alone.
Nell climbed into the hot pool and smiled at its three occupants. “I’m getting really used to this.” Hopping on a transport spell and beaming across the continent had become an everyday occurrence.
And one she treasured, especially when there was a hot soak and good company at the other end.
Sophie slid over and patted a rock. “We sent all the witchlings to the beach with chocolate cake and told them not to come back for at least an hour.”
Nell smiled at Elorie, lounging in relaxed bliss over in the corner. “Got five minutes away from your babies, did you?” Moms of multiples didn’t get very many of those.
“They’re napping in Realm.” Elorie opened one eye. “All the babies are. Five of them, lined up in little bassinets.”
That was news, and a miracle of fairly major proportions. “Kenna too?”
“Even Adam fell asleep.” Sophie shook her head, laughing softly. “Whatever Marcus did, I hope he can repeat it.”
Marcus Buchanan, baby whisperer. It was entirely possible the end of the world was near. “I hear he made a really big mess of Realm.” With her trio of daughters as his happy minions.
“He did. I wanted to help.” Elorie sounded halfway to nap land herself. “But it was mostly coding they were doing.”
Coding wasn’t Elorie’s forte. She had the much rarer skill of effectively herding witches. “You’ve harnessed the forces of Net magic-Marcus only tapped into what you’ve already created.” Nell grinned and reached for a sandwich. “He lacks your organizational skills, however.”
“So I heard.” The corners of Elorie’s mouth turned up. “I sent Aaron to supervise the kitchen. Apparently Marcus’s castle staff isn’t used to company.”
Sophie chuckled quietly. “I believe it was Mia and Shay who coded his new staff. Their attire was rather… purple.”
That much she’d heard. Jamie had checked in while cheerfully de-spelling the new moats of alligators and fire- breathing dragons-her youngest son had gotten a tad overenthusiastic.
The real reason for Jamie’s call, however, had been to report on the part that had Realm abuzz-Marcus had been seen smiling. More than once. “Sounds like everyone was more than happy to help.” Ever since the creation of Moira’s Meadow, Realm had been far more than a game-much to the delight of its player legions.
“It was a very nice bit of magic,” said Moira, moving slowly around the pool refilling tea cups. “Morgan has a delightful castle now, and Ginia did a beautiful job with the warding, mixing new magics and old.”
That was an interesting tidbit-Moira was the protector guardian of ancient warding spells. Jamie had also passed on a visual of the new castle gardens-resplendent in cornflowers, lavender, and a host of other things Nell hadn’t recognized. She was pretty sure the choices weren’t accidental. “I hear you directed the planting crew.”
“Not exactly.” Sophie snorted. “She threw us all out and got down on her hands and knees.” She eyed the older woman with interest. “I had no idea you had that many game points stashed away.”
“Mmm.” Moira set down the teapot and sat on a comfortable rock ledge. “I’ve been doing some trading with the new arrivals.”
Nell grinned-she and Jamie had been watching their oldest player’s strategy with interest. New arrivals to the witch-only levels generally had game points to burn-and little or no magic stash. “You’ve been very generous.” In Realm, Moira had strong magic, and she dispensed it with the open heart and canny mind she showed in real life. A few more months for the new players to build strength, and their loyalty to the sweet old lady was going to be a real force to be reckoned with.
The old lady in question chuckled and sipped her tea. “Someone has to keep that daughter of yours on her toes.”
“You’re doing that. I ran amuck of one of your Irish blessing spells the other day.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “It took half an hour and most of my spellcube stash to get out.”
“Well, then.” Moira sniffed primly, but her eyes twinkled. “Clearly you were somewhere you weren’t meant to be. Irish blessings read your heart and behave accordingly.”
Nell hadn’t taken that close a look at the spells Moira had been peddling. Irish blessings were almost all ancient warding spells-and the old magics had some tricky layers. “You’ve figured out how to Net magic a blessing?”
“Aye.” Moira’s eyes were serious now. “It started as a wee idea for the game, but I’m glad of it now. Ginia wove some of them into the barriers around Morgan’s castle. She’s a talented spell weaver, your girl. Takes after her mama.”
Nell blinked. “Ginia’s a spellcaster?”
“Not in the classic sense.” Sophie shook her head and smiled over at Elorie, who had quietly fallen asleep, her head pillowed on a convenient rock. “But just like you weave elemental powers together to cast, Ginia’s got a nice hand with threading Net magic into much older spells.”
She’d missed an awful lot driving Nathan to baseball camp. “It sounds like Morgan is well protected.”
“As well as the best magic and programming in Realm can make her,” said Sophie, quietly fanning her hands through the water. “And word’s gone out to keep any suspected travelers far away from water.”
Nell suspected it was the quietly snoring Elorie who had taken care of that little detail. She frowned, unsure if it was mind power or mama intuition-but another detail was tickling the back of her skull. She frowned, trying to tease out the mental feather. Something about Ginia and spellweaving… “Why use the old magics for the Realm warding? Wouldn’t those be the trickiest to weave with Net power?” Magics had affinities-and old and new seemed like they would be an unstable fit.
“Traveling is old magic.” Moira watched the light fog rising from the water’s surface. “The very oldest, if what we remember from the mists of time is true.”
Now the feather tickled more strongly. “So we need the old wards to keep away the old magic?”
“I believe so.” Old eyes hazed. “I’ve been having dreams. Sparkly rocks and moondust. Signs of ancient portent.”
Sophie frowned. “You scattered shiny pebbles in Morgan’s garden. Sean brought a whole collection of them.”
“I did.” Moira held her teacup close. “They belonged there-my bones knew.”
Nell felt an odd shiver move through her. The wise and difficult magic of the crone always made her feel weird. Mama intuition on steroids.
And the rock thing was a little strange, given her second mission of the afternoon. “I hope Sean didn’t take all of them-Jamie wants some for Aervyn’s training.”
Moira chuckled softly, her eyes back to their normal cheery twinkle. “They aren’t always portents-witches have a simple affection for shiny things, too. I believe our beach can spare a few more.”
Nell leaned back into the warm waters. She’d get on that-right after her muscles melted a little more.
Marcus looked down in disgust. “Lost another one, did you?” Pretty soon all of Fisher’s Cove was going to be carpeted in Morgan’s lost socks. Even Moira’s hand-knit booties didn’t stand a chance-his girl was a sock Houdini.
His girl.
Gods. She flattened him. All it took was a smile, one of her patented trucker burps, or a missing sock.
And she carried a talent with a survival rate worse than your average childhood cancer.
Marcus looked around at the bright, happy flowers and the neat, weathered cottages they decorated, and tried to fight off the terror that stalked him every minute of every day.
An odd sound floated up from his chest region.
Marcus looked down. Pure innocence looked back up at him. And then she grinned, took a deep breath, and blew a raspberry.
Something suspiciously like girly giggles bubbled up in his throat. “Learned a new trick, have you? Bet you can’t
