A Reckless Witch - By Debora Geary Page 0,4
later today—can you get access to a computer after dinner tonight?
Sierra: Um, wow. Yeah, and thanks. I gotta go, I only had half an hour on the computer and my time’s up.
Sierra backed away from the monitor, really glad to see the screen go blank. Most of the librarians already thought she was totally weird. Chatting with witches would probably get her library card taken away or something.
And not just any witches. Nell Walker. When Momma told all her stories about famous witches, Nell had always been one of Sierra’s favorites. Really rich, a totally awesome gamer, and the first woman to ever spellcast a class-one spell. She must have such an exciting life—parties and famous people and lots of cool magic.
As she waited in line to book another slot on the library computers, Sierra shook the lucky red dice in her pocket. Maybe they’d worked after all.
Chapter 2
Nell deposited the last of the morning’s dishes on the counter and turned to call her youngest. “Hey, Aervyn. Let’s go visit Uncle Jamie and Auntie Nat.”
He arrived wearing a black cape and carrying her kitchen broom. “Mama, I need a pointy hat.”
“Really. And why’s that?”
“Cuz Harry has one, and I’m trying to fly like him.”
Her older kids had seen the latest Harry Potter movie and laughed it off as cool, but totally fake. Her baby, a week short of his fifth birthday, was still gullible. “You know real witches don’t fly on brooms, right? Most witches can’t fly at all.”
Aervyn rolled his eyes. “I know, Mama. It’s just pretend. But I still want a pointy hat.”
Well, it probably wasn’t that much different from his superhero fixation. “Maybe your Auntie Nat can help you with that—she’s got a pretty good imagination.” And a lot of tolerance for little boys with oddball requests.
He grinned and grabbed her hands. “Wanna port?”
She’d planned to walk, but given his current garb and the fact that his feet kept levitating off the ground, maybe teleporting was a good idea. “Sure, munchkin. Just let me grab my bag.” It thunked into her hands a moment later, and Nell barely grabbed the strap before it landed on the floor. She sighed. And they wondered why she’d needed three new laptops already this year.
A grin from her son, and they landed in her brother’s living room. Aervyn immediately took off running, broom between his legs—and crashed into the wall when he tried to navigate the turn down the hallway.
Jamie got to him first, with a kiss for the dinged elbow and a hug for the bruised ego. “Brooms don’t fit through doorways very well, little dude.”
Aervyn sniffled. “Harry Potter does it. He can fly anywhere.”
That last part concerned Nell. Unfortunately, in the movie, Harry had jumped on his damn broom and flown like a maniac first time out. Her son hadn’t seen the movie, but he’d quizzed his siblings until he might as well have. “Real witches have to practice a lot of flying low to the ground nice and slow before they try the fancy stuff.”
Jamie kissed the top of her son’s head and stood him back up. “How about we go to Ocean’s Reach tomorrow and try some flying?” He glanced at Nell. “Really close to the ground, so we don’t get hurt if we fall.”
Aervyn’s eyes brightened. “Can I bring my broom?”
“Absolutely, superboy. And if you go ask Nat, maybe she knows where you can find a broom for me too.”
Her son took off, witchling on a mission. Nell wondered if anyone had a handy spell for fixing holes in walls. “You’re really going to fly on a broomstick?”
Jamie grinned. “Tell me you don’t want to try it too.”
“Not on your life.” She didn’t have enough air power, or the teleportation skills to avoid the inevitable crashes.
He snorted. “Liar.”
She gave in. “Yeah.” They walked into the living room laughing.
Nell ignored the loud thud from the kitchen. By now Auntie Nat was an old hand with minor witchling mishaps. “So, could we use another set of hands for Realm?”
Her brother raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a loaded question—what’s up?”
She sighed. “We fetched another witch this morning. She needs a job.”
“And you think we should give her one?” He slouched into a really ugly relic of an armchair. “Gotta be a story there. Keep talking.”
“I don’t know a lot about her. She’s eighteen, and her IP address is from a library on the Oregon Coast. She needs a job in four days.”
He frowned. “Or what?”
“She didn’t say.” Nell