“Mom!”
Harper, his girlfriend, Leilani, and Thatcher stomped across the grass, the tops of their backpacks visible behind their heads. I hugged the kids and sent them in to shower and unpack.
Close on the heels of the three teens, a pickup truck loaded with two bright yellow kayaks drove past the entrance to the driveway, stopped, and backed up. Wes’s hair shone garnet red in the slanting light when he stuck his head out the driver’s side window, waved, and skillfully maneuvered the vehicle onto the grass. Tanner unfolded himself out of the back seat and reached back inside the car for an armload of shopping bags.
A few minute later, Wes and Kaz were bickering in front of the outdoor grill, Leilani was apportioning bread dough while she chatted with Harper, and Thatch hustled through the kitchen, gathering plates and utensils.
“Dude,” Thatch said in his brother’s direction, “grab that end.”
Harper leapt to help reposition the oak table, adding a long bench to one side and enough chairs to accommodate seven diners.
“We’re starved, Mom,” Thatcher said. “Haven’t eaten much more than instant oatmeal and those homemade power bars Harper’s been experimenting with, y’know, the ones that taste like tree bark.”
“Hey! I’m working on it!” Harp tossed a stack of cloth napkins at Thatcher’s head.
Thatcher ducked and laughed. I dreaded the day their bantering no longer echoed through the house.
“And Mom,” Thatcher added, sidling next to me, “those guys with Tanner? They are so cool.”
The ultimate compliment from a teenager.
Twenty minutes later, food was on the table: two platters of grilled vegetarian sausages, a cutting board of fresh-baked focaccia and three styles of goat cheese. I poured ratatouille into a ceramic bowl, tucked in a broad serving spoon, and took my seat at the head of the table. Tanner chose the chair next to mine.
Once the scraping of chairs and bench legs had ceased, Wes tapped his beer bottle with a fork and cleared his throat. “Begging everyone’s indulgence, I would be pleased to offer a blessing before we eat.
“Mother Earth, Father Sun,
Bless these bodies, All and One.
Bless the soil, rain, sun and air,
The hands that toiled to bring us this fare.
So Merry Mote and Blessed Meet,
Grace is done, and it’s time to eat.”
He lifted his head when he finished and grinned. “Dig in!”
“Can you hand me the bread?” I asked.
Tanner had longer arms and was closer to the board. He set it between us. I ripped off two chunks and handed him one. Leilani had topped the slabs with rosemary and fleur de sel. My mouth watered, and I groaned—quietly, but it was definitely a groan—as I chewed.
Sun-ripened wheat, ground into flour, formed the body of the bread. Nimble fingers had pressed and pulled the dough into shape and coated it with olive oil. Those same fingers acted as a conduit to and from a youthful heart, one filled with promise and the shy desire to please, and be pleasing, and to nurture.
I glanced at Leilani. She was feeding a bite of bread to Harper.
“Do you sense anything?” I whispered to Tanner.
He stopped chewing and surveyed the table. Everyone was absorbed in passing platters and filling. “No.”
I pointed to the bread. “Take another bite. Chew slowly. I think she’s a witch too.”
He did as I suggested, studying Leilani while he chewed. Both his eyebrows were raised when he turned to me, nodded, and gave a quick thumbs up.
Now, what do I do?
Instinct. I trust my instinct.
“Leilani, this bread is delicious. Did you add anything special? Any secret ingredients?” I asked, doing a bit of seat-of-the-pants planning on how I could steer the conversation toward magic without completely freaking out Harper’s lovely girlfriend.
“When I’m in the kitchen, I just do what feels…natural,” she said, “what feels right. Although I do talk to the ingredients when I’m working and I can never follow a recipe exactly.”
“It tastes like you put a lot of love into this batch of bread.”
She blushed and lifted her shoulders toward her ears. Harper slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer.
“My dad always tells me I work magic when I’m in the kitchen,” she confessed.
I couldn’t have asked for a better lead-in. “Have you ever considered that what you’re doing when you’re preparing food is a kind of…magic?”
Leilani’s cheeks turned an even brighter pink, and her gaze darted to Harper.
He kissed her nose and turned to me. “Mom. Tanner. I kind of let it slip to Lei-li about the bat…”
“And then I told her about the raccoons,” Thatcher piped in, “oh, and the river otters…”
“River otters?” Wes reached across the table and grabbed Thatcher’s forearm. “You’ve got an affinity with them too?”
Thatcher nodded then shot me a guilty look. I threw up my hands.
Here goes nothing.
“Leilani.” I regrouped, poured a fresh glass of water from the pitcher, and forged ahead. “I’m a witch. Kind of a lapsed witch, you might say. But since I was a very little girl, I’ve experienced a strong affinity with earth—literal earth, as in soil—as well as with plants and trees, anything that has roots.”
“Is that why Harper and Thatch can communicate with animals?” Leilani’s eyes were round as a pair of vintage Bakelite buttons.
“Yes, magical abilities are inherited.”
“My Papa—his name is Mal—is a sorcerer,” she admitted, “and I was never, ever, ever supposed to admit that to anyone. He’s a good sorcerer,” she added, spreading her fingers and pressing them against the tabletop. “And a good man.”
“Mal, as in Malvyn Brodeur?” asked Wes. “He’s also rumored to be very good with other people’s money.”
Leilani nodded. “He is,” she agreed proudly. “And my other father—my Dad—is James.”
“The rest of our guests have magical abilities too. Would you like to hear about them?” I asked, hoping this wasn’t all too much for
