A Nomadic Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 4) (9 page)

Well, maybe her trainee’s ethics still had the occasional hiccup.  “What did he do now?”  There was always something—Sean breathed trouble.

“He said only girls have babies, so it must be really easy.”  Lizzie’s eyes held mutiny now.  “I told him that boys would be too scaredy to push out a baby.  Except for maybe Uncle Aaron—he’s really brave.”

Aaron had earned a ton of respect during the twins’ birth.  Little Aislin had arrived weak and blue and he’d willed life into her, one slow breath at a time. 

It had taken Sophie a week to help Lizzie understand why none of the healers in the room had intervened.  What any of them could have done with one finger had taken every ounce of Aaron’s love and will—and that had been the right choice.

Learning when
not
to use magic was one of the harder lessons of being a witch.

“One day Sean will learn how wrong he is.”  Sophie bent down to kiss Lizzie’s head—and made a mental note to have a chat with their misguided troublemaker.  “And being a daddy isn’t an easy job either.”  She touched the mystery herb—gently.  She didn’t want burps.  “Do you have it figured out yet?”

“It’s lady’s mantle.”  Lizzie sounded more definite now.  “Ginia said feverfew feels slimy if you listen to it for long enough.  This one’s not slimy.”  She looked entirely relieved to have avoided oyster poo.

Sophie was duly impressed—it was an old jar, and crumbled well beyond visual recognition.  “It’s time to replace it anyhow.  We can do some moon harvesting—tomorrow night’s the right timing.”

Staying up late was still a serious treat for a six-year-old girl.  Freed from lessons, she hopped around like a dizzy ping-pong ball.  “Can Ginia come?”

Lizzie, an only child, adored her fellow healer trainee.  Sophie blessed the technology that let two girls on opposite sides of the continent gather at will.  Healing was often a very lonely craft.  “Of course.  We’ll do a moon circle first.”

“I’ll go tell Gran.”  Small feet dashed for the door and then skidded to a halt.  Lizzie turned, face scrunched up.  “So, is Uncle Marcus Morgan’s mommy now?”

Almost a year back in Fisher’s Cove, and Sophie still wasn’t used to the lightning changes in topic that came with being six.  “He’s taking care of Morgan for a while.”

“Like a mommy.”  Lizzie’s eyes brightened.

Apparently Sean wasn’t the only witchling with some gender prejudices.  “Aaron and Mike both take care of babies.  It’s not just a mommy’s job.”

“They’re daddies.”  Lizzie shrugged and turned to leave.  “That’s just a fancy name for a mommy with more ear hairs.”

Sophie shook her head in the direction of the now-empty doorway and chuckled.  She’d learned not to argue with six-year-old logic.  Especially when ear hairs were involved.

~ ~ ~

He was not losing a staring contest with a baby.  Marcus glared and tried to add reason to his cause.  “You need to sleep, girl-child.  You might think you can out-cranky me, but it’s not true, I promise you.”

Eyes that belonged in Moira’s garden stared at him—and looked not remotely sleepy.  “At your age, you’re supposed to take at least three naps a day.”  Or so the Google had assured him.  “The afternoon’s half gone and you haven’t slept a wink in hours.”

He eyed his easy chair wistfully.  Once upon a time, he’d actually been able to sit down when his legs got wobbly and tired.  And his arms had lost all feeling several hours ago.

Dammit, he was not a whiny witch.  And this negotiating and coddling of small creatures was getting ridiculous.  Marcus straightened up and glared at the baby in his arms.  “Morgan of Mystery, it is damn well time for you to go to sleep.”

A snort behind him was all the warning he got that company had arrived.  Marcus turned, curious—and stared.  “What are you doing here?”

Daniel chuckled, unloading strange paraphernalia from his arms.  “I’m here to give you a babywearing lesson.”

A what?  Marcus stared in stupefied silence. 

Daniel picked up one of the contraptions he’d dumped on the couch.  “I brought our entire collection.  Slings, pouches, Mei Tai, three different wraps.  Aervyn liked the sling best, so let’s start with that one.”

It was a swatch of fabric bright enough to stun the eyes of any sensible person, complete with gold rings and a tassel. 

