A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) Read online

  Beth stared in awe at the zooming ball of light.

  “It’s like riding a bike.” The fire globe vanished. “It’s a lot easier to ride and stay balanced if you pick up a little speed.”

  The awful weight of being different settled on Beth’s shoulders—an old, old friend. “Maybe that’s one of the reasons I never learned to ride a bike.”

  “Shit.” Nell rolled up to sitting, eyes shining with mysterious messages. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not very good with speed. On a bike or in my magic.” Speed made things happen faster than her brain could process them.

  “Fire magic isn’t very good at being slow.” Nell’s words were measured, careful. “Earth power handles that better, but fire kind of needs to dance.”

  The weight pushed harder on Beth’s shoulders. She wasn’t a dancer, either. Too unpredictable, too complicated—God knew Liri had tried. “There must be another way to stabilize the magic.” Her dark, safe room in Chicago did the job quite nicely.

  “Not that I know of.”

  Jamie had found a way.

  Beth hugged her knees, wanting to escape the grass and the awful feeling that her chance at a whole new world of magic was slinking away. “I’m sorry. I need to go slowly.” Surely witches with such power at their fingertips could figure out how to work with that.

  Please.

  “Mama!”

  A rush of footsteps and clutter and noise assaulted Beth’s senses. She closed her eyes, fighting the onslaught.

  Kids. They were only kids.

  They had no idea she’d been born with a head that couldn’t always survive the everyday world where grass grew and cars honked and children played.

  -o0o-

  Oh, nuts. Nell looked up at her girls, cursing sucky coincidences. Apparently the decorating committee had been meeting in the garage.

  Her three girls bounced over, vibrating preteen energy and welcome.

  Mia grinned. “Hi. You must be the new witch.”

  “’Course she is,” said Shay. “We’re Mia and Shay and Ginia, and we’re really glad to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Beth was studying the triplets like they were an alien life form.

  “Awesome.” Ginia plunked down beside their new witch, pink glitter glue in one hand and a very big list in the other. “Do you want to help us decorate for Aervyn and Kenna’s party? We always need more help, and that way you could meet lots of people and stuff.”

  She waited expectantly, ten-year-old organizer on a mission.

  And Nell literally felt Beth’s brain tie in a knot. Crap. She leaned forward. “That’s a nice offer, girls. How about you give Beth a little time to think about it?”

  Ginia looked confused. “We have some really easy jobs she could do, Mama. She could help Lizard with streamers, or Uncle Jamie with the glitter wands, or Sierra with the soundproofing, or—” She looked to her sisters for more suggestions.

  Beth’s brain was practically shaking.

  Nell felt her temper firing up. Easy welcome streamed from her girls—and Beth was reacting like she was under machine-gun fire. She touched Ginia’s shoulder, trying to get mama bear back on the leash. “Those are all good ideas. Why don’t you go grab some cookies?” She added a gentle mental shove behind the words, and this time her triplets caught the unsaid message.

  Three subdued girls made their way into the house. Nell tried to resist the urge to kick at the woman who had deflated their everyday joy. “They’re excited about the party. Sorry if they were a bit overwhelming.” Her next sentence steamed out of its own accord. “Most people who come here for training want to be included in our lives.”

  “I’m very tired.” Beth’s words were barely audible. “I need to go now.”

  Failure loomed large. Stirred up as she was, Nell reached out, trying to stall its landing—and jerked back as an agitated witch flinched from her touch.

  “I’m sorry.” The words were tight and totally lacking in emotion, not at all a match for the distraught mind behind them. “I don’t like to be touched by strangers. And I don’t like parties. I’m… Coming here was a poor decision.” She stood, on legs that weren’t entirely steady.

  Nell jammed her hands into her lap and wondered what the hell else to reach out with. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve made a total mess of your first lesson.” And lessons seemed to be all Beth cared about.

  Distant eyes looked off into the trees. And then her trainee turned to go. “I don’t think you can help me.”

  It sounded very final.

