An Unlikely Witch (15 page)

And then Moira got closer and realized it wasn’t only misery brewing on a stormy winter afternoon.

Sophie looked up, eyes full of frustration and fury.  “I don’t know how to help her.  I feel like that little boy is dying on my watch and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

Moira studied the face that still held traces of the young girl who had so delighted in opening a flower on the palm of her hand.  “Sometimes it takes time to track to the root of a problem.  You know that.”

“That’s just it.  There isn’t anything wrong.”  Sophie blew vehemence out into the biting wind.  “It’s like her body has simply chosen this.”

Ah.  Moira sat on a nearby rock and gathered her thoughts.  When the easy possibilities were gone, sometimes you had to contemplate the ugly ones.  “That’s not unheard of.” 

“It doesn’t fit here.”  Sophie was already shaking her head.  “That happens with war and famine, or abuse, or trauma.  Times of turmoil.  Women with very good reasons not to get pregnant.  Nat has every reason to want this—why would her body shut down?”

Because sometimes the body knew what the mind couldn’t yet grasp.  Moira shuddered.  Very few of those possibilities were welcome ones.  And an excellent healer was up here venting at the planet because she didn’t want to open that door.  Not when the patient was a friend.  Moira reached for the hand that had once held hers and thought a wee flower to be a miracle. 

Sophie’s fingers clenched.  “I’ll look again.  More widely this time.”

Looking for early signs of the worst.  Something that threatened not Nat’s womb, but her life.  Sometimes the healer’s task was so very difficult.  “Check her thyroid and her adrenals.  Often things show up there first.”  She stopped.  One of the best healers on the planet didn’t need an old lady reciting unneeded checklists.

A head tipped down to her shoulder.  “I will.  And anything else you can think of.”

Moira understood.  It wasn’t the healing help Sophie sought.  It was more shoulders to carry the burden.

An old witch closed her eyes, turned her face into the winter wind, and screwed up her courage.

They were about to journey into the deep dark.

Chapter 12

The curses could be heard from a hundred feet away.

Nat circled back toward the sound, almost sure it came from Helga’s cottage.  Which would make sense.  Edric, in on the secret, had spirited Helga away for the weekend so Trinity could have unfettered access to create her masterpiece.

Judging by the number of languages currently being abused, it wasn’t going well.

Nat paused under the window, trying to judge whether a visitor would make things better or worse.  And then decided she didn’t much care.  Trinity was vibrantly, wholly alive—and today, Nat could really use a piece of that.

She let herself in the front door and ran headlong into her second exploded stereotype of the week.

Trinity was listening to opera.  Beautiful, lilting arias.

While she cursed like a sailor.

Nat grinned.  Yes—this was exactly what she needed today.  She headed up the stairs to Helga’s garret, feet lighter than they’d been in days.

And nearly got a paintbrush in the face for her efforts.

“Shit, shit, shit!”  Trinity dove for the boom box and the hurled paintbrush at the same time, and missed both.  “What the hell are you doing here, girl?”

Nat turned down the volume on the music.  “I heard you as I went by on the street.”

Trinity’s attitude shifted up several notches.  “So?  Artists are temperamental.”

Nat grinned, and then told the absolute truth.  “I needed this.  Got anything else to throw?”

Two dark eyebrows flew up.  “Aren’t you the serene yoga chick?  Bendy like a pretzel, mind like one of those Zen sandbox things?”

Not today.  “Yup.  And aren’t you that girl from the streets who listens to rap and kicks the ass of anyone who even tries to be nice to you?”

Trinity shrugged, but her eyes looked amused.  She glanced at the boom box.  “I was trying to get in the right kind of mood.”

Nat took her first look at the walls.  Covered in a new coat of pale yellow, with just the outlines of Van Gogh’s
Starry Night
beginning to take shape.  Enough to see the artist’s amazing talent.  “It looks great so far.”

“Screw that.”  Trinity threw another paintbrush, this one at the yellow wall.  “It looks like hell.”

Not even close.  “Not to these eyes.”