His uninvited guest grinned.  “You’ll get used to the stripes.  They say babies can’t see colors yet, but Aervyn screamed if I put him in the nice, boring, khaki one.”  Daniel dumped the thing over his shoulders and reached for the baby.  “Let me show you how it ends, and then we can start back at the beginning.”

A few quick moves and Morgan was nestled on Daniel’s chest, held tight by snug stripes and cooing happily.

Marcus didn’t know whether to be jealous or to take the moment of opportunity and run like hell.  And he was still deeply suspicious—Nell Walker didn’t do anything by accident.  “Why are you here?”

Daniel stroked fuzzy red hair.  “Because my wife has taken pity on you, and you can’t tell
me
this is women’s work.”

He didn’t need pity—from Nell or anyone else.  “I hardly need to learn to strap a baby to my chest.  She’s not staying.”

He spoke into a void.  Daniel snuggled a contented baby head under his chin and swayed, quietly humming.

Marcus tried to pick up the tune—Aunt Moira’s lullaby had lost its luster by the six hundredth repetition.  “What are you singing?”

“Bob.”  Daniel looked up.  “Aervyn liked Aerosmith and Tina Turner best, but the girls all liked Bob.”

It took a moment, even with the hint.  Daniel, uber-dad of the universe, had Morgan inches from sleep—to the reggae sounds of No Woman, No Cry.

The irony hit Marcus’s sleep-deprived sense of humor square between the eyes.

And then Daniel reached for one of the sling’s gold rings and slid an entirely unimpressed baby out of her happy, snuggly place.  “That’s how it’s done.”  He held out the sling, juggling a fussy girl one-handed.  “Your turn.”

It had been at least ten years since Marcus had done battle with Daniel in Realm—but he’d learned one thing very well all those years ago.  Nobody beat The Hacker when he’d staked his ground.  Nobody.  And behind Daniel’s easy grin was a mind suddenly walled in steely determination.

This wasn’t about striped slings or baby carriers or lessons. 

It was war.  And Nell had sent her most potent weapon.

~ ~ ~

Nell slid into the hot water and sighed in bliss.  There were few manifestations of magic more awesome than Moira’s pool.

The other inhabitants of the pool smiled in welcome.  Sophie handed over a glass of something tall, cool, and minty.  “I thought we’d really moved up in the world when we started having our chats in the Witches’ Lounge, but this beats even that.”

Nell grinned.  When you were a new mama, a hot soak and a chat were hard to come by.  “Mike has Adam?”

“Mmm, hmm.” Sophie leaned her head back against a convenient pillowy rock.  “He laughed when Daniel came by to reclaim most of the babywearing gear.”

Their collection of slings and pouches had done a lot of rounds over the years.  And the sight of Mike wearing a tiny babe in a bright orange fleece pouch brought back lots of memories—it had been Mia’s favorite place to ride.

Moira bent down a flower stem and sniffed.  “Spring has really come.  It’s a good time of year to take the wee ones for long walks on the beach.”

Sophie’s eyes twinkled.  “The grapevine says Marcus was out there with Morgan half the night.”

Nell tried to quell the squirt of sympathy.  If Marcus’s arms were ready to fall off, it was his own darned fault.  The man had been watching witch babies travel in slings and pouches and wraps for most of his natural life.  A smart man would have asked for help the moment a baby landed in his lap.

“Your Daniel is a good man.”  Moira’s hands created slow ripples in the warm waters—physical therapy, even now.  “If anyone can get help through my nephew’s thick head, he’ll be the one.”

Oh, Daniel would get the job done.  Nell had seen the hints of steel in his eyes as he ported into Marcus’s living room.  There wasn’t a better father on the planet—and he’d taken the “women’s work” comment as a rather personal challenge. 

And if that didn’t work, there was always Ginia’s green goo.  Nell pulled out of her steam-induced reverie enough to actually talk out loud.  “Ginia has some herb requests, if you have them.  Something about moon-harvested sage, and lemon balm, I think.  Apparently hers isn’t old enough yet.”  Their entire back yard was turning into a witch apothecary—or at least the garden precursors.

Moira sipped her tea, eyes sharp with sudden interest.  “Those are potent herbs—what’s she brewing?”

Chuckles from the other side of the pool had them both looking at Sophie, who grinned.  “Three guesses.”