  -o0o-

  Lauren was fairly certain she’d never seen Nell Walker look ashamed. But she looked that way now.

  Nell sat on the couch in Witches’ Lounge, an ignored cookie in her hand, and radiated a mix of angst, regret, confusion, and self-flagellation.

  “I totally blew it.” Nell looked up, eyes bleak. “You told us what she needed, and I didn’t listen.”

  It wasn’t often that the core of Witch Central got shaky. Nell had been born strong, and being Aervyn’s mother had only made her tougher. Lauren sat down on the couch and passed over the coffee. It wasn’t a case of not listening—Nell still didn’t really understand.

  And Lauren had no idea how to fix that. “One step at a time. Let’s wait for Moira so you don’t have to repeat yourself. She should be here any minute.”

  The timing sucked. Sophie was in the middle of a particularly tricky potion and had looked rather green at the thought of leaving Lizzie in charge. And Nat was napping with an exhausted Kenna on her chest.

  “Impatient Americans.” Moira landed with a tea cup in her hand and a plate of treats nestled in her skirts. “A good story blooms in the retelling, and Aaron had fresh scones in the oven.”

  Lauren didn’t miss her concerned glance at the woman who had summoned them.

  “This isn’t a good story.” Nell’s voice was as flat as her mind. “I’ve been training witches for what, fifteen years?”

  “Oh, longer than that, my dear.” Moira handed out scones and a bright green jelly that smelled like Christmas. “You’ve always had a talent for bringing out the magic in others, ever since you were a little one.”

  “I got Beth exactly nowhere. We clashed over a simple fire globe for ten minutes, wedged in between my son’s supersonic drum disaster and my daughters presuming she wanted herding like every other witch they’ve ever met.”

  Lauren tried not to wince. That wasn’t exactly a slow introduction to Witch Central.

  “Well, your home can be a mite overwhelming,” said Moira carefully.

  “It can. And I know it, and I invited her into the fray anyhow, even after Lauren gave us really clear warning.” Nell’s frustration puffed out over her coffee. “But she couldn’t even handle sitting in the back yard with no kiddos in sight. Something about the grass—it was hard to read anything over her agitation.”

  Damn. Grass drove Jacob crazy, too. “It’s possible she finds some of the normal sights and sounds of life overstimulating. Lots of kids with autism do.” And the Walker household, even in its quiet moments, wasn’t exactly normal.

  “Even grass?” Nell looked totally perplexed, lost in a forest of words that made no sense.

  And there were so many possible trees. Every person with autism was different. Lauren leaned forward, trying to figure out where to start. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know.” Nell’s mind was coated in forlorn guilt. “She’s a challenge to read, and I was pretty upset. Trying not to scratch at her for failing to love my girls instantly.”

  “What happened with the girls?” Moira frowned, ready to defend her lovelies.

  “They asked her to help with the party.” Nell’s voice was quiet, but her mind was nearly growling, a mama bear ready to take a swing. “She reacted like they’d shot her or something.”

  The hurt under the anger slammed into Lauren’s head. Frack. She’d asked about the wrong witch first—the one right in front
of her wasn’t okay. To Nell, Beth’s reactions had felt like rejection—of Witch Central, and of her girls. Spears to the heart.

  Six months as Devin’s wife told her what to do. She leaned forward, took Nell’s hands in hers, and let the love show in her eyes. When you were dealing with a Sullivan who hurt, you healed the heart first.

  “Damn, don’t do that.” Nell leaned back and closed her eyes.

  And now the heart would be able to listen.

  Nell sighed. “I just… she’s already shaky, and somehow she found the courage to come out here anyhow. And I messed up.”

  Lauren tried to choose her words carefully—the line between fragile and different was a murky one, and they weren’t all on the same side of it here. “I don’t know Beth very well, but when I work with kids on the autism spectrum, there are a lot of things that look like defiance, or selfishness, or a lack of interest.”

  “Okay.” The confused look was back. “But they’re not?”

