few sparse lines - designed to exert a gentle pulling force. "I'll be damned. You're a little tugboat." Pulling where, she had no idea.
Intrigued now, she wrote a couple of new code lines of her own. And threw up a firewall, just to be safe. "What are you tugging on, then?"
She hooked her lines into the tracking bug. Hit run. And jerked her fingers up as the keyboard gave them a sharp yank.
Her firewall frizzled, fried by whatever had just reached out and tried to grab her.
Cass leaped out of her chair, putting several feet between her and her possessed laptop. Well, damn. The freaking bug was trying to pull her. Adrenaline surged in her veins, the Celtic fighter awakened.
And then she heard the rocks' soothing croon.
The little bug from afar meant no harm.
Cass glared. Since when had the rocks been on speaking terms with Internet ghosties?
The rocks had no answer for that.
One of the true pleasures of old age was watching grown women you'd known since birth squirm like four-year-olds. Moira pushed the glass a little closer to its intended recipient.
Nell eyed the innocent tumbler like it held witchbane. "What's in it?"
"I've no idea, my dear." Moira laughed, reaching for the second glass with a green silly straw. It could only be meant for her. "Some sort of dessert cocktail. Aaron made them for us - he says the inn guests have been enjoying them."
And Aaron was rather particular about keeping herbs, potions, and mischief-making small healers out of his kitchen.
Nell sipped, and her eyes brightened. "It tastes like brownies in a glass. Raspberry ones."
It most certainly did. Moira made a mental note to bloom more raspberries for their industrious innkeeper. Lizzie's indoor bush was doing marvelously well this winter, aided and abetted by several witches who adored raspberries.
Sophie, done shedding her dripping outerwear, took a seat at the table, reaching for the third glass. "I was wondering why the bush was empty this morning."
Crack-of-dawn berry raids had been one of the more entertaining parts of March so far. Moira grinned. Old ladies were up very early. "I'll go bloom a few more after we sit and talk a while."
Nell snorted. "No need. I brought Aervyn."
That would certainly take care of it. "You might send him round to visit Marcus too." Her nephew could use a cheerful male influence in his life. And maybe Aervyn could make some of the carrot stash disappear - the witchlings were complaining.
"I thought Marcus was messing with my tracking spell." Nell took another sip of raspberry goodness. "But he claims innocence. Whoever it was tried to activate the fetching code last night."
That didn't sound like her nephew. For one, he wouldn't have failed. "What happened?"
"Dunno." Nell shrugged. "But I set a snare that probably zapped someone's channels a little. Were any of your witchlings cranky this morning?"
"No." They had four healers in the village - even minor channel shock would have been detected within the hour.
Sophie shook her head slowly. "Even Marcus was happy this morning. Grew some daffodils for Morgan."
"Oh, really." Moira leaned back, considering. That wasn't tricky magic, but it required a fair dollop of earth power. "I didn't know he had that in him."
"Neither did he." Sophie's wry tone didn't hide her large affection for their dour witch. "Someone hasn't exactly been practicing with his new power."
"He hardly had a sneeze's worth." Moira looked down at her own hands - some days, she had little more than that left herself.
"Well, he's got more now," said Sophie gently, also hearing what hadn't been said. "How much more, I don't know. It took him two tries to pull up a daffodil, but a little practice might improve that."
Nell snickered. "I think he's getting some right now."
They both followed her gaze out the window to Marcus in his hulking winter black, squatted down at the side of the road. And Morgan, a tiny sprite in day-glow green raingear and purple boots, standing beside him, signing for "more."
They could read his strained patience from here. And even Moira's eyes could see a breadcrumb trail of daffodils running all the way from the inn, bright faces dancing in the winter rain.
Ah, small children could go where even the angels feared to tread. "It will be good for him."
"Maybe." Sophie gazed on their sudden gardener a moment longer. "It's been a long winter. He's restless."
"Aye." And to her way of thinking, that was a very good thing. Moira smiled and pulled out a treasured bit of