cocoa.” There was a smile in Lauren’s voice.
Devin Sullivan was useful for far more than that. The lion at Witch Central’s gates. A guardian for tender young blooms—and old withering ones, too. Moira stood up to bestow kisses on cheeks as they laid their belongings at the edge of her pool. “Come into the water. It’s lovely and warm tonight.”
Devin hopped in, a man deeply at home in water of any kind.
Moira felt the currents in her pool stir in reply to his magic. Energies, recognizing one of their own.
Lauren slid in with a sigh of pleasure. “It really does feel best on cold winter nights.”
Moira chuckled. This was hardly winter yet—barely the teasings of it. But her young friends from California could be forgiven their misconceptions. “I do tend to get more company when it grows colder.”
Devin snorted. “You get a dozen visitors every day of the year.”
He wasn’t wrong—it was the greatest blessing of her old age. Moira settled into her favorite curved rock again and regarded the pool’s other two inhabitants.
Lauren picked up a mug of cocoa and sipped. “You know why we’ve come.”
“I don’t.” Moira stared down the raised eyebrows. “I know the topic at hand well enough, but not whether you’ve been honest with yourselves yet about why you’re here.”
“Told you.” Devin slid an arm around his wife’s shoulders, amused. “She’s scary at this time of year.”
“Pffft.” Moira hid a smile, well pleased by the compliment. “I’m just an old Irish granny who’s been around the meadow a time or two.”
“Yup. And I just sell houses and occasionally read a mind or two.” Lauren’s gaze over her mug was decidedly casual.
Moira also knew a challenge when she heard it. And as much fun as it would be to dance swords with the woman who would one day replace her, they had more important work to do this October night. “You’ve an assistant who also believes that she just sells houses.”
“She’s not my assistant anymore.” Lauren leaned back against Devin’s chest, grinning. “I made her an associate over the summer. I don’t think she’s told anyone yet.”
A good gardener had plenty of experience with those kinds of seeds—the ones that wanted to stay comfortably tucked in their husks. The hardest to grow, and often those most worthy of the effort. “She doesn’t yet trust the roots she’s grown.” And there would be more steps forward and backward before that journey was done.
“She’ll need to trust them now,” said Lauren quietly, worry finally rising to the surface. “Raven’s pushing hard on her.”
“Aye. Lizard came to see me earlier today.”
Surprise hit Lauren’s face.
Devin grinned. “Don’t underestimate the poet, huh?”
He would know—he’d been one of the most regular at her kitchen table over the years. “She’s wise enough to seek out the help she needs.” Even if it still cost her dearly to do it. “And far less broken than she still believes.”
He nodded, as she’d known he would. Trusting the flow came easily to him.
His wife was another matter entirely.
Lauren grimaced, clearly picking up Moira’s thoughts. “I don’t know where to stand. To help, to lead, or to butt the hell out.”
The young always wanted singular answers. “A little bit of all three, I’d imagine.”
“That’s clarifying.” Lauren’s voice was as dry as dust.
“I’m Irish, my dear.” It was so easy to be amused these days. “If you expected a straight answer, you came to the wrong soaking pool.”
Devin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know—I’ve gotten plenty of pretty forthright answers in these here parts.”
Tornadoes rather required them. “Someone had to keep you out of trouble, my dear. Your wife is a bit more careful with where she points her feet.” Moira smiled at the woman in question. “And a bit more
Devin Sullivan was useful for far more than that. The lion at Witch Central’s gates. A guardian for tender young blooms—and old withering ones, too. Moira stood up to bestow kisses on cheeks as they laid their belongings at the edge of her pool. “Come into the water. It’s lovely and warm tonight.”
Devin hopped in, a man deeply at home in water of any kind.
Moira felt the currents in her pool stir in reply to his magic. Energies, recognizing one of their own.
Lauren slid in with a sigh of pleasure. “It really does feel best on cold winter nights.”
Moira chuckled. This was hardly winter yet—barely the teasings of it. But her young friends from California could be forgiven their misconceptions. “I do tend to get more company when it grows colder.”
Devin snorted. “You get a dozen visitors every day of the year.”
He wasn’t wrong—it was the greatest blessing of her old age. Moira settled into her favorite curved rock again and regarded the pool’s other two inhabitants.
Lauren picked up a mug of cocoa and sipped. “You know why we’ve come.”
“I don’t.” Moira stared down the raised eyebrows. “I know the topic at hand well enough, but not whether you’ve been honest with yourselves yet about why you’re here.”
“Told you.” Devin slid an arm around his wife’s shoulders, amused. “She’s scary at this time of year.”
“Pffft.” Moira hid a smile, well pleased by the compliment. “I’m just an old Irish granny who’s been around the meadow a time or two.”
“Yup. And I just sell houses and occasionally read a mind or two.” Lauren’s gaze over her mug was decidedly casual.
Moira also knew a challenge when she heard it. And as much fun as it would be to dance swords with the woman who would one day replace her, they had more important work to do this October night. “You’ve an assistant who also believes that she just sells houses.”
“She’s not my assistant anymore.” Lauren leaned back against Devin’s chest, grinning. “I made her an associate over the summer. I don’t think she’s told anyone yet.”
A good gardener had plenty of experience with those kinds of seeds—the ones that wanted to stay comfortably tucked in their husks. The hardest to grow, and often those most worthy of the effort. “She doesn’t yet trust the roots she’s grown.” And there would be more steps forward and backward before that journey was done.
“She’ll need to trust them now,” said Lauren quietly, worry finally rising to the surface. “Raven’s pushing hard on her.”
“Aye. Lizard came to see me earlier today.”
Surprise hit Lauren’s face.
Devin grinned. “Don’t underestimate the poet, huh?”
He would know—he’d been one of the most regular at her kitchen table over the years. “She’s wise enough to seek out the help she needs.” Even if it still cost her dearly to do it. “And far less broken than she still believes.”
He nodded, as she’d known he would. Trusting the flow came easily to him.
His wife was another matter entirely.
Lauren grimaced, clearly picking up Moira’s thoughts. “I don’t know where to stand. To help, to lead, or to butt the hell out.”
The young always wanted singular answers. “A little bit of all three, I’d imagine.”
“That’s clarifying.” Lauren’s voice was as dry as dust.
“I’m Irish, my dear.” It was so easy to be amused these days. “If you expected a straight answer, you came to the wrong soaking pool.”
Devin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know—I’ve gotten plenty of pretty forthright answers in these here parts.”
Tornadoes rather required them. “Someone had to keep you out of trouble, my dear. Your wife is a bit more careful with where she points her feet.” Moira smiled at the woman in question. “And a bit more
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