Marcus teetered, memory swamping him. His brother, always inventive, had armed some of Aunt Moira’s gardenias with fire power, and they’d been playing flower wars.
A fun game until their owner had walked out her back door and Evan, devilish gleam in his eyes, had taken aim at her skirts. Marcus’s mind-hissed “stop being such a stupid-head” hadn’t deterred his brother in the slightest, but it had left no doubt who the culprits were-in his haste, he’d sprayed the mindsend into every head within two blocks.
It had been the first time they’d met the inside of Aunt Moira’s cauldron. Two scrubbing pads-Evan’s for misuse of magic, and Marcus’s for misuse of the English language.
Stupid-head. Well, if Evan thought he was being every kind of idiot, he could bloody well show up and say so. “I don’t suppose he sent you anything more useful than that?”
Adele shook her head. “He seemed tired.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I got the distinct impression the two of you’d had some kind of argument.”
Marcus snorted. “I can hardly argue with a figment of your imagination.” Throwing a witch temper tantrum on Evan’s beach wasn’t arguing. And he’d meant every word. The mists weren’t getting Morgan, even if they had to spend the next year living in Realm to prevent it.
A ring-laden hand touched his arm gently. “Some advice from a nosy fraud?”
He sighed. Maybe she was a witch after all-they all seemed to feel a need to pelt him with advice he didn’t want.
She waved a hand in the direction of the ramparts, swarming with life. “Spend more time down there and less time up here.”
“I needed time to think.” He didn’t bother to scowl-she seemed immune.
“You need time to live.” Adele’s eyes got all grandmothery and soft. “If there’s something that oversized head of yours is supposed to figure out, it will come to you.”
It sounded oddly like Daniel’s connect-the-dots advice. “You think great insights come while changing poopy diapers, do you?”
Gold-laméd laughter rolled out over Morgan’s castle. “They certainly can. And if that doesn’t work, you could always try scrubbing cauldrons.” She winked. And then she was gone.
Nell crept into the Witches’ Lounge, sliding the door shut behind her, and almost caught Sophie’s hand in the process. Oops.
Holding a finger to her lips, she eased Sophie through the half-open door-and discovered Moira hot on her heels. The moment they were all in, she threw up a soundproofing spell two feet thick. “There, that might buy us half an hour.” Only maybe-as half of the duo that ran Realm, she was in hot demand at the moment.
Sophie winced. “Is it slowing down any?”
“I don’t think so.” Moira seated herself on a comfortable chair, activating a tea spell on her tablet. “I had to chase a flock of orange bunnies out of my cornflowers this morning.”
Furry animals were the least of Nell’s current problems-not everyone setting up camp near Morgan’s castle had Marcus’s coding skills.
Sophie sank gratefully onto the couch. “Kevin’s programming is getting pretty good, if you want to add him to your spell-mishaps team.”
“He’s already been deputized.” Along with every other sane and reasonably competent coder she could find. “And Sean’s organizing a sword fight, which might at least burn enough game points to limit mischief for the rest of the afternoon.” Hard work and hard play-the standard witch recipe for crisis.
Moira’s eyes were gentle. “How’s Jamie doing?”
“Sticking close to Kenna.” Nell’s body still hummed with the fire power she’d poured into the circle. For now, it was doing a decent job of holding the terrible fear at bay. “And Nat’s a burr at his side.”
It had been Nat who’d held Kenna’s lifeless body as Jamie threw all the magic of a full circle after her soul. A beacon of steady love, calling them both home. Nell had never seen a greater act of mama courage.
And then she’d found Nat, several hours later, tucked into a lonely corner and crying a quiet bucket of tears. There were some fears that even the love of Witch Central couldn’t touch.
“We didn’t know,” said Moira softly. “No traveler has ever gone during the day.”
“Or taken anyone else.” Nell felt the all-too-familiar blend of terror and frustration slide over her heart-she had five years of experience with witchlings of exceptional power and magic that didn’t play by the rules.
“The old magics are usually the ones that change the least.” Moira’s voice carried a guilt that twisted through the room like a living thing. “Morgan’s powers…”
Yeah. The garden variety of astral travel was plenty frightening enough. A mutant form seemed like a weight they simply shouldn’t have to bear.
“We can’t crumble.” Sophie levered herself out of the couch, seemingly finding strength in the sheer act of standing. “Marcus is still fighting, and the last thing he needs is the rest of us giving up just because it’s gotten difficult.”
It had gotten a lot more than difficult, but Nell took her point. She and Daniel had raised a family in the shadow of life-threatening magic-and the days went by a lot better if you shoveled the fear into a garbage can and got on with the business of living.
Time to go dispense cookies, hugs, and swords.
Seeking the company of others was new and strange behavior for Marcus Buchanan. He’d wanted the sounds of laughter close by. And a reminder that the fight was never over.
He’d found them in spades.
He looked up and shook his head in wonderment, amusement somehow bubbling up despite the weight on his shoulders. What twelve-year-old boy wandered through the middle of a thirty-person sword fight, his nose buried in a stack of books-and emerged unscathed?
Kevin looked up as he finished crossing the street and grinned. “Aunt Moira taught me how to set a sword-repelling spell.”
A what? Marcus diverted an errant spellcube before it smacked the boy in the head. Or worse, woke the baby sleeping on his chest. “What on earth is that?”
“It’s old Irish housewife magic.” Kevin set down his stack of books on the sad excuse for a table the Realm village bar set outside on sunny days. Morgan’s Castle was temporarily out of food, so business was brisk. “She says you never know when a faerie might decide to throw a teacup at you. Or a frying pan.”
“Sounds like faeries have quite the temper,” said Marcus dryly. And Aunt Moira had quite the imagination.
“So do some witches.” Kevin looked pointedly in Lizzie’s direction. “Are you sure it was a good idea to give her a saber?”
Rather belatedly, but yes, he did. “I armed you and Sean-it only seems fair Lizzie can defend herself, no?” Then again, the witchling in question was currently on top of a good-sized boulder, whacking away at grown men in armor with abandon. Good thing she had nine virtual lives-or however many Jamie had granted her in honor of the day’s battle.
Witches, thumbing their noses at fear. He was making a sizable effort to do the same. Let the dots connect how they might. Marcus waved at the waiter. “Another beer for me, and a lemonade for my young scholar friend.”
Sean would have taken that as an insult, but Kevin grinned, pleased. “I’ve been reading, and I found something. Aunt Moira said you’re the person to ask.”
It was hard to have a civil conversation two feet away from pitched battle, particularly when at least half the participants lacked any weapons training. “Ask about what?”
Kevin’s eyes were very serious now. “Magical affinities. She said you’re our resident expert.”
Indeed. Marcus Buchanan, witch geek. However, he owed young Kevin-without the travelers-live-near-water discovery, there never would have been any Realm haven. Marcus sighed and pulled a transport spellcube out of his rucksack. “Come with me.”