A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,30

better answer than Nan's confused shrug and muttering about pixies in the computer.

A quick spoonful of stew, and then the litany continued. "Aislin and Lucas aren't witches yet, but Gran thinks they might be, because twins often are, and they like to be cuddled a lot. And Adam likes to be outside a lot, and we all know what that means."

Moira smiled. "It might only mean that he likes to be outside."

Cass listened to the easy banter and the cataloguing of powers sitting around the table, fascinated by what it said of the place and the people who lived here.

And tried not to ask about the man who tantalized her most.

Once upon a time, Lizzie's run-on conversations had been enough to tip Marcus's brain off its axis in two minutes flat. And then, just like all the other intrusions that were a part of life in Fisher's Cove, he'd gotten used to it.

But tonight, her chatter was tilting his mind again.

Not the words she said - but the ease with which she said them. In front of a stranger. Lizzie wasn't an entirely unrestrained chatterbox. If she spoke this easily of magic, there could only be one reason.

The woman with the green eyes and the mind bent on living was a witch.

And she tilted things far less rational than his brain.

He listened to Lizzie's carefree introduction of the magical powers at the table. Her guesses as to the babies' future powers, her easy, childish summary of Mike's phenomenal metallurgical talents. And waited for her to get to what he most wanted to know, caution warring with some reckless gene he'd never known he possessed.

Evan was supposed to have gotten that one.

He could hear his brother laughing in the distance.

Lizzie glanced at him, eyes full of mischief. "Uncle Marcus is our grumpy witch. He makes storms and stuff, and he can read our minds but he's supposed to have good manners about that, and Gran says he's going to be a decent earth witch someday if he ever bothers to practice."

Moira's delighted laughter blended with more controlled snickers from the rest of the table.

The requisite scowl required very little effort. "I've the earth powers of a gadfly, youngling."

"Not anymore." Lizzie grinned at him, doubling down on her position. "You've been blooming flowers all over the village. Sean and Kevin couldn't do that, and Gran can only do it these days because the flowers love her so much."

"Lizzie." Sophie's words were a quiet warning.

"She's right." Moira's voice lacked any incrimination. "My powers wane, and anyone who tries to pretend they don't does me no favors. I've lived a long life and used my small powers well. I've nothing to be ashamed of, and much to be proud of."

It occurred to Marcus, fighting off a sudden lump in his throat, that the opposite was true of his own life.

And then Morgan reached for his roll, and he remembered how much his life had changed.

Cass was watching him, eyes and mind curious. "The daffodils - they're yours?"

He was capable of creating a class-three storm - and she wanted to know about his flowers. Marcus pulled off a small piece of roll for his daughter. "Morgan likes them." It came out more gruffly than he intended.

And irked him to no end that even for a moment, he'd wanted to impress her.

"They're lovely." Her smile did things to his already off-kilter innards. "I froze my hands off touching their petals when I arrived."

That was all he needed - another female in his life who lost her common sense over a few winter blooms. "Only an idiot forgets their gloves in this weather."

She only laughed. "I've been called worse."

Only by fools. She moved through the world with an ease that invited kinship, not derision. "It seems you're not a fire witch, then." He left the rest unspoken - somehow, pride wouldn't let him entirely mimic a seven-year-old.

She shook her head, scooping more stew from the pot. "Not much of a witch at all, really. I feel vibrations from the rocks."

He squinted - that sounded like New Age mumbo jumbo, not magic.

Mike looked a lot less skeptical. "You feel the mineral formations, or the rocks themselves?"

Cass blinked. "I don't know, exactly. My nan always said it was the rocks speaking to me, but I don't think that was meant to be a scientific explanation."

"Hmm." Mike scooped up the last of the rolls at his end of the table. "If you'd like to work together some time, I'd love