Witches Under Way (4 page)

Lizard grinned as Lauren produced a credible witch cackle, and said the words along in her head. 

“Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder’s fork and blindworm’s sting,

Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing.

For charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Aervyn grinned in delight.  “That one’s funny, but I don’t think that Shake guy’s a witch—he got too many things wrong.  He should go talk to Aunt Moira.  I don’t think she puts any frogs in her cauldron.”  He giggled.  “Or any ‘Lizards’ either.”

“Well, poets get to make things up.  So he could make witches be however he wanted.”  Lauren winked at him.  “Even creepy women who boil frogs and lizards.”

He bounced on the sidewalk beside her.  “More!”

Lauren shrugged.  “That’s about all I know. Sorry, munchkin.  I had to memorize that one for high school English.”

Aervyn looked up, all innocent curiosity.  “Maybe Lizard knows another one.”

The words blossomed in Lizard’s mind, popping up despite her best attempts to keep the lid on.  She remembered the first time poetry had danced in her soul—and the Silverstein poem that had done it.  They’d stood on the end of the sidewalk, she and Grammie, looking down at the first blades of grass and imagining a world of possibilities.  That dog-eared book had been one of her most prized possessions.  She’d hidden the words down deep after Grammie died—they were way too freaking hopeful.

Far too late, she heard the echoed words dancing in Aervyn’s mind.  He grinned up at her.  “What’s a moon-bird?”

First-day-of-school fear paled in comparison to the terror of having words stripped from her heart.  Lizard’s teeth practically chattered as she pulled down the Fort-Knox-version of mind barriers.  And heard Aervyn’s sorrowful knocking anyhow. 

Crap, crap, crap.  Lizard ran through her entire vocabulary of sailor curses, and then reached for his hand.  He was only four, and he’d shared his favorite pencil crayons.  A piece of some dead guy’s poem seemed like a fair trade, even if it was sewn into her heart.  “That’s the cool thing about poetry.  A moon-bird can be whatever you want it to be.”

It wasn’t until they’d walked another half a block, Aervyn chattering about imaginary birds and boiled frogs, that Lizard dared to cast a careful glance over at her boss.

Lauren just grinned and looked up at the sky, whistling.  “Yup.  Definitely a nice day for a walk.”

Frack.

~ ~ ~

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To:
[email protected]

From: Jennie Adams <
[email protected]
>

Subject: They’re friends.

––––––––––––––

Dear Vero,

Lizard and Elsie head back out into the world this morning, well fortified with bacon and eggs.  It was a most interesting chat we had as we ate—particularly the parts that weren’t said.

Lizard is a poet.  I’m sure of it—and rather embarrassed I’ve missed it for this long.  I’ve always known she has depths that she does a very good job of hiding.  I’d gotten lazy and assumed I’d caught at least the edges of all the important stuff.

How could a woman who loves words the way she does not be a poet?  (And yes, I’m done kicking myself now.)

An update on Elsie requires backing up a little.  Via the knitter grapevine, I discovered we had a bit of a jailbreak yesterday.  Elsie escaped bed rest—and, much to everyone’s delight, bolted straight for Caro’s knitting store, where she proceeded to rock a cranky baby to sleep and then cuddle him for hours, while chatting about nothing in particular with ladies old and young.  All fairly shocking behavior from our rule-bound, schedule-laden psychologist.

Rumor has it she even sang a lullaby to little Sam when she thought no one was paying attention.  She’s terrified to come sing with you, however. 

We’ll get her there—but know that Elsie holds you in no small amount of awe.  She’s convinced she isn’t worthy—and terrified by the grip music has on her soul.  Elsie Giannotto isn’t used to having demanding passions.  Or, I suspect, teachers who require that she explore them.

I can’t imagine Vero Liantro would ask anything less.

That’s the official report.  The unofficial one?  My girls are friends—their connection was a living thing in the diner this morning.  I don’t know yet where it’s headed, but their importance to each other grows.  I asked them today to think about what the next picture on their journey looks like. 

My prediction?  Very soon, they will be in each other’s pictures.

The photographer in me already has an itchy finger.

Much love,

Jennie

~ ~ ~

Nat watched as Elsie folded the studio’s towels for the third time in an hour, and sighed.  The robotic precision felt far too much like the home of her childhood—and spoke far too loudly of the state of her intern’s heart.  Clearly neither of them knew exactly what to do with themselves this morning.

Time to confront the elephant in the room.

She carried two cups of tea to the front counter, paused a moment, debating—and then dove straight in.  “I see you’re wearing your pendant this morning.”

“I’m still getting used to it.”  Elsie’s fingers touched her necklace.  “Sometimes I can believe it’s only a pretty piece of jewelry.”

Nat had been around witches too long to try that kind of denial.  She sat down, fingering the trio of crystals at her own neck.  Her collection was growing.  “What did it mean for you, putting it on?”

Elsie stared out the window a moment.  “It was a promise.”  She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.  “My WitchLight experience hasn’t been a very smooth one so far.  I guess I saw it as a promise to keep going, even if it’s stretching me.  A lot.” 

The simple bravery in that sentence tugged at Nat’s heart.  There were a lot of rubber-bandy people at Witch Central who had no idea what it was to feel that stretched.  She smiled, offering what she could to support a turbulent journey.  “I don’t think the stretching’s done just yet, but perhaps we can change how it feels a bit.”

That got a genuine laugh from Elsie.  “Is this going to involve standing on my hands again?”

“Not today.”  Nat picked up her tea.  “I’m not sure
I
could get up into handstand today.  I’m still feeling pretty weak and feeble after three days in bed.”

Elsie looked over, eyes hopeful.  “Do you need me to take care of something? I have time—just tell me how I can be helpful.”

