Authors: Debora Geary
Elsie blinked. “I only invited a few people.”
“Ha.” Caro set the pot to filling and started wiping down counters. “A smell like that coming out of your house is invitation enough. Jennie and her husband are just down the block, and there are at least a dozen people behind them.”
Now panic hit. “We don’t have enough chairs for that many people!”
“Chairs?” Jamie ported into their kitchen, a huge plate of noodles in his hands and laughter in his eyes. “This is going to be a standing-room-only event. Nell’s crew just landed in the back yard. We’ll spread out some blankets back there and over in Caro’s yard, too.”
Lizard clomped into the kitchen holding her phone. “Lauren’s coming—she’s just picking up Thea. Apparently Bean can smell the sauce from inside her belly.”
“No wonder,” said Helga, strolling into the kitchen with a steaming loaf of bread in her hands. “You’ve made all of Berkeley smell good, my dear.” She held out the loaf. “I obviously didn’t make enough bread, but nobody told me it was going to be a party.”
Elsie stared, dumbfounded, as people started flooding in the doors of the kitchen.
Caro took her hand. “You’ve been adopted, girl. Get used to it. I’ll run over to my house and grab more plates—we’re going to need them.”
“I already got them,” said a witch Elsie didn’t even know, walking in the door with plates piled up to her chin. “Do I get an early plate of food in exchange?” That idea got met with general good-natured cat calls.
In a daze, Elsie turned back to the stove, stirring what she had thought was enough spaghetti sauce for six months.
Jamie materialized at her shoulder. “I think you’ve got enough, but there’s more at my place if we need it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let this scare you off your original idea. It was a good one.”
She still forgot far too often that half the witches in her life could mindread. “I don’t even know all these people.”
He grinned. “I do—and don’t worry. They all know plenty of ways to be silly. You’ll have enough input for three lifetimes. You might ask before they start eating, though, or they’ll have time to plot and plan together. You might not be ready for those kinds of ideas just yet.”
Her brainstorm of the night before wasn’t looking very sane in the light of morning. “Maybe I’ll just wait and ask some other time.”
He stuck a ladle in the pot. “You could.”
Elsie had taken graduate classes on how to encourage, mentor, and gently lead. She’d studied with some of the finest therapists on the West Coast. And no one held a candle to the nudging Jamie could accomplish with two words. He offered a way out—and a fierce push to stand on her own feet and be brave.
She very much wanted to be the Elsie Giannotto he imagined her to be.
I’m not the only one,
he sent quietly.
Turn around.
Slowly, Elsie turned—and saw her knitting friends arrayed in a circle behind her. They were holding out plates, a world of encouragement in their eyes.
She could do this.
Elsie held up her hand—and gaped as silence actually fell.
Jennie grinned from the crowd, Lauren at her side.
We mind witches are good for some things.
Public speaking had always been one of her strengths. Elsie repeated that to herself twice. It didn’t help her knees feel any less wobbly. “I wasn’t expecting so many of you.”
Oddly enough, the general friendly laughter did help out her knees a little. “Some of you don’t know me, but I’m one of Jennie’s students.” She paused, not at all sure how to get where she was headed. “I’m working on changing some things in my life. I tend to be organized, efficient, neat… I’m hoping to learn how to let that go sometimes.”
An old witch she didn’t know wiped some stray tomato sauce off the counter and licked his finger. “I’d say you’re doing a mighty good job.”
Elsie grinned and licked some sauce off her own fingers, suddenly delighted with herself. She really could do this. “Well, I’ve heard you’re all pretty good at being silly and messy and not very organized.” As laughter bubbled through the room again, she looked around for her jar and held it up, along with neat squares of paper and a container of nicely sharpened pencils. “I was hoping you could give me some ideas of things I could try.”
The old witch chuckled. “Do I get some of that delectable food behind you in exchange?” He held out his hand. “I’m Edric. How many ideas do you want?”
“Just one would be fine.” Elsie fought the lump in her throat as hands reached for pencils and paper. She hadn’t known there was a world like this, where people lined up to help just because you asked.
