A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) Page 3

  She could see that. “I guess my ideas about mental institutions are stuck somewhere in the last century.”

  “Oh, those still exist.” Tab’s voice was sad now. “And we always seem to invent new ways to exclude and dehumanize those amongst us who are fragile.”

  Lauren reached for the arm of the woman who made strides with fragile children every day. She wasn’t the only one who was going to find this visit very difficult—Tabitha had a strong dose of the empathetic side of mind magic. “One at a time. We help one person at a time.”

  Tab smiled. “Let’s go learn what we can about Hannah.”

  The front doors of Chrysalis House opened and a man stepped out, his body language open and energetic. “Tab! Great to see you again.” He pushed several buttons on a remote in his hand and the gate swung open.

  Lauren noted the squeaking and rumbling as it did—and almost missed the very discreet electronic lasers. Security was tighter than it looked.

  Tabitha had followed her gaze. Safety isn’t an easy issue. I can promise you the people who live here are as free as possible. He would tolerate nothing less.

  The man walking toward them was about as far away from the stereotypical psychiatrist as she could imagine. Jeans, ponytail, and a long tattoo of graceful Japanese characters making its way up the arm he held out in welcome.

  He grinned, apparently well aware that he made a surprising first impression. “You must be Lauren. I’m Max Torres, assistant director here.”

  “Someone finally got smart and promoted you, did they?” Tab leaned in and gave him an easy hug.

  Lauren had long since stopped being surprised by the number of people in California Tabitha had adopted. That kind of rapport could only help with their reconnaissance mission. She was, however, impressed by the staunch respect flowing from Max’s mind—clearly he was one of the few who didn’t fall for Tab’s grandma act.

  He shrugged. “No one else wanted the job.”

  “There are always people who want power.” Tabitha patted his arm. “You spent a lot of years refusing to take it.”

  “Getting smarter in my old age.”

  The guy looked all of thirty-five, but Lauren knew better than to underestimate a guy in jeans and a casual grin.

  Tabitha touched the petals of a particularly fragrant rose bush. “We came to talk with you about Hannah Kendrick.”

  Lauren was ready for the psychiatrist’s surprise, and his wariness. But she hadn’t expected the deep personal sadness flowing out of his mind. His patient, then.

  That could help—or it could make their job so much more difficult.

  -o0o-

  A pre-dawn war council on busting a witch out of a mental institution, followed by a morning spent helping Marcus Buchanan water wedding daffodils. Total toss-up over which one was weirder.

  Jamie plunked down on the couch beside his wife, soaking in her serenity. He hated waiting—the daffodils had been a welcome distraction. “Where’s Kenna?”

  “Hanging out with Uncle Devin. Making hissy fire.”

  He didn’t have the energy to roll his eyes. Only his brother and a toddler would have come up with a game that involved throwing fire sparks and rainbow water droplets at each other just to hear them get mad. “Dev has to clean up the mess.” It wasn’t a neat game, especially if they attracted spectators. Kenna’s idea of small magic was a work in progress.

  “It’s keeping him occupied.” Nat’s face was smiling, but her eyes held a heavy dose of worry.

  Damn. He reached out and touched her cheek. “Lauren and Tab are the best there is.” Tabitha had wangled an appointment at Chrysalis House about three minutes after the world woke up. Something about an old student—a rebel with a good heart.

  Jamie hoped like hell the rebel had connections.

  Nat covered his hand with hers. “How are you doing?”

  To her, he could say the truth. Always. “Shaky as hell, and no idea why.” Witch Central dealt with emergencies all the time. This one was bad, but it shouldn’t be unhinging him like this. “I feel like someone’s dragging their fingernails down a chalkboard just inside my left ear.”

  She winced. “That’s descriptive.”

  He could hear the chalkboard sound manifesting in her head. Oops. “Sorry.” He pushed Kenna’s new favorite Dr. Wiggles song at her instead. If you had to have an earworm, Bop-Bop-Igglety-Snop had to be better than chalk torture.

