A Hidden Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,10
raised an eyebrow. “What is my favorite color?”
Kevin concentrated.
“No, no, no.” Marcus slammed his hand on the table. “You’re trying far too hard. You need to relax your mind, not clench it up like a fist.”
Elorie rescued her fallen spoon. No one was going to be doing a lot of relaxing if he kept pounding on the table. Well, except for Gran, who was stirring her tea as if nothing had happened. The gentle, calming scent of chamomile wafted over the table. Hmm. Perhaps Gran was doing a little more than just stirring.
Kevin shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Most people have very messy minds. They leave their thoughts hanging out where anyone can see them. Your Aunt Elorie here is worried I’m going to make you cry.”
Kevin looked fascinated. “What else can you see?”
Marcus sat silent until Moira raised her eyebrow. Twice. “You’re curious about why her mind looks blue today. It likely means you have some empathic talent.”
Kevin cocked his head. “Empathic witches see feelings as colors?”
“Isn’t that what I just said, youngling?”
“So Elorie’s sad, then.”
“Obviously.” Marcus didn’t sound the least bit perturbed about her emotional state, and Elorie was rather dismayed her privacy was that easy to invade.
Moira’s spoon clinked in her tea and she spoke pointedly. “Polite mind witches don’t read the thoughts or feelings of others without their permission.”
Marcus grunted. “I’ve never been a polite witch.”
The sound of a giggle shocked everyone. Kevin seemed mortified to discover it had come from his mouth.
Elorie held her breath as Marcus’s scowl deepened, but when he spoke, his tone was relatively civil. “With all these messy minds around, you don’t need to work hard to hear what people think. You only need to open your mind a little, and their thoughts will come to you. Unfortunately.”
Elorie started walking through the steps to bake oatmeal cookies in her mind. Perhaps that would keep her more embarrassing thoughts quiet.
Kevin considered for a moment. “But your mind isn’t messy, so how can I hear your favorite color?”
“You’re a thinking witch.” Marcus nodded grudgingly. “That’s good. You can’t hear my mind unless I want you to. Right now, I’m sending that thought out toward you. I want to see if you can open your mind enough to hear it.”
“How do I do that?”
“It will require some actual effort on your part. Magic is hard work.”
Kevin scowled. “You just told me not to work so hard. Training’s hard work, too, and I need your help.”
Elorie looked on in shock, wishing she’d ever shown that kind of guts, and Gran hid a smile behind her cup of tea.
Marcus nodded shortly and tapped the book on the table. “Pretend you’re reading, where your brain is focused, but ready to learn something new.”
Kevin thought for a moment, and then closed his eyes. Moments later, they popped open. “Orange!”
Elorie tried not to let her disappointment show. Marcus never wore anything but black. There was no chance his favorite color was something as bright and cheerful as orange.
“Not bad. Perhaps you’ll make a decent witch one day.”
Uncle Marcus’s favorite color was orange?
Marcus picked up a handful of berries. “Now, tell me what else you heard.”
Kevin blushed and looked down at the table. “I didn’t mean to.”
Marcus snorted. “My mind isn’t messy. This is a test, my young witchling. A decent mind witch should have picked up more than just a color.”
Straightening his shoulders, Kevin answered. “You have an itch on the back of your neck. You wish Elorie put raisins in her cookies.” He paused, and then spoke in a voice full of soft sorrow. “And you miss your brother.”
Dead silence. Elorie could see Gran’s face pale as a very dark moment of family history got yanked into the light.
Marcus’s voice was very husky, and probably not as gruff as he thought it was. “Aye. I do. And it’s hazelnuts her cookies need, not raisins. You need to practice.”
Kevin stood up and wrapped his arms around Marcus’s neck. “You’re not as mean as they said.”
Elorie wondered when she’d landed on the alien planet where Uncle Marcus tolerated hugs from children. Then his deep voice spoke inside her head. I’m not quite as old and crotchety as you think, my dear. And you keep forgetting the flour in those mental cookies you’re making.
Marcus touched Kevin’s back awkwardly. “Enough. Go find someone else to bother.” He looked at Moira as Kevin raced out the back door. “He’ll need training, and clearly no one else here is competent enough to handle it.