Helga moved in, a sheaf of squares in her hand. “It’s going to take me a while, dear. I’ll bring them to the store for you later. I have one for you now, though. Learn how to flirt.” She smiled up at the old witch and batted her eyes. “Care to join me in finding some place to sit?”
Elsie watched in gobsmacked awe as Edric blushed pink and offered Helga his arm. Not in a million years could she ever learn to do that.
She looked down at the tug on her hand. Aervyn held two plates, gleeful trouble written all over his face. “I can’t write yet, but I think we should eat our noodles without any forks.” His grin exploded. “Mama says it’s okay just this once.”
That registered well beyond Elsie’s silly meter, but it wasn’t in her to say no. She reached for a plate, clutching her sense of adventure with both hands. “I think we’d better go eat in the back yard, superboy.”
He giggled. “Yeah. Mama said that, too.”
~ ~ ~
Nat stared at the square of paper in her hand and fought the urge to dance in delight. The kitchen was way too full for any kind of dancing.
She wasn’t surprised when Jamie’s arms came around her from behind. “She’s reaching for that freedom you told her to go find, wise wife of mine.”
It was a world away from folding towels. Nat turned around, grinning at her husband. “How many of these people did you invite?”
He tried to look innocent. “Just a few.”
“Right.” She snorted with laughter, pretty sure her husband had sent out an SOS call to everyone on his contact list. Not that Elsie’s cooking wasn’t a pretty good bribe all on its own. “Her sauce is almost as good as yours.”
“Give her a month.” He grinned, winding noodles on his fork. “She’s still a little shy with the rosemary. A bit more of that, a little more magic whispered into the tomatoes growing over in Caro’s garden, and I think I’ll be giving up my main claim to fame soon.”
Jamie Sullivan was going to end up unfamous exactly never, but his easy generosity with Elsie still warmed her heart. “It’s a very nice thing you did for her,” she said, taking his hand. “And an even nicer thing you did for me.” Seeing Elsie grab on to her life this morning had soothed Nat’s heart almost back to normal.
This time his innocent look was a complete failure.
She just grinned and held out a forkful of spaghetti. He would make a magnificent father. “So what did you write on your paper?”
“Haven’t yet.” He shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
Of that she had no doubt—very few people did silly better than her husband. “Is she ready for the suggestions she’s about to get?” Her husband’s mindreading skills tended to bring out her inner snoop.
Jamie grinned and wiped spaghetti sauce off her nose. “Well, a few of them might be a bit outrageous. Thea thinks she should take belly-dancing lessons, Lizard’s contemplating some things I might not even do, and Edric thinks she should try skinny-dipping in the ocean.” Then he tilted his head and laughed. “No, wait. He thinks Helga should try skinny-dipping. What the heck’s going on there?”
Apparently warm summers made even old men frisky. Nat smiled, hoping it was true of her man in fifty years too. “He’s a water witch—they’ll be fine. And you might want to step out of his mind now.” She looked over as Caro and Jennie started giggling. “Or not.” Privacy around mind witches wasn’t always practical, even when they weren’t trying to overhear things. Poor Edric.
“Don’t feel sorry for him.” Jamie’s grin looked an awful lot like a certain four-year-old’s. “Helga’s pretty interested in the skinny-dipping.”
Nat laughed—and knew exactly what she wanted to write on her paper for Elsie. She had one in the jar already, but nobody seemed to be taking that as a serious limit.
She didn’t get the chance to write, however. The moment she put pencil to paper, every mind witch in the room spun around, seeking. It wasn’t hard to find the source of their sudden attention. Thea, plate of food crashed to the floor, stood clutching the counter, face white.
Ginia flew to Thea’s side, the mantle of healer authority sliding onto her shoulders as she moved. “Breathe, sweetie. Lizard, stand here so she can hold on to your shoulders.” She moved the stunned Lizard into place and then laid her own hands on Thea’s belly, focusing.
Nat rubbed her own belly with silent empathy and a touch of envy. Thea would cuddle her baby soon.
Ginia put her head together with her patient for a minute, and then looked out at the waiting crowd. “We’d better go to the birthing center. Bean’s in a hurry.”
It didn’t surprise Nat in the slightest when half the room took that as an invitation. Thea would have quite the escort.