  Nat giggled and stuck out her tongue. “Thanks, I think.”

  “Always glad to help.” It was helping him find solid ground too—immaturity usually did.

  “Glad to see parenthood is helping you grow up,” said a dry voice from the corner.

  Jamie was almost used to people transporting into his living room these days. “Hi, Mom.” He eyed the woman dressed in lime green with a hot pink flower in her hair. “You had an awful lot of kids. That must be why you’re all staid and boring now.”

  “Bite your tongue.” Retha leaned down to kiss Nat’s cheek. “Bless you for tolerating my most obnoxious son.”

  Nat grinned. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “Pretty much.” His mother took a seat in an empty chair, smiling at the two of them. “It always seems to apply.”

  The light teasing didn’t fool Jamie for an instant. This wasn’t a casual visit. “What’s up?”

  Retha looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “I don’t know, exactly. But apparently whatever it is has struck here too.”

  Late-night-raid planning was taking its toll. “Huh?”

  “Your mind magic is feeble, not dead, my dear.”

  Jamie rolled his eyes and sent out a wimpy mental channel. What came back wasn’t wimpy at all. Ouch. The sound of a chalkboard, ringing in his mother’s head, loud and clear. He pulled down mind barriers—it wasn’t a sound you wanted to hear in stereo.

  Retha held his gaze a moment longer and then looked at Nat. “Are you feeling disrupted or unsettled in any way?”

  Nat frowned, doing the quick breath self-check she did several times a day. It brought the usual flow of peace. “Nothing out of proportion to the day we’re having. But I’m not a witch.”

  “You feel the universe keenly.” His mother had always honored Nat’s gifts, magic or not. “Probably not Kenna, then.”

  Jamie stared, wondering how his daughter fit in to all this. And then his brain caught up. Oh, hell. “Wait—you think something bad’s about to happen?”

  “Oh, something’s about to happen.” Retha’s eyes held a look that Jamie saw more often in Nell’s these days. “Whether it’s bad or not remains to be seen.”

  Moment of relaxation officially over.

  -o0o-

  Lauren settled into the comfortable chair in Max’s office, feeling a bit like a rat under a microscope.

  He grinned at her. “Why do the sane ones always squirm the most?”

  She laughed, knowing full well that had been his intent.

  He plunked down in a chair facing the two of them, his slouch resembling Devin at his most relaxed. It was an act—his brain was on full alert.

  And not to be underestimated, sent Tab mildly. He’s the smartest man I know.

  The wall of degrees spoke to his intelligence. And didn’t fit the man at all. Lauren eyed him—he might be brilliant, but she was no slouch as a negotiator. Time to fire her first shot. “You don’t work in here.”

  His eyebrows flew up in surprise.

  Bull’s-eye. “This is the office of a guy with a goatee and a tweed jacket.”

  Humor crossed Max’s face. “That more or less describes the previous tenant.”

  And the current one didn’t spend enough time here to bother to redecorate. “I assume it soothes the families of some of your patients.” Along with the white coat hung on the back of the door and the heavy tomes stacked with intentional randomness on the bookshelves.

  He watched her eyes trailing over the books. “You see well.”

  She knew the
advantage of controlling first impressions. And any man who knew how to do that didn’t need the dance that generally followed. “I can see that you care very much about Hannah Kendrick.”

  His eyes flicked to Tabitha now. Concerned, and wary again. “I can’t talk about a patient.”

  Ethics shone from his mind—the guy practically glowed with them. Lauren sat back. She wasn’t the right person to ask him to bend.

  Tab leaned forward, picking up the unspoken cue. “She reached out to us, Max. We got a message from her.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “She has almost no contact with the outside world. Only her family.”

  “It came over the computer.” A small skimming of the truth—they weren’t here to explain fetching spells. “It asked for our help.”

  Confusion hit his features, followed quickly by sadness, guilt, and something that looked almost like shame.

  A very smart guy indeed, and one who cared with a depth that might actually be in Tabitha’s league. Lauren debated—and went with brutal honesty. He deserved it. “You haven’t been able to help her.”

