“It was a very nice bit of magic,” said Moira, moving slowly around the pool refilling tea cups. “Morgan has a delightful castle now, and Ginia did a beautiful job with the warding, mixing new magics and old.”
That was an interesting tidbit-Moira was the protector guardian of ancient warding spells. Jamie had also passed on a visual of the new castle gardens-resplendent in cornflowers, lavender, and a host of other things Nell hadn’t recognized. She was pretty sure the choices weren’t accidental. “I hear you directed the planting crew.”
“Not exactly.” Sophie snorted. “She threw us all out and got down on her hands and knees.” She eyed the older woman with interest. “I had no idea you had that many game points stashed away.”
“Mmm.” Moira set down the teapot and sat on a comfortable rock ledge. “I’ve been doing some trading with the new arrivals.”
Nell grinned-she and Jamie had been watching their oldest player’s strategy with interest. New arrivals to the witch-only levels generally had game points to burn-and little or no magic stash. “You’ve been very generous.” In Realm, Moira had strong magic, and she dispensed it with the open heart and canny mind she showed in real life. A few more months for the new players to build strength, and their loyalty to the sweet old lady was going to be a real force to be reckoned with.
The old lady in question chuckled and sipped her tea. “Someone has to keep that daughter of yours on her toes.”
“You’re doing that. I ran amuck of one of your Irish blessing spells the other day.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “It took half an hour and most of my spellcube stash to get out.”
“Well, then.” Moira sniffed primly, but her eyes twinkled. “Clearly you were somewhere you weren’t meant to be. Irish blessings read your heart and behave accordingly.”
Nell hadn’t taken that close a look at the spells Moira had been peddling. Irish blessings were almost all ancient warding spells-and the old magics had some tricky layers. “You’ve figured out how to Net magic a blessing?”
“Aye.” Moira’s eyes were serious now. “It started as a wee idea for the game, but I’m glad of it now. Ginia wove some of them into the barriers around Morgan’s castle. She’s a talented spell weaver, your girl. Takes after her mama.”
Nell blinked. “Ginia’s a spellcaster?”
“Not in the classic sense.” Sophie shook her head and smiled over at Elorie, who had quietly fallen asleep, her head pillowed on a convenient rock. “But just like you weave elemental powers together to cast, Ginia’s got a nice hand with threading Net magic into much older spells.”
She’d missed an awful lot driving Nathan to baseball camp. “It sounds like Morgan is well protected.”
“As well as the best magic and programming in Realm can make her,” said Sophie, quietly fanning her hands through the water. “And word’s gone out to keep any suspected travelers far away from water.”
Nell suspected it was the quietly snoring Elorie who had taken care of that little detail. She frowned, unsure if it was mind power or mama intuition-but another detail was tickling the back of her skull. She frowned, trying to tease out the mental feather. Something about Ginia and spellweaving… “Why use the old magics for the Realm warding? Wouldn’t those be the trickiest to weave with Net power?” Magics had affinities-and old and new seemed like they would be an unstable fit.
“Traveling is old magic.” Moira watched the light fog rising from the water’s surface. “The very oldest, if what we remember from the mists of time is true.”
Now the feather tickled more strongly. “So we need the old wards to keep away the old magic?”
“I believe so.” Old eyes hazed. “I’ve been having dreams. Sparkly rocks and moondust. Signs of ancient portent.”
Sophie frowned. “You scattered shiny pebbles in Morgan’s garden. Sean brought a whole collection of them.”
“I did.” Moira held her teacup close. “They belonged there-my bones knew.”
Nell felt an odd shiver move through her. The wise and difficult magic of the crone always made her feel weird. Mama intuition on steroids.
And the rock thing was a little strange, given her second mission of the afternoon. “I hope Sean didn’t take all of them-Jamie wants some for Aervyn’s training.”
Moira chuckled softly, her eyes back to their normal cheery twinkle. “They aren’t always portents-witches have a simple affection for shiny things, too. I believe our beach can spare a few more.”
Nell leaned back into the warm waters. She’d get on that-right after her muscles melted a little more.
Marcus looked down in disgust. “Lost another one, did you?” Pretty soon all of Fisher’s Cove was going to be carpeted in Morgan’s lost socks. Even Moira’s hand-knit booties didn’t stand a chance-his girl was a sock Houdini.
His girl.
Gods. She flattened him. All it took was a smile, one of her patented trucker burps, or a missing sock.
And she carried a talent with a survival rate worse than your average childhood cancer.
Marcus looked around at the bright, happy flowers and the neat, weathered cottages they decorated, and tried to fight off the terror that stalked him every minute of every day.
An odd sound floated up from his chest region.
Marcus looked down. Pure innocence looked back up at him. And then she grinned, took a deep breath, and blew a raspberry.
Something suspiciously like girly giggles bubbled up in his throat. “Learned a new trick, have you? Bet you can’t do it again.”
Oh, she could. Marcus walked the length of Fisher’s Cove, spellbound, watching wiggly lips blowing one raspberry after the other, interspersed with drooly grins.
“You keep looking down like that, both of you are going to wind up in the ocean.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. Once upon a time, the remote location of Fisher’s Cove had actually prevented tourist witches from dropping by for tea.
Nell fell in beside him and smiled at the baby’s tricks. “She’s young to be doing that-don’t think any of mine mastered it for another couple of months yet.”
Marcus felt a strange sense of pride. “Perhaps she had a better teacher.”
Morgan blew a particularly noisy raspberry and Nell laughed. “I don’t think she agrees with you.”
He ran his finger down Morgan’s nose, just another one of those little things he’d been unable to prevent himself from doing lately.
“Lots of drooling,” said Nell, tickling the toes Morgan insisted on hanging out of every carrier. “Is she getting teeth?”
Teeth? “I have no earthly idea.” And no clue how to check. The Fairy Godfather Manual had made no mention of teeth.
“Just stick a clean finger in her mouth at some point and feel her gums.” Nell bent over to pick up something glittery on the side of the road. “It’s the ones in the front that come in first.”
Why was it that every time he thought he was getting the hang of this baby business, some new wrinkle showed up? “Sounds like a good way to lose a finger.”
Nell laughed. “Just be glad you aren’t nursing.”
Ye gods and little fishes. Marcus wished desperately for brain bleach to erase the images that sprang unbidden into his head. He’d learned about diapers and burping and how to make it through the day without using up his entire shirt collection. But he refused to traumatize his bachelor brain with considerations of baby milk in any form.
A man had to have his standards.
And dammit, now both his companions were clearly laughing at him. He turned down the path to the beach, somewhat annoyed when Nell stayed casually at his side. “Don’t you have things to do?”