A Hidden Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,47

Aervyn’s flying entrance. “Blueberries!”

He made a beeline for the bowl in Marcus’s hand, and then caught and ported it to safety when it went crashing toward the floor. Everyone froze as a flood of love and pain hammered into every mind in the room. Marcus’s face was pasty white and a study in anguish.

“Evan.” His harsh whisper as he stared at Aervyn’s face cut through Nell’s soul.

Her son reached out gently and laid his hands on Marcus’s cheeks. “I’m not your Evan, but you can love me. That would be just fine with me.” He climbed into Marcus’s lap and nestled.

Nell watched the crotchety old bachelor hold her son like he was spun glass, a haunted sadness on his face.

Aervyn ported over the blueberries and held them up. “Here, have some berries. They’re my favorites. Did Evan like blueberries, too?”

“Yes,” whispered Marcus, kissing the top of Aervyn’s head. “Yes, he did.”

“Was he your brother, or your little boy?” Aervyn asked. “Your mind is kind of jumbly.”

“He was my twin. He died when he was just a little older than you.”

Aervyn looked up solemnly. “It makes you really sad.”

“Yes.”

Aervyn tucked his head into Marcus’s chest. “It wasn’t your fault. Even really strong witches can’t fix everything. You were just little, like me.”

Moira sucked in a wavery breath. “You’ve blamed yourself all this time, Marcus? My sweet boy, it was never your fault. If anything, it was mine.”

She looked over at Nell. “Evan’s magic emerged young and hard. He was a fire mage, and a strong one. In the midst of putting out fires every night, we somehow missed that he was also an astral traveler.” Her voice dropped to almost nothing. “One night he left his body and didn’t make it back. He wasn’t quite six yet.”

Nell’s heart bled with all the sadness and guilt in the room. She had always wondered at Moira’s strict devotion to training. Magic that killed was the worst nightmare of every witchling’s parents.

“I couldn’t call him back,” Marcus said softly. “I could feel him, but I couldn’t bring him back.”

Aervyn tilted his head. “You still feel him.”

Marcus leaned down and kissed his head again. “Yes, my boy. I still do.”

~ ~ ~

Elorie finished her last bite of salmon and looked down the dinner table in satisfaction. Kitchens were the heart of any Nova Scotia home, and while she loved intimate dinners for two, it was also wonderful to have a table full of visitors and laughter. With all their guests now arrived, the table was definitely full.

The seating configuration was very strange, however. She leaned over toward Sophie and Nell. “Since when is Uncle Marcus a kid magnet?” He had Aervyn on one side, Lizzie on the other. Normally he and children gravitated to opposite ends of the table.

Nell spoke quietly. “Since this afternoon—with Aervyn, at least. Apparently my son looks a lot like Evan.”

Sophie sucked in a breath and exchanged looks with Elorie. Evan had always been the one subject no one talked about.

And I’d appreciate if it remained that way, Marcus sent.

Elorie felt her cheeks getting red, and the eyes of more than one child turned her way. There were far too many mind witches at the table. She checked surreptitiously to make sure her gizmo was still turned on.

Your brain may not be leaking anymore, niece, but your face is as expressive as usual.

So find something else to talk about, you old fart, Elorie thought, and then blushed even more furiously when Marcus began to laugh. Dammit, how was he hearing her thoughts?

I don’t need to hear them. It’s not the first dirty look I’ve received in fifty-two years.

Elorie put her mental foot down. Enough. This was her turf. Her home, her dinner table. She picked the most sympathetic face at the table. “Ginia, I hear you’ve brought a suitcase of potions to share with us.”

The girl’s face brightened. “I practiced everything Aunt Moira showed me on video chat.”

“Excellent,” Sophie said. “I think a potions class tomorrow morning would be a great way to get witch school started. Ginia, perhaps you could help me teach the others some of what Aunt Moira showed you.”

Elorie pushed down the small spurt of jealousy. It was only right that Sophie help organize witch school. This might be her turf, but she could surely share it.

Sean groaned. “Potions are boring.”

Elorie elbowed him. “That’s because yours never work. Perhaps if you pay attention and actually mix things correctly, your potions would be a little more exciting.”

“Who wants