and assisted as Leo tried to copy it. Nell snorted. “Who baked the brownies?”
Jamie grinned. “Aunt Jennie. It’ll survive a while longer.”
Yup. Aunt Jennie was a sweetheart, but her brownies were on the dense side. Nell kept watching, fascinated. It was one of the most complex games of Hot Potato she’d seen in a long time. Ginia feeding power to her sisters, Sierra helping Leo, and Aervyn doing… “What’s my punk witchling up to?”
Jamie shook his head. “Not sure. Some kind of dividing spell.”
Nell watched, mystified, and then grinned in pride as the brownie broke into four pieces. Not a big magic trick for her son, but good witchcraft was as much about brains as talent. Training a four-year-old with fairly unlimited power to use both wasn’t always easy.
The game had shifted sharply now. Four flying objects were three too many for most of the players, and they sat down, laughing. Ginia lasted a few seconds longer and then giggled and dove for the floor as brownie chunks dive-bombed each of her ears.
Jamie leaned in as Sierra and Aervyn faced off, the only two left standing. “Now we’ll really see what she can do.”
They weren’t the only ones paying attention, either. Govin watched intently from across the circle, his eyes entirely on Sierra.
And no wonder. Aervyn had four separate energy streams directing four brownies. He jumped from one to the next, redirecting one chunk at a time. Sierra had a dancing whirlwind of air that was juggling all four chunks at once. Every time Aervyn pushed on one brownie piece, she tossed all three others at him.
Her son was fast, precise, and strong. And he was barely holding on.
Then Aervyn switched tactics, and Jamie grinned. “He’s learning. He’s trying to do what she’s doing.”
With your average four-year-old, learning was a bit of a process. With her son, a couple of wobbly pushes and he was air-juggling brownies almost as well as Sierra. Nell saw their new arrival’s eyebrows wing up. “She’s just figured that out.”
“Does she know she’s facing the baddest witchling in the west?”
Nell snickered as two brownies collided in mid-air and crumbled. “She will now.” With only two chunks left in play, Aervyn’s four-year-old-boy disadvantages were going to evaporate.
In a bet, she would have given Sierra thirty seconds, max. And been very impressed if the girl lasted that long.
Two minutes later, Sierra was still standing and had earned the serious respect of everyone watching. He’s stronger, but not by much. And she’s got better control. Jamie was probably the most impressed witch in the room—he’d faced off with Aervyn in training more than everyone else combined.
Nell watched as Sierra tugged and shaped power lines on the fly. Lots of witches could toss power around. To do it with that kind of precision took countless hours of practice. Maybe Amelia had trained her daughter more responsibly than they’d all assumed.
In a lightning-quick move, Sierra grabbed a trickle of firepower and superheated her air currents, spinning them into a funnel. Nell winced—even Aunt Jennie’s brownies weren’t going to make it through a mini tornado. Aervyn and Sierra busted up laughing as brownie crumbs flew everywhere.
Most of the adults joined the mirth, well used to the messes that were the usual price to pay for witchling antics.
Except for one. Govin’s face was awash with concern. And he’d lived through plenty of hot-potato messes—something else was up.
~ ~ ~
Govin thunked into the Realm meeting room, grateful he landed on a couch. Even being a gamer for as long as he could remember, it was still a very odd sensation to actually land in-game.
He laughed at the balloon-festooned sign hanging over his head. “What’s up with the new name?”
Jamie grinned. “Our child-labor force has decided that ‘Realm meeting room’ isn’t a cool enough name for our hangout here. I vetoed several choices. Apparently this one is boring, but acceptable.”
Govin wasn’t sure how “Witches’ Lounge” in gold-glittered letters qualified as boring, but he was definitely not the expert on nine-year-old girls. “Nell said to come at three o’clock—am I early?”
“Not at all, dear boy,” said Moira, freshly landed on the couch beside him, cup of tea in her hand. Govin was impressed—no way was he comfortable transporting while holding hot liquids. He kissed her cheek and settled in, figuring Nell and Sophie weren’t far behind.
They were three of his favorite women. And he was only beginning to understand the depths of the mess they’d thrown him in.
Nell beamed in, a big plate in her