A Hidden Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,62

and that kind of talent shouldn’t go wasted.”

He turned back to his laptop. “And if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll seriously reconsider my plan to turn you into a frog.”

She was pretty sure he couldn’t do that. Then again, he was cozy with a four-year-old who probably could.

However, they’d talked for two whole minutes without her temper boiling over, and much as it galled her to do it, she had a favor to ask. A really big one. Now might be as good a time as any.

“Will you teach me?” she blurted.

Marcus turned around, a pained look on his face. “Teach you what, exactly?”

Cripes. She was going to live to regret this. “To spellcode.”

He looked even more pained, if that was possible. “I thought Ginia was giving you and Kevin lessons.”

“She is. And Kevin is catching on faster than I can blink.”

Marcus shrugged. “The young ones are digital natives. For us, it’s a second language; we’ll always be slower.”

“I’m awfully tired of being slower.”

“I can’t help you with that. You’ve got a good brain, and you’d be a lot faster if you stopped hating that computer of yours.”

“I don’t hate it.” Elorie stopped. Lately, she pretty much did. “Well, I don’t entirely hate it. I’m hoping that if I learn to be halfway competent, I might hate it a little less.” Since it seemed like she was stuck with a permanent computer appendage, she was hoping to make peace with it.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “None of my students are permitted to be only halfway competent.”

She was definitely going to live to regret this. But it was clear that if she didn’t at least attempt to master this side of her power, the under-ten crowd was going to leave her in the miserable, technology-challenged dust. And darned if she hadn’t discovered a bit of her inner competitive witch. “You’ll teach me, then?”

Marcus grinned, an unusual and somewhat scary sight. “I will. All I require is that you keep it entirely secret.”

Elorie frowned. That was a really strange request, but considering the source, it could have been worse. She nodded in agreement.

“Excellent.” Marcus rubbed his hands together. “Warrior Girl won’t have any idea what hit her.”

Jeebers. Who was Warrior Girl, and what had she just agreed to?

~ ~ ~

A Fisher’s Cove lobster bake was an event. Add the greater Nova Scotia witching community to most of the population of the village, and there were more than three hundred people on the beach.

There were three bonfires, a cauldron-sized pot of baked beans, a cooking pit for the lobster, all the local fiddling talent, and a herd of kids playing chicken with the waves. So far, the ocean was winning.

Nell inhaled the tangled smells of smoke and salty air and settled into a chair beside Moira, who looked very content. “You love this, don’t you?”

“I surely do. It reminds me very much of the best of home. There were no beaches or lobsters at our Irish gatherings, but the feeling of it is the same.” She winked. “Not quite enough babies, though. If this group were truly Irish, there’d be a babe in every set of arms.”

Nell grinned. “Who are you pressuring for grandbabies at the moment?”

“It’s not pressure. Just encouragement. I think my sweet Elorie might be getting close, although she’s had a lot to distract her of late.”

“Babies come, whether you’re distracted or not. I should know.”

“Aye.” Moira snugged a blanket around her shoulders. “And we both know that sometimes magic opens more than one kind of channel in a woman.”

Oh, yeah. Her triplets had been conceived after a particularly stupendous full circle. Daniel still teased her about that. Aervyn, oddly enough, hadn’t been the result of magical aftershocks—just a particularly cuddly Friday night date.

They watched in companionable silence for a moment, the quiet roll of waves in the background providing the heartbeat for the evening.

Lizzie’s parents were taking care of the lobster bake part of the evening, with many willing assistants. They had uncovered the shallow, rock-lined pit long used for this purpose, and started a roaring fire that was now burning down to coals. Assistance from a couple of resident fire witches had sped the process up a fair amount.

Nell motioned toward the fire. “So what’s with all the garbage cans?” There were about twenty large aluminum containers lined up behind the fire.

“That’s the food. There will be corn on the cob soaking in salt water in a few. The rest will be mussels and lobster.”

Lizzie’s momma, who