And there they were at the crux of the problem.  Nat resisted the urge to contort herself into some distracting pose.  “You’ve folded the towels, rearranged the store, scrubbed all the mats, and vacuumed the studio already this morning.”  All done in a spirit of efficient drudgery that was numbing Nat’s soul just watching.  She sighed.  “The truth is, being an intern here isn’t a very demanding job.  And you’re someone who appreciates a lot of demands.”  Needed them, if Nat was reading the situation right.  “Can I ask you something?”

Elsie’s brow furrowed.  “Sure.”

“What do you need from me?”

Now Elsie looked entirely flummoxed.

Nat fingered her pendant.  “It wasn’t only you who made a promise.  As you step out again on your WitchLight journey, part of my promise is to walk beside you.  To help you.  I’m not sure how to do that, but I suspect it’s more than giving you the chance to become a world-class towel folder.”

Elsie’s hands fluttered toward the towels and then stopped.  “I thought you said anything could be a form of meditation.”  Traces of lightness teased her face.  “Even moving little bits of green tape on the studio floor.”

Nat smiled.  “Is Jamie still teasing you about that?”  Her husband delighted in many little-boy things, and he’d been gently using some of them to work Elsie out of her shell.

Her intern’s face flushed.  “It’s okay.  It was a pretty stupid idea.  I was out of my element and trying to figure out how to be helpful.”  She looked at Nat, a little sad and lost.  “I think I still am.”

Nat had a lovely little speech prepared about how to be okay with not knowing for a while.  About moving and exploring and being open to possibilities.  She’d practiced it for three days. 

And she might have had a chance to deliver it if Jamie hadn’t come crashing in the door.  He skidded to a halt in front of the desk, glanced briefly at his wife, and focused on Elsie.  “You’ll be perfect.  I need help.”

The transformation in her intern was almost instant.  Nat tried not to thump her head on the desk.  Her husband usually had much better timing.  The last thing Elsie needed right now was a new project. 

Jamie froze, surveying her face. 
Sorry.  What’d I step in?

Sometimes having a husband who could mindread was a very good thing, even if it was a little too late. 
Long story.  Just don’t give her anything serious to work on.  Or at least anything too comfortable.

Damn.  Okay.
  Jamie turned back toward Elsie, who was still watching him, increasingly puzzled.  “I need a team.  By six o’clock tomorrow night.  Ginia and Aervyn have issued a challenge.”

Now Nat was totally confused, too.  “A challenge for what?”

“They’re challenging my title as Water Balloon Fight King.” 
Sorry.  It was the best I could come up with on really short notice.  And they really do want to have a water fight.

Nat tried not to giggle.  It wasn’t like Witch Central needed an excuse for total goofiness.  And her husband’s instincts were gold.  Joining in monumental silliness might be exactly what her intern needed.

Forget “joining in.”  I’m going to put her in charge.
  He put on a sad-puppy face and grabbed Elsie’s hands.  “You have to help me.  They’ve already claimed most of the good water and air witches.”

“You want me to help recruit a team for a water-balloon fight?”

Jamie winced—Elsie’s tone was at its stick-butt best.  “Not if you’ve got other stuff to do.”  Nat held her pendant lightly and tried to keep her eyes off the towels.

Elsie stared a moment longer—and then cracked up laughing.  “I have such a strange life now.”  She tried, fairly unsuccessfully, to sober up.  “Do you have a strategy?  Some guidance to help with recruiting?”

Nat committed the gobsmacked look on Jamie’s face to memory—it was classic.  Then, remembering her marriage vows, she tried to help him out with a little translation.  “Do you have a plan to win this fight?  Preferred talents for your team members?”

His eyes brightened.  “Magic would be good.  For the rest—good aim, fast feet, and hopefully they don’t mind getting wet.”

“I think that last one’s a given.”  Elsie snickered.  “If I might suggest you think a little beyond the obvious?”

Nat’s pendant felt oddly warm for a second.  She squeezed it and waited, curious. 

“You have an idea?”  Jamie pulled up a stool, doing an impressive job of rolling with Elsie’s lightning-fast shifts of mood.  “Okay, shoot.”

Nat listened.  Added a couple of suggestions.  And made a mental note never to underestimate her intern. 

Chapter 4

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To:
[email protected]

From: Vero Liantro <
[email protected]
>

Subject: Re: They’re friends.

––––––––––––––

My dearest Jennie,

It’s Melvin this time.  I’m trying Jamie’s new toy to see if I can perhaps answer your email myself.  I must admit, it’s faster when Vero does it—but there’s some satisfaction in doing things myself.

Of course you didn’t know Lizard was a poet—she wasn’t ready for you to know yet.  Do you think she picked her courses accidentally?  That young lady is a master of teasing others into pushing her where she wants to go.  The very good news is that her desired destination this time is much improved over some of her past choices.

I knew a young woman once who begrudged every last picture I “made” her take—but never let a clunky old camera out of her sight.  That woman would understand our Lizard very well.

As for Elsie, Vero is already preparing.  Pass on a message to your student, please.  Tell her she’s to bring three favorite non-opera songs to her first lesson. 

She’ll be in good hands.  My lovely wife will be both temptress and steamroller, I think, and the incomparable Natalia will be the soft landing.  Quite the pair the two of them will make.  And it seems we have cuddly babies and seasoned knitters rounding out the team nicely.

As for your “unofficial” report—most certainly Lizard and Elsie are friends.  Your single greatest moment of genius was in setting their feet on that path the day they arrived.  No one else would have dared, daughter of my heart.  When it comes time to take that picture of them journeying together, I hope you see yourself in the center of it.