Nell didn’t even have one guess, but earth magics weren’t her realm.  Moira contemplated a moment.  “Ah, that’s a most interesting use.  If it works, maybe she can brew up a batch for Marcus.”

Being lost at sea in a discussion of plants and remedies was becoming an all-too-familiar sensation.  Nell raised her eyebrow and waited—usually some herb-smart witch eventually took pity.

“It’s a potion to increase tolerance.”  Soft laughs from the elder healer in the group.  “An old Irish remedy housewives use on their husbands—it’s supposed to make them easier to live with.  I suspect our Ginia’s planning to use it on her wee brother.”

Aervyn hadn’t been up to more than his usual mischief.  “I’m not sure I want her magicking him into a more cooperative sibling.”

“It’s not for her.”  Sophie smiled, love for her student in her eyes.  “She’s trying to help him accept Kenna.”

Oh.  Understanding hit Nell, along with a swelling pride in her girl.  “He’s been struggling.”

“She knows.”  Moira’s hands still moved lightly in the water.  “It’s a healer’s job to know, and to help hearts and minds and bodies adjust.”  She leaned back, looking well satisfied.  “Our girl is finding her healer’s wisdom.”  Her eyes hazed in thought.  “And it just might be an excellent remedy for Marcus as well.”

Sophie nodded, amused.  “Fine.  I’ll make it, but you get to deliver it.”

Moira eyed the flowers carefully.  “Make the airborne version.  I’m thinking it’s time for my nephew’s home to be brightened with some of the blooms of spring.”

Nell made a mental note to be suspicious of any new flower bouquets.  Parenting a healer had some hidden dangers.

Then again, it beat raising witchlings who set things on fire and ported themselves into the back yard in the wee hours of the night.  Jamie was losing serious sleep to Kenna’s antics.   Marcus had it easy.

Nell was very glad those days were mostly behind her.  She found a new spot on a rock for her lolling head, and had almost managed to sink back into hot-pool stupor when the obvious finally hit.  Nell’s eyes flew open—and met Moira’s, watching her closely.  The old witch nodded.  “Figured it out, have you?  I was wondering when someone would.”

Sophie frowned.  “What’s up?”

Nell felt the worry squeeze in on her.  “None of us are reading that Morgan has power.”

“Aye.”  Moira’s eyes held the kind of bravery that only came with a long life well lived.  “Not yet.”

The newest mama in the group was still catching up.  “You think Morgan is a witchling?  Or will be?”

Nell waited.  Even sleep deprived, Sophie was a very quick witch.

A hissed-in breath said she’d arrived.  “You think she might be a traveler.”

“We don’t know.”  Moira’s voice oozed calm.  Her mind held strength—and fear.  “We only know that Evan sent her.  For now, she’s just a wee babe who needs lots of holding.”

Which wasn’t at all reassuring—their most powerful witches were often the most sensitive as babies. 

“Do we tell Marcus?”  Sophie looked justifiably squeamish at the thought.

Nell remembered the shattered man on the porch half a day earlier.  Even Daniel wasn’t going to make headway with a catatonic Marcus.

Moira finally shook her head.  “No.  He’ll see it for himself when he’s ready.  For now, he’s finding a small girl who eats and poops and sometimes sleeps quite terrifying enough.”

Sophie nodded slowly.  “I’ll put a light temperature scan in place.  If it triggers, we’ll know to start setting the monitoring spells.”

Just the thought sent ice running in Nell’s veins.  She’d set the watching spells every day for three years—until they were absolutely sure Aervyn wasn’t a traveler.  If tiny, happy Morgan of the lavender eyes might be…

“We’ll watch,” said Moira briskly.  “But for now, I prefer an alternate explanation.”  Her face gleamed with pure Irish mischief.  “I believe Evan’s decided it’s time for his brother to join the land of the living.  What better way than a baby?”

Sophie’s face lightened.  “And you plan to help.”

Nell rolled her eyes.  Witches always planned to help.

“Aye.”  Moira leaned back against her pillow rock again and winked at Nell.  “We’ve been trying to root Marcus in Fisher’s Cove soil for a year now.  I’m thinking that maybe spring has finally arrived.”

One grumpy plant, about to be watered.

Chapter 7