~ ~ ~
Lizard stumbled out of the birthing room, still flying on the terrifying wonder of what she’d seen. Not that she’d had a choice—Thea had not once loosened the death grip on her hand. Not until they’d laid Bean on her belly. So much for finishing maps and dead-poet reading.
However, Bean had to be a better excuse than the dog-ate-my-homework thing.
Bean himself had been a bit of a surprise. He’d been covered in gunk and totally gorgeous—and his Auntie Lizard had fallen hopelessly, completely in love. How could you not love a kid who came out sporting a mohawk, two fists, and an attitude?
Her first aunt duty had been to hold him while they’d done stuff to Thea that she was never thinking about ever again. Her second was to let whoever was still left in the waiting room know that Bean was here, fed, and chunking out some seriously disgusting poop.
It had been fourteen hours. They’d probably all gone home. Except her somewhat delirious mind could sense a crowd. Maybe there was a train wreck in the emergency waiting room.
No,
came Jennie’s amused voice.
We’re all here. Ginia kept us posted, so we put out the word when Bean made his appearance. Take a left—we’ve occupied the cafeteria.
Lizard took a left, walked through the cafeteria doors, and stopped in stunned silence. There were over a hundred people in the room—and none of them were eating. Some were witches. Some were people she recognized from the neighborhood.
Lauren stepped to her side. “Spill, or they’re all going to invade Thea’s room to check for themselves.”
Ha. They’d have to get through the dragon-lady nurse midwife first. Lizard tried to focus. She’d never made a birth announcement before. “Well, Bean’s here. He started off pretty mad, but he’s doing good now. He’s pooping and eating and all the other stuff babies are supposed to do.”
You’d think she had recited beautiful poetry or something with all the gooey eyes in the room. “How’s Thea doing?” asked a voice in the back.
Swamped by the love in the room, Lizard did something she never did. Carefully, she formed a picture of Thea’s face the moment Bean was laid on her belly—the moment when joy trampled exhaustion and fierce love exploded in a new mama’s eyes. Lizard took her picture and sent it out on a hundred fingers of mind magic.
She never mind-broadcast. Ever. It meant opening yourself to every mind in the room. Thea was worth it.
She wasn’t surprised to feel Lauren, Caro, and Jennie amplifying her send. Reaching over a hundred minds wasn’t really within her powers. What she wasn’t ready for was the emotional punch that rolled back through her open connections.
Love. Huge love for a brave mama and a baby none of them had ever met. And a weird river of gratitude for Lizard herself.
Lizard reached for the back of a chair to hold herself steady. “They said we can start sending people in to visit soon.” Her voice sounded raspy in the silent room. “I don’t think they’re expecting this many people, though.”
Jennie laughed. “They never are. Thea needs some rest for now. We’ll go back to her place and make sure everything’s ready for them to come home tomorrow.”
An old man Lizard didn’t know stepped out of the crowd. “We’ve got that all taken care of. The fridge is stocked, neighbors have signed up for a food rotation, and someone will come over to rock Bean whenever Thea wants.” He chuckled. “Heck, probably when she doesn’t want, too.”
Jennie grinned. “We have a few names you can add to the rocking chair contingent.”
“And the food contingent.” Caro nodded at the women around her. “And I think we’ve almost knit the boy a complete wardrobe while we waited for him to show up. It’s been busy in my shop today.” Pairs of hands held up things that bore resemblance to hats and blankets and baby booties.
Lizard listened in stunned silence while the collective organizational talent in the room took care of pretty much everything except Bean’s college education. And she might have just missed that part.
Lauren wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Congratulations. You did a fantastic job.”
Huh? “I just held her hand.” Honesty forced Lizard to amend that statement. “I’d have run screaming somewhere in the middle, but she wouldn’t let me go.” There had been plenty of heroes in the birthing room, but Lizard was really clear she hadn’t been one of them.
“Not what I meant,” said Lauren softly. “You felt their gratitude, I know you did. Look around this room—Thea has this community because of you. You helped her find a lot more than a home. At its very best, this is what we do.” She wiped her cheek and squeezed Lizard’s shoulders. “Bean is going to grow up rooted in a community of love. That’s pretty much the best baby gift ever.”