A Hidden Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,72

at the faces gathered around. “Thank you. To each and every one of you, thank you.”

Then she turned back to Sean. “Sweet boy, this is the very best bit of magic I’ve ever seen. A spellcaster’s first spell is one that will always be remembered, and that you chose to make this gift for me—well, I feel like just about the most loved Gran ever.”

Sean looked down sheepishly. “It was Elorie’s idea, not mine. But I thought it was a really good one…”

Moira reached for his hand. “The idea matters, but so does the doing. You did magnificent magic tonight, and you should be very proud.”

“We only did half,” Sean said, more than willing to share the credit. “Elorie’s circle pulled the rocks out of the earth and melted them together. They even made seats out of the rock and stuff so you’ll be really comfortable, and fixed the flowers so you wouldn’t get too mad. My circle just added the water. I guess Elorie did most of the hard stuff.” He stumbled to a halt.

Marcus stepped to his side. “Not at all, my boy. Her spell required sheer power. Yours was about elegance. Imagine if you’d added a little too much heat and boiled Aunt Moira like a frog.”

Sean turned white. Clearly that possibility hadn’t occurred to him.

Moira rolled her eyes. “Marcus, go make me some tea and stop scaring the children.” She held her arms out to Sean. “It was wonderful magic, and it will keep giving every time I visit this pool with my aches and pains and creaky joints. Come, join me.”

Every witchling in the garden took that as an invitation, which was probably as she had intended.

Elorie wondered how many witches they could fit in the pool. She suspected they were about to find out.

Chapter 17

With delicate moves and sure fingers, Elorie finished attaching the clasp to her first creation since she’d returned from California. Paperwork, magic, and visitors had all conspired to keep her away from her studio far too long.

Her fingers and her heart had needed to create again, even if it was 5:30 a.m.

She’d walked past Gran’s new soaking pool on the way to her studio. With the number of witches waiting a turn last night, she’d been mildly surprised not to find anyone asleep in the warm water. The temptation to crawl in again herself had been high, but her glass had beckoned. The pool would wait; her need to create wouldn’t.

She’d dipped into her most special jar of treasures for this one. The violet glass was a color she’d never seen before or since finding this particular bit of loveliness. Obviously hand-blown, it had streaks of red and blue running through the depths of the glass, making it look almost alive, and somehow, its eons in the ocean hadn’t marred the perfect heart shape.

She held the small glass heart in her hand and felt, as she always did, like it beat for her. A flat rim of silver wrapped around it now, and attached to a chain of delicate handmade links.

It wasn’t often she claimed a piece of her own artwork. This one would be hers; it always had been.

She had just done up the clasp when a sound at the door had her turning around.

“Good morning,” Sophie said, two cups of tea in her hands. “Is it okay to interrupt? Aaron thought you might be ready for a little breakfast.”

Elorie looked longingly at her jars of glass. She wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

Sophie smiled. “He knows you well. Don’t worry—if I’m not back up there in a few minutes, Aervyn will port us some breakfast. If you throw me out, he’ll send down breakfast for one.”

Elorie’s stomach let out an audible growl. She laughed and motioned to her other chair. “Apparently, breakfast sounds good.”

Sophie grinned. “Breakfast will be delivered to Aunt Moira’s pool.”

Excellent. It looked like she was going to get a morning soak after all. She picked up her cup of tea and followed Sophie out of the studio and down the path to Gran’s garden.

Mists were still rising off the pool, and it was miraculously still unoccupied. Some of their travelers had headed home, but there were plenty who remained, guests in nearby homes. Not everyone was a morning witch—she’d have to remember it was a good time to wander over for a dip.

“Good morning, my lovelies! Come to have a soak in my pool, have you?” Moira walked out her back door, wearing a light

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