  “Sometimes.” Lauren smiled. “We all feel that way sometimes. But more often, they’re a kid who can’t handle the world very well, or the situation they’re in.” She tried to channel Nat’s gentleness. “It’s possible Beth was just overloaded by sunny skies and grass under her feet and your very wonderful children, and not able to consider what you were offering her.”

  It took a while, but the mama-bear edge to Nell’s mind finally ebbed. “Shit.”

  That about covered it.

  “It’s not very often you step wrong, my dear.” Moira’s brisk voice had them both looking up in surprise. “But it’s a rare misstep that can’t be fixed. Surely you can try again tomorrow.”

  Lauren hid her grin—so much for letting Nell wallow in self-pity.

  “I can’t.” Nell’s voice was calmer now, but her concern was mounting. “She’s ready to leave, and much as I’d like to be the person to fix it—” She paused, digging for words. “We don’t mesh well. She sees things very differently than I do. Approaches magic very differently.”

  “You’ve dealt with difficult trainees.”

  Lauren frowned—Moira wasn’t letting Nell off this particular hook.

  “I know, but this was more than difficult. My instincts were way off base with her. I’d like to try again.” Nell held up a hand to ward off any protest. “I need to try again. But not now. She needs someone better able to read her or she’s going to board the next flight back to Chicago.”

  “Well, then.” Moira looked over at Lauren, eyes twinkling. “It seems I’ve heard that you’re a fine witch in a tight negotiation.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes as the swift moves of a master meddler neatly fell into place. Nobody out-negotiated the Irish. “She might find a sweet old lady a more welcome messenger.”

  The twinkles doubled. “And I’ll drop in for a wee visit as soon as you tell me that’s a good idea.”

  Yup. Outflanked by a tea-drinking septuagenarian. “I’ll talk with her.”

  “Make it fast.” Nell was back to looking forlorn. “I really do think she might leave.”

  Moira patted her knee. “You, my dear, should go have a chat with your brother. Perhaps a small lesson or two with him would help bring our Beth some of what she wants.”

  “Jamie?” Nell frowned. “You think he’s the right choice? Isn’t she pretty unhappy with him?”

  “Aye.” Moira smiled. “That would be why he’s the right choice. Even at his worst, he brought out the magic for her.” She paused, sipping her tea. “He’s not nearly at his worst now.”

  Nell snorted, amused for the first time since she’d arrived.

  Lauren thought it through. And hoped one day to be half as wise as the woman picking scone crumbs off her knee.

  Chapter 7

  It was hard to acknowledge a mistake—especially one that had been calling to you for almost two years.

  Beth walked the slightly dusty lanes of the high school track, appreciating its comforting sameness, loop after loop.

  She was used to new experiences feeling wrong, one of the side effects of having a strange brain in the normal world. But when Jamie Sullivan had visited Chicago, she’d touched something very special and very right. A magic more powerful and tangible than anything she’d ever known.

  Magic freed.

  And nowhere in Berkeley had she found that same rightness.

  The pressure of strange people and strange faces—those were just part of being Aspie. But magic here had forceful undercurrents—and she didn’t like it.

  And if she was honest, the undercurrents had been there in Jamie’s visit as well. There had been scorn for a decade of work and practice. An arrogance born of superior power. A man sure he knew the right way to do magic.

  Nell’s magic lesson had come with those same seeds of scorn and arrogance. A dismissal of different. And it was hard for Beth’s different soul not to take that very personally.

  But perhaps they had some right to the arrogance—the magic here was undeniably impressive. Beth’s feet beat the track faster now, trying to work through her brain’s need to consider both sides of the scale. Her heart simply wanted to blame.

  They had amazing power. Even now, her fingers itched to touch such magic. But she didn’t fit in this world of the witching elite. As a woman, or as a witch.

  “Can I join you on your walk?” Footsteps fell in beside hers.

