Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) by Emily Rylands Page B

flashing blue glow. The electricity surged through her body, and she felt it everywhere, out to ends of her hair which was spread out around her like a halo. She held onto the power for a few seconds, then the sparks sputtered and went out, leaving Wendy exposed and exhausted.
    “How?” he gasped. “I've never... How?”
    He looked so dumbfounded that Wendy laughed. “You thought you were the only one?”
    He nodded, his mouth still hanging open from his last attempt at speech.
    A moment ago, Ian had seemed light-years ahead of her in the witch department. Wendy found herself enjoying the fact that he didn't know as much as she thought. “Close your mouth,” she smiled, “or you'll catch flies.”
    Ian lifted a hand to his chin and rubbed his jaw. “It seems we have a lot more to talk about.”
     
    Ian looked like he needed to time to gather his thoughts, so while he puttered around in the living room, Wendy brewed coffee and whipped up a batch of scones. She didn't have her uncle's flair for baking, but she did make a decent scone. As she was pulling the pan out of the oven, she was struck by the absurdity of this typical domestic scene in the face of what she had just done.
    Her laughter, and perhaps the smells of coffee and orange scones, drew Ian into the kitchen.
    “Sit,” Wendy said, setting a plate and mug at one of the places at the table. “We have some time.  I don't think those vultures are going anywhere anytime soon.”
    Ian shrugged off the reporters, “We'll be able to get rid of them. What just happened?”
    Wendy countered with a question of her own. “Does Gerry know about your ability?”
    “I've never told him, but with Gerry, that doesn’t mean much.”
    “True,” Wendy acknowledged, “but I would be willing to bet he knows. That's why he picked you.” Wendy felt a huge sense of relief at understanding why her uncle had chosen to befriend this stranger, even if it didn't make her jealousy completely disappear.
    “What do you mean? I sought him out.”
    “I'm sure he let you believe that,” Wendy replied. She may have been smiling; it felt good to understand her uncle in a way that his 'heir apparent' did not. “He's good at that.”
    Ian took a big bite of his scone and washed it down with a slug of coffee. “Enough about what Gerry does or doesn't know. I know him well enough to realize that I will never know him. I want to talk about what I just saw.”
    Wendy wasn't sure where to begin. Being a witch was something that she had grown up with, and even after she turned her back on magic and Gerry, it had always been there, waiting for her. She had always felt the power flowing through her veins, her limbs, her soul.  The only place to really start , she decided, was at the beginning.
    “Are there any other witches in your family?”
    Ian shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
    “There are two kinds of witches,” she explained. “Some are just practitioners. They need spells, familiars, and potions to make magic happen. Without these tools to focus energy, they are regular people. You and I are different. We still use spells and potions most of the time, but we have a power that needs no outside help to manifest itself. We can tap into all the power in nature that surrounds us without even thinking about it. We're more rare, but we're certainly not alone.”
    Ian wasn't looking at her, but she could see him processing and assimilating what she had told him.
    “I'm surprised my uncle never explained any of this to you.” Wendy couldn’t understand it at all, in fact. It was completely unlike Gerry, who reveled in being a sort of mentor to the young and magically gifted. She knew that from personal experience.
    “I never asked,” Ian explained. “I've always known what I am, but I've never talked about it much. Your uncle helped me understand so much of what I am, but I never told him about... you know.” Even now, even knowing, he didn't want to talk about it.
    Wendy