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Authors: Debora Geary
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making sure Devin doesn’t make a run for it. Sierra’s on broom-lesson duty.”
That wasn’t comforting. Sierra’s idea of a nice, quiet broom ride was enough to turn Lauren green just thinking about it.
But the small boy she loved was planning a surprise—and it wasn’t in her to squash his joy.
So her father, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of magic, Witch Central, and a daughter with power, was out getting broom-riding lessons from a five-year-old so she could glide into the altar on a broomstick.
It was, by witch standards, a very secret lesson. One she wasn’t supposed to know anything about, which had taken all her acting skills over the last few days. And she loved her father dearly for his willingness to play along.
Her mother had been recruited onto the decorating committee and disappeared without a trace. It was a far cry from their normal retiree existence.
“They’re doing fine,” said Nat softly, rocking the small girl nestled in her arms. “A lot better than my parents did.”
A year ago almost to the day, Nat’s parents had stood in frigid horror as their only daughter married the man she loved. Witch Central, on their best behavior, had honored the moment with solemn and very quiet magic—and then formed a solid wall of love around the woman they adored.
There were very, very few people not embraced by Witch Central. Nat’s parents had earned themselves a spot on the not-welcome list in less than two hours. “Your parents are idiots.”
Her best friend looked down at Kenna’s sleepy face and ignored the criticism, as she always did. And then her mind took on a mischievious tinge. She glanced back up at Lauren. “You know Gramma Retha’s waiting for more babies to hold, right?”
Devin’s mother wasn’t the only one in that line. And Lauren had learned a lot about witches in the last year. “What’s the betting pool say?”
“Split.” Nat grinned. “A fairly large group in the triplets-by-winter-solstice camp.”
Today was the spring solstice. Lauren did some quick math and snorted. “Not unless someone really spikes Devin’s punch.” And she planned to steadfastly ignore any possibility of three babies at one time. Surely marrying Devin Sullivan was a big-enough act of bravery to earn her karmic dispensation from Kenna-times-three.
Nat shrugged. “Caro’s giving you two years, and Jennie picked three, I think. Aervyn bet on ten—he says Devin has to get lots of uncle practice first.”
Lauren chuckled—Aervyn wasn’t really hot on babies at the moment. Kenna had stolen a lot of his limelight with her magical shenanigans.
The crystal ball had been silent on the question of children—and she was fine with that. She’d have been quite content to ignore the temperamental sphere altogether, but it had emanated weird crackles of light for a week until she’d sat down for a witch-to-ball chat.
Even skeptical witches didn’t ignore crystal balls having a temper tantrum.
And the ball wasn’t the only hocus-pocus that insisted on her attention.
Lauren looked down at the ring a dripping-wet Devin had quietly produced a few days after Kenna’s birth—a gorgeous, translucent pearl, cupped in two silver hands, and held tight to her finger by a band covered in ancient symbols. It emanated magic and age—and no one had ever seen it before. He said only that it was hers.
Moira had simply touched it reverently and smiled.
It was beautiful—and it pulled on her magic in ways that made her restless, and all too aware of the deeply mystical side of the man she was about to marry.
“He loves you.” Nat’s voice was soft and full of understanding. “And magic is part of who he is.”
No one knew what it was to love a man steeped in magic better than Nat.
Lauren traced a finger over the silver hands and the circle they made around the shimmering pearl. Circles were strong and
That wasn’t comforting. Sierra’s idea of a nice, quiet broom ride was enough to turn Lauren green just thinking about it.
But the small boy she loved was planning a surprise—and it wasn’t in her to squash his joy.
So her father, still trying to wrap his head around the idea of magic, Witch Central, and a daughter with power, was out getting broom-riding lessons from a five-year-old so she could glide into the altar on a broomstick.
It was, by witch standards, a very secret lesson. One she wasn’t supposed to know anything about, which had taken all her acting skills over the last few days. And she loved her father dearly for his willingness to play along.
Her mother had been recruited onto the decorating committee and disappeared without a trace. It was a far cry from their normal retiree existence.
“They’re doing fine,” said Nat softly, rocking the small girl nestled in her arms. “A lot better than my parents did.”
A year ago almost to the day, Nat’s parents had stood in frigid horror as their only daughter married the man she loved. Witch Central, on their best behavior, had honored the moment with solemn and very quiet magic—and then formed a solid wall of love around the woman they adored.
There were very, very few people not embraced by Witch Central. Nat’s parents had earned themselves a spot on the not-welcome list in less than two hours. “Your parents are idiots.”
Her best friend looked down at Kenna’s sleepy face and ignored the criticism, as she always did. And then her mind took on a mischievious tinge. She glanced back up at Lauren. “You know Gramma Retha’s waiting for more babies to hold, right?”
Devin’s mother wasn’t the only one in that line. And Lauren had learned a lot about witches in the last year. “What’s the betting pool say?”
“Split.” Nat grinned. “A fairly large group in the triplets-by-winter-solstice camp.”
Today was the spring solstice. Lauren did some quick math and snorted. “Not unless someone really spikes Devin’s punch.” And she planned to steadfastly ignore any possibility of three babies at one time. Surely marrying Devin Sullivan was a big-enough act of bravery to earn her karmic dispensation from Kenna-times-three.
Nat shrugged. “Caro’s giving you two years, and Jennie picked three, I think. Aervyn bet on ten—he says Devin has to get lots of uncle practice first.”
Lauren chuckled—Aervyn wasn’t really hot on babies at the moment. Kenna had stolen a lot of his limelight with her magical shenanigans.
The crystal ball had been silent on the question of children—and she was fine with that. She’d have been quite content to ignore the temperamental sphere altogether, but it had emanated weird crackles of light for a week until she’d sat down for a witch-to-ball chat.
Even skeptical witches didn’t ignore crystal balls having a temper tantrum.
And the ball wasn’t the only hocus-pocus that insisted on her attention.
Lauren looked down at the ring a dripping-wet Devin had quietly produced a few days after Kenna’s birth—a gorgeous, translucent pearl, cupped in two silver hands, and held tight to her finger by a band covered in ancient symbols. It emanated magic and age—and no one had ever seen it before. He said only that it was hers.
Moira had simply touched it reverently and smiled.
It was beautiful—and it pulled on her magic in ways that made her restless, and all too aware of the deeply mystical side of the man she was about to marry.
“He loves you.” Nat’s voice was soft and full of understanding. “And magic is part of who he is.”
No one knew what it was to love a man steeped in magic better than Nat.
Lauren traced a finger over the silver hands and the circle they made around the shimmering pearl. Circles were strong and
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