  Pain flared in his mind, along with a healthy dose of anger. “We’re not done trying.”

  He would never be done—that, too, she could read in his mind. The doctor who never gave up.

  He’s very, very good at what he does. Tab leaned forward again, her eyes full of sympathy and understanding of what it was to hope for those considered beyond hope. “Max, you know I work in some unusual ways.”

  He nodded slowly.

  The words came even more gently now. “Perhaps I can help.”

  For just a fraction of a moment, hope lit in his mind. And then died, blanketed by frustrated despair. “She can’t see you.”

  It wasn’t an obstacle of paperwork or protocols—something much deeper streamed from his mind. Lauren held back from pulling the answer from his head and asked instead. “Why not?”

  Ethics waged with the heart of a brilliant man who wanted desperately to heal. Max stood, pacing the length of the aged wool rug that matched the office and didn’t match the man at all. When he turned back to them, Lauren knew his heart had won. Max sighed. “New faces are the primary trigger for her attacks.”

  Lauren stared, trying to work out what magic that could be.

  Tab frowned. “Crowds?”

  Max shook his head slowly. “No. There’s never a big crowd here, but she’s fine in group sessions and in the common areas. But when we introduce a new patient or staff person, we have to do it incredibly slowly. From a distance at first.” And even that didn’t usually work—they could read it on his face.

  That didn’t sound like any mind magic Lauren had ever experienced. Empathy, maybe?

  Tabitha’s head shake was visible. No. Not if she can hang out in the common room.

  Yeah. An unbarriered mind witch pummeled by mentally ill brains would be cowering under her bed.

  Max was watching the two of them, eyes full of speculation. His eyes traveled to Lauren. “You work with Tabitha. Do you use her unconventional methods?”

  He knew. He might not have words for what they did, but he knew. Lauren nodded. “More or less.”

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I’m stepping way across the line here, but we’ve pretty much run out of options in the realm of what I know.” His fingers clenched an invisible stress ball. “She believes she sees people’s futures. And sometimes, the things she sees—they happen.”

  The answer landed in the room like a nuclear bomb.

  Lauren looked at Tabitha, feeling the rebounding horror. Precog.

  One rebel psychiatrist, eyes fierce, waded into the midst of their fear. “You know what it is, don’t you? Can you help her?”

  Tab met his gaze with steady fire of her own. “I don’t know—but we will try. There are some people we need to talk to first.”

  “Try” was a weak word for what she meant. Heaven and earth was about to be moved.

  Lauren watched as two people who knew what it was to believe in the impossible made Hannah Kendrick a quiet, implacable promise. And wished she felt worthy of being in the room.

  Chapter 4

  Jamie sat down at the table and tried to get a grip. His skin had been crawling ever since Lauren had sent out the second bat signal in less than twenty-four hours.

  Precog.

  Some poor witch had it—and it had landed her in the crazy house.

  Nat tucked her fingers through his. She knew how much he disliked the unpredictable, perverse magic that very occasionally dropped him hints of the future. Not much to like about a talent that knocked you unconscious the first time you laid eyes on your future wife.

  Fortunately, he’d been born into a family that understood.

  Retha Sullivan sat at the other end of the table, head tilted, chatting with Moira. Their mother’s precog talent was much stronger than his own. If anyone knew how to help Hannah, it would be the woman with the lively eyes and more courage than anyone he knew.

  “Mom’s worried.” Nell sat down on his left, a platter of bacon in one hand, waffles in the other. Daniel Walker’s idea of a snack.

  Jamie grabbed the bacon, suddenly starving. “She’s not the only one.” Even his feeble mind powers could feel the stress in the room. Distress about uncontrolled magic, and fear for the witch who lived with it.

  Anyone who touched magic knew what it was to brush against something bigger, something outside and within at the same time. And anyone with precog knew that force could be capricious and cruel.

