“Only at night.” Marcus tossed an incantation cube in the direction of a pile of rocks and hummed in approval as they helpfully rearranged themselves into a tower. “We’ll spend the days in Fisher’s Cove and sleep here.”
And most of the citizens of Realm were blowing all their game points to help him do just that. Jamie was catching on fast, but his head was having trouble wrapping around a few of the salient details. “And you need a castle for this?”
Marcus rolled his eyes, alight with humor. “I asked for assistance. It was perhaps a mistake. The crew is rather zealous.”
They certainly were. But it was the first part of what he’d said that had Jamie’s attention. Marcus’s high mountain keep was the fanciest private zone in Realm. And instead of retreating there, he’d brought Morgan to the very heart of Realm’s communal strength-and asked for help. That wasn’t the act of a crusty old bachelor witch.
It was the act of a father.
One whose girl-child was about to have the fanciest castle in Realm. Jamie turned, surveying the hive of activity. “How can I help?”
Humor fled, and in its place came the battle-worn general. “Help Ginia with the wards. I need the best protection spellcoding can buy.”
Well, you didn’t kick a guy into action and then rain on his first big idea, even if it was re-landscaping half your virtual world. Jamie saluted, and looked around for Warrior Girl. He had a couple of ideas for that layering spell.
And then Kevin pushed a wheelbarrow full of bricks by, and Jamie knew he had one thing do to first. He looked back over at Marcus. Have you thanked Kevin?
The general was back to throwing incantation spells at walls. What?
Jamie resisted the urge to bonk him over the head with a mental two-by-four. Clearly, plenty of crusty-old-bachelor brain was still alive and kicking. He’s a kid about to explode with pride that he brought something important to the table. Try something new. Thank him.
Marcus looked at Kevin’s retreating back and scowled. And what magic tells you this?
Not magic, replied Jamie wryly. Experience. I was kid brother to a magical menace a fair amount like Sean.
His companion snorted. “You didn’t have a fraction of Kevin’s common sense.”
Probably true. “I had more than Devin, though.” Most days.
“Doubtful.” But Marcus was looking at Kevin with new eyes. “Living in the shadows, is he?”
It occurred to Jamie, far too late, that there had been another wild brother once. One with a forty-three-year-long shadow.
Building towers was exhausting, even if you had fairly unlimited magic at your disposal.
Marcus walked a quiet hillside overlooking Realm, a transport cube in his pocket. Morgan was asleep in her new castle, and there was a bevy of tired coders eating in the main hall.
He’d needed peace more than food-and real warriors didn’t eat pizza.
A wisp of long-forgotten memory tickled his mind. Evan, disgruntled in his Superman cloak and very wet pants, insisting that warriors didn’t eat turnips. Or maybe they’d been pirates that day-the cape and wet pants weren’t much of a clue.
Mom had laughed-and made them eat the turnips anyhow. Five-year-old warrior pirates just didn’t have that much pull in Fisher’s Cove, no matter how big and fierce they thought themselves.
Evan would have loved the many battles of Realm. Hell-he’d have been leading most of the charges.
Marcus stopped, the twisting in his gut all too familiar. There was a reason he left those memories buried in the sludge of time. It did him no good to remember.
Scaredy witch.
Evan’s favorite taunt. Marcus scowled as the words floated up in his head. I’m not five anymore. And any old memories that thought he might be could just go back into the moldy boxes of his brain. He had a very adult problem to solve, and thoughts of pirates and turnips were hardly going to help.
Turnips still suck.
Great. Now the moldy boxes were trying to have a conversation. Turnips are good for you. As were any number of other vegetables that most witches turned up their noses at. Magic can’t be powered on cookies alone.
You sound like Mom.
Yes, he did. And that was a sad commentary on the inner workings of his mind. How about we get off the topic of turnips, hmm? If he had to have a conversation with himself, there had to be a whole universe of more interesting topics.
Kissed a girl yet?
Marcus stopped dead, fist ready to punch his brother in the nose-before he remembered he was forty-three years too late. Hecate’s hells, what had been in the healer goo? His head had enough to do without imaginary figments of Evan.
Kissing’s fun.
Marcus snorted. The last thing you kissed was a dead fish. On a dare-one that had somehow managed to include both of them. The genius idea of Mary Margaret Higgins, age seven. You killed my dating life forever.
It seemed wrong that his own head thought that hysterically funny.
You didn’t stick around long enough to end up being the teenage boy who once kissed a fish. Mary Margaret’s memory had been very long.
She’s waking up.
That made no sense-until the transport spellcube in his pocket activated.
Morgan was awake. And it was long past time to leave memories of turnips and fish-faced girls well enough alone.
Nell climbed into the hot pool and smiled at its three occupants. “I’m getting really used to this.” Hopping on a transport spell and beaming across the continent had become an everyday occurrence.
And one she treasured, especially when there was a hot soak and good company at the other end.
Sophie slid over and patted a rock. “We sent all the witchlings to the beach with chocolate cake and told them not to come back for at least an hour.”
Nell smiled at Elorie, lounging in relaxed bliss over in the corner. “Got five minutes away from your babies, did you?” Moms of multiples didn’t get very many of those.
“They’re napping in Realm.” Elorie opened one eye. “All the babies are. Five of them, lined up in little bassinets.”
That was news, and a miracle of fairly major proportions. “Kenna too?”
“Even Adam fell asleep.” Sophie shook her head, laughing softly. “Whatever Marcus did, I hope he can repeat it.”
Marcus Buchanan, baby whisperer. It was entirely possible the end of the world was near. “I hear he made a really big mess of Realm.” With her trio of daughters as his happy minions.
“He did. I wanted to help.” Elorie sounded halfway to nap land herself. “But it was mostly coding they were doing.”
Coding wasn’t Elorie’s forte. She had the much rarer skill of effectively herding witches. “You’ve harnessed the forces of Net magic-Marcus only tapped into what you’ve already created.” Nell grinned and reached for a sandwich. “He lacks your organizational skills, however.”
“So I heard.” The corners of Elorie’s mouth turned up. “I sent Aaron to supervise the kitchen. Apparently Marcus’s castle staff isn’t used to company.”
Sophie chuckled quietly. “I believe it was Mia and Shay who coded his new staff. Their attire was rather… purple.”
That much she’d heard. Jamie had checked in while cheerfully de-spelling the new moats of alligators and fire-breathing dragons-her youngest son had gotten a tad overenthusiastic.
The real reason for Jamie’s call, however, had been to report on the part that had Realm abuzz-Marcus had been seen smiling. More than once. “Sounds like everyone was more than happy to help.” Ever since the creation of Moira’s Meadow, Realm had been far more than a game-much to the delight of its player legions.