Adam?”
“Mmm, hmm.” Sophie leaned her head back against a convenient pillowy rock. “He laughed when Daniel came by to reclaim most of the babywearing gear.”
Their collection of slings and pouches had done a lot of rounds over the years. And the sight of Mike wearing a tiny babe in a bright orange fleece pouch brought back lots of memories-it had been Mia’s favorite place to ride.
Moira bent down a flower stem and sniffed. “Spring has really come. It’s a good time of year to take the wee ones for long walks on the beach.”
Sophie’s eyes twinkled. “The grapevine says Marcus was out there with Morgan half the night.”
Nell tried to quell the squirt of sympathy. If Marcus’s arms were ready to fall off, it was his own darned fault. The man had been watching witch babies travel in slings and pouches and wraps for most of his natural life. A smart man would have asked for help the moment a baby landed in his lap.
“Your Daniel is a good man.” Moira’s hands created slow ripples in the warm waters-physical therapy, even now. “If anyone can get help through my nephew’s thick head, he’ll be the one.”
Oh, Daniel would get the job done. Nell had seen the hints of steel in his eyes as he ported into Marcus’s living room. There wasn’t a better father on the planet-and he’d taken the “women’s work” comment as a rather personal challenge.
And if that didn’t work, there was always Ginia’s green goo. Nell pulled out of her steam-induced reverie enough to actually talk out loud. “Ginia has some herb requests, if you have them. Something about moon- harvested sage, and lemon balm, I think. Apparently hers isn’t old enough yet.” Their entire back yard was turning into a witch apothecary-or at least the garden precursors.
Moira sipped her tea, eyes sharp with sudden interest. “Those are potent herbs-what’s she brewing?”
Chuckles from the other side of the pool had them both looking at Sophie, who grinned. “Three guesses.”
Nell didn’t even have one guess, but earth magics weren’t her realm. Moira contemplated a moment. “Ah, that’s a most interesting use. If it works, maybe she can brew up a batch for Marcus.”
Being lost at sea in a discussion of plants and remedies was becoming an all-too-familiar sensation. Nell raised her eyebrow and waited-usually some herb-smart witch eventually took pity.
“It’s a potion to increase tolerance.” Soft laughs from the elder healer in the group. “An old Irish remedy housewives use on their husbands-it’s supposed to make them easier to live with. I suspect our Ginia’s planning to use it on her wee brother.”
Aervyn hadn’t been up to more than his usual mischief. “I’m not sure I want her magicking him into a more cooperative sibling.”
“It’s not for her.” Sophie smiled, love for her student in her eyes. “She’s trying to help him accept Kenna.”
Oh. Understanding hit Nell, along with a swelling pride in her girl. “He’s been struggling.”
“She knows.” Moira’s hands still moved lightly in the water. “It’s a healer’s job to know, and to help hearts and minds and bodies adjust.” She leaned back, looking well satisfied. “Our girl is finding her healer’s wisdom.” Her eyes hazed in thought. “And it just might be an excellent remedy for Marcus as well.”
Sophie nodded, amused. “Fine. I’ll make it, but you get to deliver it.”
Moira eyed the flowers carefully. “Make the airborne version. I’m thinking it’s time for my nephew’s home to be brightened with some of the blooms of spring.”
Nell made a mental note to be suspicious of any new flower bouquets. Parenting a healer had some hidden dangers.
Then again, it beat raising witchlings who set things on fire and ported themselves into the back yard in the wee hours of the night. Jamie was losing serious sleep to Kenna’s antics. Marcus had it easy.
Nell was very glad those days were mostly behind her. She found a new spot on a rock for her lolling head, and had almost managed to sink back into hot-pool stupor when the obvious finally hit. Nell’s eyes flew open-and met Moira’s, watching her closely. The old witch nodded. “Figured it out, have you? I was wondering when someone would.”
Sophie frowned. “What’s up?”
Nell felt the worry squeeze in on her. “None of us are reading that Morgan has power.”
“Aye.” Moira’s eyes held the kind of bravery that only came with a long life well lived. “Not yet.”
The newest mama in the group was still catching up. “You think Morgan is a witchling? Or will be?”
Nell waited. Even sleep deprived, Sophie was a very quick witch.
A hissed-in breath said she’d arrived. “You think she might be a traveler.”
“We don’t know.” Moira’s voice oozed calm. Her mind held strength-and fear. “We only know that Evan sent her. For now, she’s just a wee babe who needs lots of holding.”
Which wasn’t at all reassuring-their most powerful witches were often the most sensitive as babies.
“Do we tell Marcus?” Sophie looked justifiably squeamish at the thought.
Nell remembered the shattered man on the porch half a day earlier. Even Daniel wasn’t going to make headway with a catatonic Marcus.
Moira finally shook her head. “No. He’ll see it for himself when he’s ready. For now, he’s finding a small girl who eats and poops and sometimes sleeps quite terrifying enough.”
Sophie nodded slowly. “I’ll put a light temperature scan in place. If it triggers, we’ll know to start setting the monitoring spells.”
Just the thought sent ice running in Nell’s veins. She’d set the watching spells every day for three years-until they were absolutely sure Aervyn wasn’t a traveler. If tiny, happy Morgan of the lavender eyes might be…
“We’ll watch,” said Moira briskly. “But for now, I prefer an alternate explanation.” Her face gleamed with pure Irish mischief. “I believe Evan’s decided it’s time for his brother to join the land of the living. What better way than a baby?”
Sophie’s face lightened. “And you plan to help.”
Nell rolled her eyes. Witches always planned to help.
“Aye.” Moira leaned back against her pillow rock again and winked at Nell. “We’ve been trying to root Marcus in Fisher’s Cove soil for a year now. I’m thinking that maybe spring has finally arrived.”
One grumpy plant, about to be watered.
Chapter 7
Apparently the invasions weren’t stopping anytime soon. Marcus stepped over a sleeping Hecate, sighed, and opened the door. At least these visitors hadn’t beamed into his living room. “It’s a sunny day. Surely you have someplace better to be than my cottage.”
“Nope.” Sean grinned and stepped across the threshold, unconcerned.
Marcus just shook his head-there’d been a time when they looked on him with something closer to fear and trembling. Tolerating a stowaway appeared to have done that in entirely. “School? Lessons?”
“It’s Saturday.” Kevin, Sean’s far more mannerly twin, looked around. “Where’s Morgan?”
“In his pouch, silly.”
Lizzie seemed to think most people of the male persuasion were silly. She was, however, correct in this case. Marcus had balked entirely at the day-glow-bright striped sling, but Daniel had managed to scare up a black pouch device that carried the baby adequately without causing Marcus’s eye sockets to bleed.
And he had to admit, his arms were far less spaghetti-like today.
“You’re supposed to bend down.” Lizzie tapped his elbow. “It’s polite to show us the baby when we come over. Elorie always does it.”
He’d missed the baby-manners class at school. “She’s happy-I don’t want to disturb her.” Purple eyes stared up at him. Babies liked to watch faces, according to Daniel, the walking parent encyclopedia.
“You could sit down.” Kevin pointed at the big easy chair. “Then we could see her really well.”
Oh, no. He might be really new at this, but Marcus was crystal clear on one thing. He never got to sit. Ever. “She prefers it if I stand.”