“Well it isn’t your eyes that count.  It’s mine.”  Attitude was giving way to something more desperate.  “Don’t you twist yourself up into one of those pretzel things sometimes, and everybody thinks you’re some kind of yoga genius, but you still know it sucks?”

Bull’s-eye.  “I’ve pretty much had a whole week like that.”

“Yeah.”  Trinity gave her a long look and then stuck her booted toe out at two dozen small cans of paint, leftovers from Lizard’s wedding.  “This stuff isn’t working.  Van Gogh used oil paints. I can’t make this look like that.  Thought I could make it work by adding some stuff to it.  Guess I was an idiot.”

Nat had taken a couple of art classes.  Oils were goopy and thick and full of texture.  “So you need oil paints, then.  Or acrylics, maybe.”  Less smelly and they dried faster.

Trinity’s face melted into frustrated fury.  “I’d have to freaking start dealing crack again to afford those.”

Nat breathed in the joy of finding a problem she could actually
fix
.  “I’ll buy the paint.”

“The hell you will.”

“I will.  I have money and you need paint.”  The steamroller formerly known as Nat Sullivan saw Trinity’s protests rising and just kept rolling.  “You have this amazing talent in your hands, and the world needs to see it.”  It wouldn’t be accepted as a Solstice gift.  Too much.  She needed better currency to make this happen.  “I’ll make you a deal.”

The suspicion from the other side of the room was a living thing.  “What?”

“I’ll buy your paint.  As much as you need.  The really good stuff.”  Nat eyed her quarry.  “Two things I get back in return.”

Trinity’s look had probably melted lesser mortals.

Nat reveled in one delightful moment of feeling totally alive.  “First, you bring your paints over to my yoga studio when you’re finished.  I have a naked wall.”  One a whole lot easier for future customers to see than Helga’s garret. 

The request did its work.  It gave Trinity a way to agree with dignity.  Suspicion ebbed, replaced by very tightly clamped desire.  “What’s the second thing?”

A push.  Because today, Nat Sullivan deeply needed to give the goodness in the universe an assist.  “When you’re done, you’ll put on some of that awesome opera stuff and let me and Lauren and Lizard be here for the reveal.” 
That
would be her Solstice gift.  Enough witnesses that the dream would never be allowed to die.

Trinity turned several interesting shades of pink.  “Oh, man.  The opera shit?  For real?”

Nat laughed, totally buzzed.  “Yup.  For real.”  And then she took pity on the woman who had the audacity and the heart big enough to try to paint Van Gogh on an old lady’s walls.  “And then you should ask Lizard about her poetry.”

The woman who had lived on the streets not so very long ago gaped.  “Lizard writes poetry?”

“Yeah.”  Nat smiled.  “Really awesome stuff.  Kind of like your painting.”

Beauty and light, created from journeys through the dark.

Nat turned, so very glad she had come, and eyed Trinity over her shoulder.  “You coming?”  She was pretty sure they had an art store to visit.

She was halfway down before she heard boots on the stairs.  A totally awesome sound.

The footsteps of a fellow traveler.

-o0o-

“Mama, do you think these ones need more sparkles?”

Nell snorted and grinned at her most flour-covered girlchild.  “Since when has the answer to that ever been ‘no’?”

Mia giggled and eyed the line of bowls in the middle of the table, holding every kind of over-the-top cookie garnish in existence.  “Okay, but what color?”

Nell knew better than to answer that one.

Shay stuck an elbow on her sister’s shoulder.  “More purple.”

“Nuh, uh.”  Ginia offered up an opinion without looking up from her icing job.  “Green.”

“Green is the color of vegetables,” retorted Mia, a hint of mutiny in her eyes.

Nell managed not to laugh.  The green sprinkles in the middle of the table would never be confused for a vegetable.  She pulled over a tray of gingerbread boys, preparing to hide them from the glittery hordes—Aervyn’s one request before he’d vanished with his dad and older brother on some kind of secret mission that required a Y chromosome.  It had to be good if he was missing out on holiday baking.

Then again, it was fairly likely they’d be making more cookies tomorrow.

Shay leaned in for a hug.  “You look happy, Mama.”