  Or it had always felt that way to the man who had caught glimpses of the future and never known if they would be true. Even now, he and Nat awaited the small boy and the snowman, not knowing if either would ever be.

  It didn’t stop them from loving.

  His wife’s fingers squeezed his again—and then swiped a piece of his bacon. He chuckled. Even the Zen, patient Nat had learned a few things about fending for herself at a Sullivan family meal. Kenna was downstairs learning the same with her cousins. Everyone had been in clear, immediate agreement—no kids. Not this time.

  Not if magic had broken some poor woman’s brain.

  Nat leaned in, her touch whisper soft, her mind feeding him her signature calm. She knew his fears.

  Jamie shuddered and tried, once again, to pull himself together. He’d experienced precog—and a few seconds were often enough to leave him queasy and questioning reality for days. An uncontrolled stream of it would make anyone crazy. And not everything in life could be cleaned up with a washcloth and a goofy song.

  A stir at the table. Jamie knew who had arrived even before he turned. Lauren’s mind was heavy—and afraid.

  Nat reached her friend first. And stuck at Lauren’s side, even as Devin landed. Retha altered course and wrapped her arms around the second woman coming into the room. Tabitha looked serene—until you saw her shaking hands.

  Witch Central, buoying up their own.

  “Freaking stupid fetching spell.” Nell cursed under her breath beside him.

  Not the spell’s fault, sister mine. He handed her back the bacon platter, a true act of sibling love. And if a witch is in trouble, better we know.

  He didn’t add what they all feared—that they’d found out far too late.

  -o0o-

  Sometimes, a mother just had to take charge. And now that they knew why the mental chalkboards had been scratching, that time had arrived.

  Retha Sullivan pushed Tabitha toward an empty chair beside Nat and stepped to the end of the table. “Devin and Jamie, quit hogging the bacon. Moira, if you squeeze over a bit, Lauren can slide in beside you and make that husband of hers behave.” Chairs and platters and frozen brains started to move. Retha watched a moment and then took a seat, well pleased. “Nell, is that orange juice in my favorite vase?”

  Her daughter grinned, used to maternal wiles. “That’s what happens when your favorite vase is a juice pitcher.”

  Retha raised an eyebrow. “My previous
favorite had a mysterious meeting with a softball.”

  Nell glared down the table. “It’s not my fault Devin ducked.”

  Her brother forked a waffle and snickered. “It’s not my fault you throw like a girl.”

  Retha hid a smile as Devin dropped his suddenly very hot fork, a good portion of the rest of the table laughing as he did so. Much better. If they had a witch to rescue, they’d do a far better job of it well fed and with fear pushed far into the background.

  She waited, biding her time, as waffles and syrup found suddenly hungry mouths. And listened, amused, as spouses stepped comfortably into the well-practiced sibling rivalries of the Sullivan clan. Her children had chosen very well.

  Daniel slipped into the room, a third plate of waffles in his hands.

  Jamie’s face was mournful, only partly in jest. “What, no more bacon?”

  Two platters materialized on the table, well away from the brothers Sullivan. Retha grinned—Daniel was no dummy, and neither was his small teleporting assistant. She reached out her fork and snagged another piece. Costa Rica was a wonderful place, but bacon was a scarce commodity in the rainforest.

  Everyone was here now. Time to begin. Retha looked over at her newest daughter-in-law. “So, tell us about Hannah.”

  Lauren swallowed and drained half a mug of coffee before she spoke. “We don’t know a lot—most of it’s just guesses. We know she has magic, or she wouldn’t have caught the fetching spell’s attention. We know she’s had a difficult life. And we know she has attacks triggered by seeing new faces.”

  Retha’s precog had first manifested with just such an “attack.” She set down her fork, homing in on the details. “Are they sure it’s visual contact that’s the problem?”

  Lauren blinked. “That’s what the doctor reported. What else are you thinking?”

  Far too many things. “It could be a new voice, or the touch of a strange mind. Precog can be visual—” she smiled over at Jamie and Nat, who were the most memorable episode in recent memory, “but it doesn’t have to be.”