A Modern Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,88
anything his wife was planning. However, tucked in a corner was the idea that one day maybe he could roll a ball to the baby, or push a little tricycle around.
Lauren grinned at his mental picture of a five-month-old baby on a tricycle. Not any more realistic than his wife, but equally sweet.
She considered a moment. Probably either of them could be nudged to the others’ point of view, but as a realtor, she tried to find the middle ground. Gently she tucked an image into both minds, one with some grass, a sandbox, and a nice, shady tree that might one day hold a swing.
The husband looked around and then pointed at a display of raised garden beds. Lauren was surprised—that hadn’t done what she’d hoped. Dipping back into his head, she realized maybe it had. Raised beds and sandbox frames had a lot in common.
“What did you do to them?”
Lauren jumped. The woman beside her was dressed all in black and seemed an odd mix of curious and very suspicious. She clutched a pendant hung around her neck. “What did you do to them?” she asked again.
Cripes. Her witch training thus far hadn’t covered what to do if you got caught. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
The woman squinted a little, squeezing her pendant, and Lauren felt a very sloppy attempt to mind scan. She tightened her barriers.
“Wow, you’re good,” said the woman, holding out her hand. “I’m a witch too. I’m a bit of an empath, but mostly I’m a kitchen witch.”
“Hi, I’m Lauren.” And other than that, Lauren thought, mostly speechless.
“I didn’t know there were any more empaths in Chicago. Do you have any other powers?”
Lauren shook her head mutely. Darned if she was going to stand in an aisle at the Chicago Flower & Garden Show and talk about channeling or any other kinds of magic.
“Too bad. We need someone who can call air to complete our circle.” The woman reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. “We’re having a coven meeting tomorrow night, and you’re welcome to come check us out. I can vouch for your magic. If you’re interested, come by at 7 pm.”
Lauren looked at the card as the woman walked off. WITCHERY—books, cauldrons, potion ingredients, and more. Oh, boy.
Chapter 22
Lauren sat at her dining table with a pint of Mud Pie ice cream. She’d decided Karamel Sutra wasn’t appropriate for four-year-olds.
Aervyn grinned from her laptop screen, his matching Mud Pie in a bowl. Nell had vetoed giving him the whole pint.
“It’s shiny and red and it goes really fast!” Aervyn was very excited about his new bike.
“Do you know how to stop it?”
Aervyn shrugged. “I’m a’posed to peddle backwards, but that’s hard to remember. If I’m gonna hit something, I just port—that’s easier.”
Lauren pointed her spoon at the monitor. “No cheating, little dude. You gotta learn that stopping stuff, or I’m going to be afraid to stand and watch when I come visit you.”
“I could port you, too.”
“What if your magic breaks one day and you don’t know how to stop? You’ll roll downhill all the way into the ocean, and then what?”
Aervyn giggled and tried to lick the ice cream off his chin. It was a losing battle. “Magic doesn’t break, silly. Besides, I know how to swim.”
Lauren wasn’t sure when she’d fallen in love with the ridiculous logic of a four-year-old, but video chatting with Aervyn was always the highlight of her day. She heard her front door open.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Uncle Jamie’s coming. If you’re really quiet, you can surprise him when he walks in.”
The silence was total. Lauren was really impressed until she realized he’d just hit the mute button. Punk child. When she heard Jamie’s footsteps behind her, she winked at Aervyn.
“Surprise, Uncle Jamie! It’s me, Aervyn!”
Jamie’s longing screamed into Lauren’s mind. Oh, crap. Never surprise a mind witch, even a pretty weak one. His barriers down, Jamie had broadcast everything he felt seeing his nephew’s face on-screen.
Lauren got up off her chair so Jamie could sit down. In just a few seconds, he was barriered and back to friendly Uncle Jamie, chatting with Aervyn and saying all the right things about the new bike. Four-year-olds had no problem repeating themselves.
Lauren turned toward the wall, tears in her eyes. She hadn’t known. Somehow, in all that had happened, she’d failed to really understand what Aervyn was to Jamie.
They were more father and son than uncle and nephew. Well, not really—Aervyn had a wonderful