She was happy.  This kind of uncomplicated time with her kids had always been something she loved, and the holidays gave it extra juice.  “I remember doing this with you guys when you were little like Kenna.”  There had been lots of sparkles then, too.

Her daughter laughed.  “I bet we didn’t make this much of a mess.”

“I’ll take that bet.” 

Nell spun around, recognizing the voice, but surprised to find it in her kitchen.

“Gramma Retha!”  Three flying bodies attacked the new arrival, thoroughly coating her in flour and sparkles. 

“Hello, sweethearts.”  Nell’s mom made her way to the table, dropping a kiss on her daughter’s cheek as she went.  “Just in time for cookie decorating, am I?”

The stove timer dinged and Nell moved to pull out the latest batch.  “I have naked gingerbread boys you can swipe, or Yule logs coming out now.”

Retha moved away from the table with promises of a quick return.  “I’ll take the gingerbread.”  She lowered her voice as she got closer.  “Are these for a party tonight, by chance?”

Nell frowned.  There was more behind that question than casual interest. 
Not that I know of.  What’s up?

Precog. 
Her mother’s gift was stronger than Jamie’s. 
A gathering at Lauren’s house.  With Nat in the center of things, looking a bit sad.

Damn.  “That’s not good.  But we can definitely have a party.”  Her girls could put one of those together on ten minutes’ notice, especially if cheering up Auntie Nat was at stake.

“Matt and Téo said they could take the birthday kiddos.  They’d enjoy a chance to spoil them.”

A girls’ night, then.  Nell opened her mouth to alert her kids, and then jumped as her phone vibrated on the counter.  A text from Lauren. 
Moira says the healing session today will be emotionally draining for Nat.  She’s suggesting an intervention
.

Nell snorted and replied. 
Mom showed up.  She says we’re having a party at your house.  We’ll bring cookies.

Okay, then,
came the dry reply. 
See you whenever she says we’re starting.

Nell laughed and pulled out butter and eggs.  They were going to need a lot more cookies.

-o0o-

Nat sat down on Sophie’s couch, the awesome energies of her morning still vibrating in her heart.  Trinity in an art store had been like taking a dolphin back to the ocean after years of captivity.  Entirely right, and full of awe and joyful leaps of possibility.

She’d even let Nat toss some small canvases into the shopping cart.

“You look really happy,” said Sophie quietly, taking a seat on a low ottoman.

Uh, oh.  There was a sober tone behind the words that caught Nat’s attention.  “I had a really good morning.”

The healer stiffened almost imperceptibly.  “We can do this tomorrow instead.”

Nat seriously considered it.  “No.  You said we’re almost done with the scanning, right?”  Time to get it over with, one way or the other.

“Moira had an idea.”  Sophie looked down at her hands.  “And I shouldn’t be sitting here trying to blame it on her because it’s the logical next step.”  Her hands twisted together, just once.  “We’ve checked all the obvious reasons.  Now I need to take a look for more subtle ones.”

The words were said calmly, by a healer Nat trusted absolutely.

And they were terrifying.  “What does that mean, exactly?”

Sophie met her gaze evenly—and still looked somehow shaken.  “It means I need to look for some bigger things that might be wrong.  Or about to be wrong.”

That sounded simple enough.  Until Nat actually thought about what some of those things might be.  Her lungs folded in on themselves, breath sacrificed to awful fear.

“I’m so sorry.”  The healer sounded distressed now.  “I should have waited.”

“There’s no good time to do this.”  Especially if it was going to hurt both of them.  Nat reached out her hands.  “What do you need me to do?”

“It will probably take us more than one session.”  Sophie took a shaky breath.  “Moira calls this heading into the deep dark.  My job is to do the scan.”  She smiled at Nat, eyes steadying.  “It would be great if you could hold a light while I work.”

Nat thought back to her morning.  To the simple joy of putting the right tools in the hands of an artist.  Of being one of the first people to water a seed that had lain dormant in the dark for years.  Breathing in, she pushed aside the fear and paralyzing anxiety and filled her heart with the light of her beautiful morning.