl’s raspberries through the mist.

With infinite care, he touched the sand in her wispy hair.  And dragged his eyes away long enough to thank the beach that had helped call her back.

It wasn’t the sand his eyes discovered.

Every witch he knew stood on Evan’s beach, holding love for him and his precious girl in their eyes. 

This.  It was
this
that had called them home.  He’d been lonely his whole life, surrounded by this sea of love.

Marcus nuzzled the bright-eyed baby in his arms—and knew he had one more job to do.  Carefully, on legs still shaking from more than one kind of journey, he made his way over to the woman who had always been his rock.

Reaching for Aunt Moira’s hand, he looked out at those gathered.  “If I can ask for your help one more time.  I know how to keep her safe.  Forever.  All our travelers.”

Not one word was spoken.  Not a single question asked.  Just every person on the beach, quietly taking a step forward.

The matriarch of them all squeezed his hand a little more tightly.

Marcus sought the eyes of the two whose permission he needed.  “It will make a royal mess in Realm.”

Jamie nodded, Kenna eating sand in his arms. 
Whatever you need.
 

Nell’s mind spiked amusement. 
We’ll put you in charge of the clean-up crew.

Wordless, Marcus sent out the image of what he wanted to create, into the minds and hearts of those who would help him build it.  Some nodded.  Some smiled. 

But it was the old woman beside him who understood best.  “We won’t lose any more.”  Moira patted his arm, tears streaming down her cheeks.  “There will be no more Evans.  They’ll be able to come home.”

His own tears threatening, Marcus reached out for the closest hand.  He was tired—but it was time.

“Wait.”  Elorie spoke quietly and stepped out of the crowd.  “I found this on the beach yesterday.  It matches Morgan’s eyes.”  She held up a small pendant, lavender sea glass dangling from a simple silver chain. 

It was the prettiest damned anchor he’d ever seen.  Carefully, he slipped it around his daughter’s neck—and chuckled as she tried to eat it.  “I hope you waterproofed it.”

Elorie’s eyes sparked with amused fire.  “I did.  And several other things you haven’t even thought to worry about yet.”

Morgan blew another raspberry and tried to catch the shiny toy around her neck.

Marcus reached for Elorie’s hand.  “I could use your love of hearth and home and safety, niece.”  She nodded, confused, but willing.

He searched out her husband.  “Imagine your best scones, if you would.  Blueberry ones, dripping in butter.” 

Aaron blinked in surprise.  “Why scones?”

“Because.”  Marcus swallowed as his breath hitched.  Because those were the ones Evan missed most.  “Because those are the reasons we come home.”

Understanding lit in eyes all over the beach.  “I need you all to let me borrow your visions of home.”

Lizzie offered up sword fights and her favorite doll. Nell, the vision of sweet, sleeping children, and Nat sent a haze of green serenity and an endless cup of tea.  Kevin and Sean pictured each other.  Home, in all its manifestations.

He turned to Aunt Moira and Sophie.  “A rooting spell, please.”  They held out their hands, spell already made.

They’d always understood “home” far better than he did.

Only one request left.  And this time he knew enough about a parent’s love to ask for permission first.  His mind reached for Nell’s, his question ready.

She blinked in surprise. 
That doesn’t seem dangerous.

The magic, no.
 But not for the world did he want to lay this burden on another child’s shoulders. 
If it doesn’t work, I don’t want her to feel responsible.

Ah. 
Understanding hit Nell’s mind—and gratitude.  Silence for a long moment.  And then a quiet nod. 
She’ll be okay.  Her head’s not quite as hard as yours.

He snorted—and sought the blonde curls he needed.  He didn’t have to look far.  They were currently blowing magical bubbles at the child in his arms.  His breath hitched again.  He couldn’t ask this of such a sunny heart.  Maybe Elorie.

Elorie can’t code.
 Nell’s voice was brisk and solid. 
My girl’s the Net witch you need, and you do her a disservice if you think her heart can’t handle this.
 Mama pride came with every word.

He crouched down in front of Ginia.  “Warrior Girl, I need a really big favor.”

She blew another bubble Morgan’s way.  “Sure.”

In words as simple as he could make them, he explained what he needed.

She leaned back on her heels, thinking a minute.  “Okay.  But it’ll cost you.”