enough to have quite a scattering of finds left by the ocean waters. She could afford to ignore the brown and green glass and just seek out the rare and special colors—the blues, reds, and purples that hadn’t been made for centuries.
The next piece to catch her attention was perfectly round and a deep cerulean blue. A child’s marble from centuries ago, rough now from its ocean voyage. It would make a gorgeous necklace if she could bear to part with it. Her studio and home were littered with small treasures she couldn’t resist keeping.
Elorie slid the marble into her cargo pocket and walked over to a sunny rock. Time for lunch and listening to the waves for a while.
The morning mists had burned off, but the air still felt wet—not enough wind today to chase the spray away. Unusual for this stretch of beach. The tide was out, the smells of seaweed and salt all a little riper under the noonday sun.
She was well aware the main purpose of her morning escape hadn’t been to increase her sea-glass stash. It was the old hurts in her heart that needed the soothing ritual of the treasure hunt. Another thing she’d learned as a grown woman—doing was often far more soothing than crying.
Even Aaron, fully content as a non-witch, didn’t truly understand what it was to know the desire of your childhood would never come to be.
For as long as Elorie could remember, she had assumed she would be a witch. Gran was a witch, and the history and the craft called to her blood. Or at least that’s what she’d believed as a young child, waiting for her powers to emerge.
She’d thrown herself into the lessons taken by all young ones in the witching community, and sat for hours listening to Gran talk of witches past.
Then she’d tried to be patient as a teen, as so many around her came into their powers. Watched in an agony of envy as Sophie had grown into her magic. Gran had scanned her regularly, and Elorie knew that she still did, seeking traces of talent in her beloved granddaughter. Nothing had ever appeared.
Walking the beaches in search of sea glass had turned from childhood treasure-seeking into a kind of therapy, and from there, into a purpose and direction for her adult life. She was an artist, a wife, a dancer, a trainer. Not a witch, and she’d come to terms with that.
Most days.
Then there were the days when a fetching spell went wrong and sparked the tinder of hope she couldn’t quite eradicate from the hidden corners of her heart. She wasn’t a witch, but neither was she entirely free of the desire to be one.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the hurt, just for a moment.
As a thirteen-year-old girl, she’d believed she needed to be a witch. When that had failed to come, and with Gran’s gentle persistence, she’d found a path for herself, a purpose and a sense of belonging that didn’t require magic. Not an easy feat for a non-witch.
And still not quite enough to free her from the wanting.
Sitting on the beach in the quiet morning sun, Elorie could admit to herself one more hard truth. She was afraid that part of the reason she wanted a baby was the hope that power might skip a generation and bloom in her child.
Then she shook her head ruefully. If Gran had taught her nothing, it was that every child needed to find their own way. If she turned into some terrible, hovering mother, Gran would lead the charge to thunk her over the head. In Nova Scotia, you still had a village raising a child, and that was a very good thing.
She pushed away the errant thought that Gran might not be around to watch her children grow. Irish witches usually lived very long lives.
Then there was Aaron—he would make a wonderful father.
One day she would walk these beaches with a toddler of her own, looking for colorful bits of glass. And that would be a magic of its own.
~ ~ ~
Nell shook her head at her triplets. “There must be a bug, girls. We fetched Elorie. You remember her—Moira’s granddaughter.”
Mia rolled her eyes. “We know, Mama. She was here for our birthday. But we tested our code a lot. It’s not wrong, so Elorie must be a witch.”
Ah, the arrogance of youth. Her girls were awesome coders, but no programmer was invincible. “Moira has tested Elorie ever since she