A Nomadic Witch

“Don’t be silly.” Lizzie took his hand with a bossiness usually reserved for women ten times her age and navigated Marcus into his easy chair. “We’ll talk to her and she’ll be perfectly happy.”

Marcus held his breath and waited for the wail that never came. Morgan peered out of the pouch, surveying the faces around her.

Sean pulled out a light saber from some undisclosed location. “We could have a sword fight. Lucas really likes watching the sabers flash.”

“Lucas is a boy,” said Lizzie, in a tone that made every male in the room vibrate in protest. “Morgan doesn’t want to watch silly swords and pirates.”

“You like being a pirate, and you’re a girl.” Kevin, always the voice of reason, tried to calm things with facts.

Marcus could have told him that facts rarely carried weight with riled females.

His youngest visitor flounced, mutinous. “Girl pirates use shiny swords, not ones with stupid lights.”

Whatever Lizzie might be saying about her tinfoil sword out loud, her mind begged for a chance to swing a saber. And two years after the fact, Marcus realized that giving only the twins light sabers for Christmas had been a grave misdemeanor.

Sean, too dumb to realize such things, waved his damned sword in the air two inches from Lizzie’s nose.

“Here, you can use mine.” Kevin held out his own saber, handle first. “Just don’t hit the wall with it again. It took Uncle Billy a whole day to fix it last time.”

Marcus felt the joy dawn in Lizzie’s mind and wondered how he’d managed to be such a complete idiot for two entire years.

And why on earth he had a sudden desire to fix it.

***

Moira set her scrying bowl down on the table. It wasn’t the right tool for the job, but she didn’t have the right tool. Witches made do with what they had.

Carefully, she laid out the candles and herbs to open her mind and honor the ancient gifts. The bowl had been passed down to her through eleven generations, and while it might be a cantankerous old thing, the sense of history it carried spoke to her blood.

Evan was her blood.

So she would try. And she would trust.

It didn’t take her long to have everything ready. Rituals by needs got shorter when you were old. The smells of herbs and flowers from her garden mingled with the leftover scent of her tea.

A trio of Sophie’s crystals stood facing east. Amethyst for opening. Carnelian for remembering true. A beautiful blue lace agate for lightness and an acceptance of grace. Their request had worried Sophie deeply, but she’d asked no questions.

It was east that Evan had gone.

She felt the settling in her blood. It was time. In the old, old Irish of her grandmothers, Moira called for the blessings of guidance, help, and truth. And then she began.

She did not seek to hear Evan speak. She hoped only that her words might cross the veil and reach his ears. Her magic was not strong enough-but his might be.

Dearest Evan. She peered into the depths of her bowl, picturing his impish face. I imagine you still as my sweet, mischievous boy. Perhaps you are a man now-we know not how the astral planes work. I hope you aren’t too very lonely and know how much you are loved.

I wish I could picture where you are. And I worry that you carry a heavy weight. To the five-year- old boy, I often said that “with great power comes great responsibility.” I say it still-but none of us were ever meant to carry that burden alone.

We miss you, lovey-you broke us all when you left. None more than your brother. It is for him that I reach out to you now. If the wee babe travels, it will destroy him. His heart will simply crack under the weight of it.

I don’t know that I could bear it, either.

I trust that you need our help-and I pray that we can find the strength. Morgan is a gorgeous wee thing. We will do the very best we can for her.

Your auntie Moira loves you, sweet boy. So very much.

Moira slid her hand across the bowl’s surface, run out of the magic still hers to call. Perhaps it had been enough. She closed her eyes and let tears roll, down into the pool of grief at the bottom of her heart.

***

This time, the knock on his door was expected. Marcus didn’t get up-he didn’t want to disturb the small, snoring creature on his chest.

Lizzie padded quietly into the room. “She’s still sleeping?”

“She must have liked your lullaby.” Marcus ignored the small voice in his head that insisted what he was about to do next was wrong. He wasn’t above using sweet talk and bribery to get what he wanted-being reasonable had gotten him exactly nowhere. “I think she likes you.”

“All the babies like me.” Lizzie perched on the arm of the easy chair, eyes sharpening as she caught sight of his computer screen. “What are you doing?”

“Shopping.” The final selling feature of the baby pouch had been Daniel’s promise that it freed up enough arms to actually operate a computer. When the twins and Lizzie had left him earlier, ensconced in his chair, laptop at his elbow, Marcus had felt almost human again.

“Those are sabers.” Lizzie sounded accusatory. “Just like the ones Kevin and Sean have.”

“No.” Marcus was not entirely an idiot. “They’re better. They have sound effects.”

It was a good thing he’d already read through the product description-it would have been hard to finish with Lizzie’s face an inch from the screen. Her head spun around-evidently beginner reading skills weren’t up to the task. “Tell me what it says. All of it.”

He read of the wonders of a toy that spoke in Luke Skywalker’s voice. That would have been Evan’s sword-Sir Evan of the Light, off to slay dragons, or at least to find a really big rock to climb.

Lizzie scowled. “Who wants to be stupid Luke?”

Marcus blinked, hazy blond knights evaporating in a puff of dust. “What?”

Her face and mind were both painted with disgust. “How come it has to talk in Luke Skywalker’s voice?”

The saber. Gods. “There’s a Darth Vader one too.”

Disgust turned to naked longing. “Can I see that one?”

Obediently, Marcus navigated to the Darth Vader version, complete with guy-wheezing-in-plastic-bag sound effects. Lizzie was enthralled.

Marcus yanked down his mind barriers. It was bribery-nothing more. He clicked on the “buy” button as casually as possible. And choked back a chuckle as one beginner reader figured out what he’d done.

She spun around on the arm of the chair, nose an inch from his. “Can I touch it first?”

What?

His confusion must have been obvious. “Your sword. If I get to touch it before anyone else, then it will always be a little bit mine.”

Ah. “I’m thinking I’ll be buying two.” He was pretty sure eyes couldn’t get any bigger. And dammit, he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. “One for Morgan. With a name like that, she’ll be needing a sword.”

Pure, heady hope hit Lizzie with the force of a lightning strike. “She’ll need someone to teach her.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” He eyed the tiny girl asleep on his chest as if seeking her input.

“I can do it.” Lizzie still spoke in whispers, a sign of prodigious self-control given the wild tumbling of her brain. “I can start right away. I’ll show her some of my best moves, and she can watch the lights flash, and everything.” Blue eyes implored. “I bet she’d like the Darth one best.”

Strange things happening in his throat, Marcus added a second sword to his shopping cart.