A Celtic Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,39

the rocks.

Nell's eyes clouded - and then she caught up. You're a very sneaky witch.

Moira only smiled. Not nearly as sneaky as whatever force in the universe had managed to crack her pool.

"Come on, Uncle Marcus - it's an emergency!" Kevin tap-danced on the edge of the porch, a rare level of urgent in his voice.

Marcus scooped up Morgan, still bundled in fifteen layers from her morning walk, and pulled the door shut behind them. He hurried to catch up with his scurrying guide. "Who's hurt?"

"No one. Sorry." Kevin slowed down, looking shamefaced. "It's not that kind of emergency. There's a leak in Aunt Moira's pool. Mike says one of the rocks wiggled and we need all the earth witches pronto."

Hecate's hells. Marcus scowled down at the unfortunate messenger. "I have about three whiffs of earth magic." Until last winter, he'd been entirely unaware he had any. "I can barely bloom a flower." Perhaps a little more than that now, but still.

Kevin looked concerned. "Mike said everyone."

"Then tell him to send for help from the west." Marcus turned in the gate of the inn, sighing. "I'll go see if I can help with Adam." Both his parents were earth witches of some repute - they might actually be useful.

"Lizzie's got Adam, and Aaron said you can drop off Morgan, too." Kevin hopped from one leg to the other and then held out his arms. "Here, I'll take her. You're kinda slow."

Marcus sighed again. Why did the young ones always think life had to be negotiated at light speed? He handed Morgan over and headed for Moira's garden, steps quickening. Maybe Mike needed a full circle to fix whatever had broken - and however loathe he might be to admit it, that pool was the best thing in Fisher's Cove.

He rounded the corner and ran into Sean barreling in from the beach, eyes huge. "What's going on, Uncle Marcus?"

Marcus caught the speedster just before he leaped over the fence. "Jump there and you'll squish Aunt Moira's prize roses." And as he remembered from long-ago experience, her roses were well equipped to fight back.

"Oops." Sean looked mildly abashed. "I guess we should use the gate."

Given that it was only about four feet away, that seemed prudent. Marcus gave the rickety old boards a push and followed Sean through at a somewhat more sedate pace. He could already see the collected group at the pool, and no one looked to be panicking just yet.

Then Mike stepped to the side - and Marcus spied their Irish visitor's dark hair. Loose in the cold wind, her shoulders already hunching up.

Silly woman.

He yanked the thick wool toque off his own head, marched over to the gathered witches, and jammed it down on hers. "Canadian winters require a little more care than whatever you're used to."

The mental reactions of the small group ranged from dismay to giving him a good swift kick in the head. Cass had none of those. She tipped her head, watching him with her murky green eyes. "Thank you for that. Your daughter took a liking to my hat, and I haven't had a chance to replace it yet."

Damnation. Morgan had come home wearing a new one several sizes too big. He'd assumed one of the women of the village had knit it for her. "She doesn't need it - I'll have it back to you as soon as we're done with whatever infernal emergency this is."

"It was a gift, freely given." Now the green eyes chastised. "A bit big just yet, but she'll grow into it. I already have some lovely yarn to knit another."

She knit, she meddled, and she stood her ground.

All wildly undesirable traits in his world, no matter what his innards thought. But the last year had forced some modicum of manners into his life, wanted or not. "I'll apologize, then. And thank you for keeping my girl's ears warm."

It warmed his own overly much when she grinned, clearly forgiving him. Marcus shoved his hands in his pockets and wished for a transport spell. Anywhere else would do.

Anywhere at all.

"Ahem." Mike cleared his throat, clearly amused. "If you two are done discussing wooly hats, perhaps we can get on with things?"

Embarrassment crept farther up Marcus's neck. "What exactly has gone wrong?"

"A wee crack." Moira spoke up from closest to the pool. "One of the foundation rocks has shifted a stitch, according to young Sean here."

The boy in question looked fairly sure of himself. Then again, he usually did -