A Dangerous Witch (Witch Central Series: Book 3) by Debora Geary Page A
Authors: Debora Geary
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night. Away from the worry that leaked out even in sleep, and away from the ache of knowing where the child’s destiny would likely end. It wasn’t meant for humans to hold the power of the sun.
Those who did—not all humans had the luxury of choices.
Just like tools of magic.
The orb shivered. And wished for the shimmering heat of the land of its birth and the quiet oblivion of the last hundred years.
-o0o-
Moira cuddled her umpteenth cup of tea, watching the first hints of sunrise out her window, wishing with every mote of her heart and soul that she could make bright red curls turn back to blonde.
There were fearsome magics in the world—she had always known that. And some of them had stolen those she loved. Brigit. Evan.
But now the very worst of them had come stalking an eleven-year-old girl she loved as her own. And an old witch had absolutely nothing to throw in its path.
“That’s hogwash.” The voice from her back door was stern—but Marcus’s face wore nothing but concern and love.
Strength—from one who knew exactly the price magic could extract. Moira rose and went straight into his arms, feeling his cloak settle round her shoulders. “You’re up early.”
He smiled into the top of her head. “Cass and Morgan are still sleeping, and I was restless.” He held her away from him slightly. “Seems like there was a reason. Since when does Moira Doonan think of herself as useless?”
Her vision wavered as the tears rose. “I’ve only a sneeze of magic left.”
He snorted, the crusty old Marcus of old. “And since when have you let a lack of magic stop you from doing anything in the known universe?”
The irony wasn’t lost on Moira—she’d spent a lifetime cajoling people out of self-pity with exactly this blend of love and pants-kicking. “I guess I’m feeling a mite weak and ineffectual this morning.”
“We all are.” His voice gentled now as he guided her slowly back to the table and her tea. “I’ve been consulting with Jamie and Nell. Trying to work out a more predictable form of the shielding spell Aervyn helped build.”
Three of their very best spellcasters working in the wee hours of the night, trying to replicate the seat-of-his-pants work of one small boy.
“He’s not so small now,” said Marcus, eyes full of uncanny understanding. “And Mia trusts him absolutely.”
She had spent a lifetime teaching witches to work together. Building community, stirring the glue that would keep them strong in the face of adversity. Moira felt the tears rising again. “We can’t let him be on the front lines of this.” That was a job for the old. For the fierce.
For those who had journeyed with magic’s darkness.
Marcus didn’t move a muscle. But she felt it. His irrevocable commitment. Anything coming for Mia Walker—or her little brother—would go through Marcus Buchanan first. He knew what it was to have a life stolen by magic’s horrors.
Moira reached out a hand, holding Evan’s bright face in her mind and heart. The twin to Marcus’s darkness. “I still miss him so.” One five-year-old boy, lost to the astral planes.
And now another old magic hunted a child they loved.
“This time is different.” Marcus’s voice aimed for his old curmudgeon tones—and missed by a mile.
It was different. They were older. Wiser. And they knew what they were tangling with.
And Moira wasn’t at all sure it would matter.
Chapter 9
Nell knew she shouldn’t have been surprised.
And yet, staring at the determined, immovable faces of her three daughters, she somehow was. “You’re sure you don’t want to go play with the dolphins?” Sierra had shown up full of laughter this morning, talking of her new watery friends waiting just off the coastline for playmates. Nell suspected she’d spent half the night finding them. Aervyn had gathered Lizzie, Kenna, Benny, and his swimsuit in
Those who did—not all humans had the luxury of choices.
Just like tools of magic.
The orb shivered. And wished for the shimmering heat of the land of its birth and the quiet oblivion of the last hundred years.
-o0o-
Moira cuddled her umpteenth cup of tea, watching the first hints of sunrise out her window, wishing with every mote of her heart and soul that she could make bright red curls turn back to blonde.
There were fearsome magics in the world—she had always known that. And some of them had stolen those she loved. Brigit. Evan.
But now the very worst of them had come stalking an eleven-year-old girl she loved as her own. And an old witch had absolutely nothing to throw in its path.
“That’s hogwash.” The voice from her back door was stern—but Marcus’s face wore nothing but concern and love.
Strength—from one who knew exactly the price magic could extract. Moira rose and went straight into his arms, feeling his cloak settle round her shoulders. “You’re up early.”
He smiled into the top of her head. “Cass and Morgan are still sleeping, and I was restless.” He held her away from him slightly. “Seems like there was a reason. Since when does Moira Doonan think of herself as useless?”
Her vision wavered as the tears rose. “I’ve only a sneeze of magic left.”
He snorted, the crusty old Marcus of old. “And since when have you let a lack of magic stop you from doing anything in the known universe?”
The irony wasn’t lost on Moira—she’d spent a lifetime cajoling people out of self-pity with exactly this blend of love and pants-kicking. “I guess I’m feeling a mite weak and ineffectual this morning.”
“We all are.” His voice gentled now as he guided her slowly back to the table and her tea. “I’ve been consulting with Jamie and Nell. Trying to work out a more predictable form of the shielding spell Aervyn helped build.”
Three of their very best spellcasters working in the wee hours of the night, trying to replicate the seat-of-his-pants work of one small boy.
“He’s not so small now,” said Marcus, eyes full of uncanny understanding. “And Mia trusts him absolutely.”
She had spent a lifetime teaching witches to work together. Building community, stirring the glue that would keep them strong in the face of adversity. Moira felt the tears rising again. “We can’t let him be on the front lines of this.” That was a job for the old. For the fierce.
For those who had journeyed with magic’s darkness.
Marcus didn’t move a muscle. But she felt it. His irrevocable commitment. Anything coming for Mia Walker—or her little brother—would go through Marcus Buchanan first. He knew what it was to have a life stolen by magic’s horrors.
Moira reached out a hand, holding Evan’s bright face in her mind and heart. The twin to Marcus’s darkness. “I still miss him so.” One five-year-old boy, lost to the astral planes.
And now another old magic hunted a child they loved.
“This time is different.” Marcus’s voice aimed for his old curmudgeon tones—and missed by a mile.
It was different. They were older. Wiser. And they knew what they were tangling with.
And Moira wasn’t at all sure it would matter.
Chapter 9
Nell knew she shouldn’t have been surprised.
And yet, staring at the determined, immovable faces of her three daughters, she somehow was. “You’re sure you don’t want to go play with the dolphins?” Sierra had shown up full of laughter this morning, talking of her new watery friends waiting just off the coastline for playmates. Nell suspected she’d spent half the night finding them. Aervyn had gathered Lizzie, Kenna, Benny, and his swimsuit in
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