What a difference a night at home made. Beth landed in the dining room of her temporary Berkeley home, only a little disconcerted by the porting spell this time.
She hugged three containers to her chest - Liri's small gifts for the road. Some nuts, a special blend of tea, and an early-morning batch of fresh snickerdoodles. She reached up gingerly to make sure the string of lights hung around her shoulders had made the trip too.
Comforts from home.
Sidling over to an armchair, she dumped her treasures onto a low table as carefully as possible. And then, caught up in a moment of whimsy, plugged in the string of little white lights and hung them over the back of the chair.
Liri's artistry it wasn't, but it made Beth feel like a bit of Chicago had made the trip through the void with her.
Her stomach growled, interrupting twinkling whimsy with a vengeance. She reached for the tin of nuts - and then grinned and reached for the snickerdoodles instead.
Eleven-and-three-quarter months of the year, Beth Landler ate nuts and seeds and the balanced intake of protein and fat that kept her brain functioning at its best. On the fifteenth of December, snickerdoodle season arrived - and for one week, she indulged in as many cookies as her witchy heart desired.
It took nearly the whole month of January to get her brain biochemistry back on track - but for Liri's snickerdoodles, it was worth it.
The smell alone could make her beg.
A rhythmic knock interrupted her cookie bliss. Beth headed for the hallway and tugged open the front door, still chewing.
And discovered that in Witch Central, holding a cookie tin in your arms was a good way to make pretty much anyone beg.
Lauren stood in the doorway, eyes zeroed in on the cheerful red cookie container. "Please tell me those are as good as they smell."
"They're Liri's secret recipe." The smile bloomed on Beth's face unaided. "And they're delicious. Come on in, and I'll share them with you."
"Sit outside with me instead?" Lauren gestured at the porch swing. "It's really nice out today, and that way, if you want to throw me out after I've said my piece, it won't be so far to go."
Beth felt herself staring. The porch swing was pure kindness to an Aspie who didn't like too much direct eye contact, and she greatly appreciated the lack of inane small talk. But the rest of the words came loaded with the kind of nuance that curled her stomach in dread.
"Sorry, that was a lot more mysterious than it had to be." Lauren's words stayed even. Neutral. "We'd like to invite you to do a circle with us. A small one, with a dry run first to practice."
The porch swing suddenly seemed like a very good idea. Beth needed to sit down. "Why?" She'd done exactly zero successful magic west of Illinois.
"You've done circles." Lauren joined her, setting the swing into gentle, bumping motion. "We thought it might be an easier way to experience some of what we do here."
She knew how to join. But there were oh, so many other things involved in a circle. Beth started explaining as carefully as she could. Thirty years of practice, and it was still far too easy to give unintentional offense. "There's a lot of sensory input in a circle, even a small one. It took a lot of work for me to be able to lead even our coven's tiny practice."
"From what little Jamie and I saw, you do that quite well."
Beth frowned. "He made it very clear we were doing it all wrong."
A mix of confusing emotions hit Lauren's face.
A night with Liri, and she'd found some semblance of her footing. It was time to ask for what she needed. "It helps me a lot if you use words for what you're feeling. I can't read your facial expressions very well."
"Damn, I'm sorry." Lauren's hands flapped like a small, lost bird. "I know that - I just keep forgetting. Can I mindlink with you instead? It's a lot easier for me that way, and hopefully easier for you as well."
Help didn't always come in the shape you asked for. Beth nodded reluctantly and tried not to wince at