  It was very tempting just to ignore. To tune out the world that kept trying to push in. Beth wrapped her fingers around the pendant at her neck. Ten years ago, she’d made Liri a promise. To have and to hold—and to stay open to the world that made those things possible.

  She glanced over at her unwelcome visitor. “I’m going in circles.”

  Lauren smiled. “I can see that.”

  There didn’t appear to be any judgment. “I find it soothing.”

  Lauren nodded slowly. “I can feel that too.”

  “You can join me.” Beth started on her next circuit of the track. “But my thoughts aren’t very friendly right now.”

  They walked half the loop in silence. Lauren peeled off a sweater, tying the arms around her waist. “Care to share them?”

  More steps, side by side. Easy and quiet. No pressure. The gift of a slow conversation. Something inside Beth unclenched just a little. “I was thinking about the arrogance of this place and the people in it.”

  Stark words. Unvarnished truth. The Aspie way.

  “It can feel that way.”

  Beth deeply appreciated the even tone in Lauren’s voice. No mystery, no emotions to decode. “It doesn’t feel that way to you?”

  “Occasionally, especially at the beginning.” Lauren smiled. “I married into that arrogance.”

  Awkwardness slammed into Beth’s chest. She hadn’t known.

  “Jamie is a triplet. His brother Devin is my husband, and his ego is more than capable of over-inflating on occasion.”

  “I’m sorry.” The weight on her chest had lightened some, but discomfort still crawled under her skin. “I thought you’d only been here for a year or two.”

  “Yes. And Lizard’s been here even less. Witch Central has a strong gravitational pull.” Lauren looked over with wise eyes. “Does that worry you?”

  “No.” Beth felt the other side of the scale insisting on its turn. “Well, yes. I won’t be pulled here—Chicago is my home.” She walked, staying an even inch away from the line of white and trying to find words that wouldn’t offend. “But I think maybe it’s part of what makes me too different to be accepted here.”

  “I heard it was a rough training session.”

  Beth frowned—warm empathy pushed gently from Lauren, oddly easy to understand. “Are you using mind magic?”

  “Yes.” Lauren sounded surprised. “I’m not in your head at all. I’m just amplifying my emotions to make them a little easier for you to read.”

  Another gift. From an almost-stranger. “Liri does that for me when she can. I know it’s very hard work. Thank you.”


  “It would be difficult magic for her,” said Lauren quietly. “She must love you very much.”

  She did—so very much. And remembering it steadied Beth. “Maybe it’s not so difficult for you. But I still appreciate it. How did you know it would help me?”

  “I work with an amazing woman at a center for children with autism. She uses this amplifying of emotions to help her kids learn to interpret feelings. I volunteer there sometimes with a little boy named Jacob.”

  Lauren’s love for a little autistic boy was obvious. “You use mind magic to help him?”

  “Some.” Lauren’s grin flashed. “And pillow fights, and a very silly game of All Fall Down.”

  “Play therapy can be very helpful for those of us with autistic brains.” Beth struggled for words for what she wanted to say. “You love him. It matters.”

  “He loves me. That matters too.”

  Beth touched the pendant at her neck. How many times had Liri said those same words over the years, until she’d been well and truly convinced of them? “Autism doesn’t make us love any less. It just makes it harder to show.”

  “I know.”

  Acceptance. It warmed something in Beth the sun hadn’t been able to reach.

  “You would know what it is to feel awkward—like you’ve taken a wrong step, said the wrong thing.” Lauren’s words were careful now.

  “Yes.” Every day of her life.

  “I just spent an hour with a woman who is very upset with herself because she knows how badly she stepped wrong with you.”

  It took Beth a moment to connect the dots. Nell Walker was upset? “She seemed… fine.” Not that her skills at reading “fine” were worth much.

  “She has a son.” Lauren’s words took on the wandering intonation of someone about to tell a story. “A very special boy with immense power. The kind that puts him in danger on a daily basis. Something could so easily go wrong.”

  It was hard to fathom. The old texts were full of magic and danger, but they’d seemed like only stories. “Is he really so powerful?”