She scrunched up her face one more time-and then an explosion of major proportions rocked her lower half.
Marcus hadn’t been born yesterday. Anyone stuck in Fisher’s Cove for the last two months knew that babies pooped with a vengeance.
Very carefully, he shifted his hands away from the danger zone.
Time to give her back to the experts. They could hardly blame him that she’d picked 5 a.m. to empty her bowels.
Moira smiled into her tea as shadows moved in her garden. Either the faeries were dancing in her flowers again, or a tall man with a baby in his arms was coming for a visit.
She’d be fine with either.
The shadows moved toward her back entry. Marcus and Morgan, then. She got up to pour another cup of tea-her nephew wasn’t a morning witch.
Her back carefully to the door, she waited until the latch closed behind him. No point making it easy for him to run. “The best of the morning to you, then. Scones will be a minute in the oven yet.”
“She’s filled her diaper.”
Moira tucked her grin away before she turned around. “Well, and good morning to you too, nephew.”
He held out the baby at arms’ length. Carefully.
Silly man. Moira picked up his cup of tea and moved toward the table where her cup still beckoned. “You’ll be needing that bag of supplies we sent home with you.” Not entirely true-she always had a nappy or two tucked away-but time he started to learn the basic rules of caring for a wee one.
He looked like she’d asked him to stroll across the ocean barefoot and bring her back a nice Irish cuppa.
Trying desperately not to giggle, Moira bent over her tea cup, inhaling deeply. “You’ll be wanting a fresh diaper and some of the wet cloths in the purple pouch.” Baby paraphernalia had come a long way since her day. She’d stitched whimsies onto the purple wipes pouch herself.
“Bag.” The item in question slammed down on the table.
“Baby.” Marcus towered above her, holding out the tiny girl with curious eyes. “Anything else you need?”
Moira knew a key moment in battle when she met one. “A bit more honey for my tea would be nice, but that can wait until you’ve gotten Morgan a new nappy.”
“I don’t change diapers.” Said with the finality of the Grim Reaper.
“You do now.” Her nephew wasn’t the only witch who could use that tone.
It took a very long time, but Marcus finally blinked. “You change every baby in the village. Why not this one?”
Victors could be gracious-and whether he knew it or not yet, this battle was over. “I do. And I’ll be happy to help you with her care from time to time.” She tried to find words that would make sense to his agile, narrow-minded brain. “When you train a witchling, do you take care of all the magic for them?” She knew the answer-few trainers were tougher on their charges than her nephew.
“No.” The answer came grudgingly. Followed by a small light of defiance. “But you assume I want to learn how to change a diaper.”
Ah, how she enjoyed a dance of wits. “Not at all. I assume it’s a skill you need to acquire. There’s a world of difference.”
“Caring for babies is women’s work.”
For that, he deserved a cup of tea poured on his head-but sometimes the best revenge wasn’t the most obvious one. Moira knew her village, her neighbors, and her nephew. “Fine then. Feel free to find a woman who agrees with you.” She picked up her tea, willing the twinkle out of her eyes. “I’d say you have a couple more minutes before wee Morgan becomes quite unhappy with her current state of affairs.”
She’d have sworn two lavender eyes twinkled right back at her.
Dark brown ones snapped with fear-tinged fury. “What is this, some kind of twisted revenge?”
No, my sweet, wounded boy. Moira set the thought free, trusting his mind would be unable to ignore it. I believe it’s a long-needed gift.
She held her breath until Marcus stormed out, oddly contented babe still in his arms. And considered it a fine start to her morning.
Nell looked at the Taj Mahal of hotels dominating the landscape in front of them and glanced over at her brother. “She lives in a casino?”
Jamie grinned. “No. A few blocks away. Maybe Daniel thinks we should try the slots first.”
Great. A Realm taxi driver with a sense of humor-just what they needed. Nell picked up her phone to text her husband, and laughed as a nine-year-old face came onscreen instead. “Sorry, Mama. Aervyn wanted to help, and he missed a little.”
Even better-apparently they were letting five-year-olds drive now. “Uncle Jamie will practice with him later. Can you beam us to Adele’s offices now?”
Mia nodded, full of repressed humor. “They’re really sparkly.”
That was quite the statement from the Queen of Glitter. “I’ll tell Uncle Jamie to put on his sunglasses. Beam us over, Scotty.”
“Beaming.” Mia looked down-and Nell felt the odd suck of a Realm transport spell.
When she popped out the other end, the first thing she did was grab her brother’s sunglasses. “Holy hell.” “Sparkly” was an entirely inadequate adjective for the bedazzled view.
“It takes work to out-glitter Las Vegas,” said an amused voice over her shoulder. Nell spun around-and found herself nose-to-nose with gold lamé.
She’s not surprised to see us. Jamie’s mindsend was cautious, but impressed.
“Course I’m not.” Adele nodded at the glitzy woman standing by the door and headed into the office building of Underwood International. “You’re smart people, and I’m not hard to find.”
Nell slammed down her mental barriers. “You mindread?”
Gold shoulders shrugged and angled toward the private elevator. “Only when someone with decent power is being sloppy.” Adele eyed them both. “And that’s the last advantage I give up on my turf.”
Message received, loud and clear. Adele Underwood was a force to be reckoned with. A very shiny force.
Which meant it was time for an apology. “Sorry. Witches who live in Berkeley shouldn’t throw stones or make fast judgments based on appearances.” Nell held out her hand. “We have a mystery to solve, and we’d really appreciate your help.”
“You’d have had it anyhow.” Adele’s eyes outsparkled her rings. “But since you’re going to play nicely, I won’t mess with you for a few days before I give it.”
She could have done it-that was abundantly clear. Nell nodded. “You’re a witch. One who can do more than just the occasional fire globe.”
“Not much more.” Adele ushered them both out of the elevator onto carpet four inches thick. “A stitch of mindreading, intermittent empathy, a little precog. And occasionally the dead talk to me.”
“Not what your bio says.” Jamie paused, taking in the gold-plated view of Adele Underwood’s private office. “You peddle snake oil.”
Oh, boy. Clearly her brother wasn’t quite ready to extend his respects to a fellow witch.
“I don’t.” Adele gestured to two chairs. “I used to work the customer service hotline at a telephone company. You wouldn’t believe the number of people who called just to chat. People need someone to talk to. I provide that.”
“For $4.99 a minute.”
Ah. Now Nell knew why Jamie was still circling the wagons. He’d done most of the digging on Underwood International.
“For the first three minutes. Rest of the call’s free. Up to an hour.” Adele dropped into a facing chair. “I assumed a skilled investor like yourself would have read the fine print.”
Nell’s eyes snapped away from the windows. Jamie invested very quietly. Adele had done some digging of her own-deep and fast. “You don’t build this kind of empire charging fifteen dollars an hour.”
“Nope.” Adele poured coffee into three cups. She winked at Jamie. “I have some investments. They do pretty well. This here is all just pretty wrapping so folks feel like they’re getting their money’s worth when they call to talk to my people.”