An Imperfect Witch
“Devin and Lauren moved as a unit—him for the infernal orb, her for the small boy. And then, adrenaline storming, realized there was nothing to fight. The orb sat in an angry water witch’s hands, totally silent. Aervyn cuddled into Lauren’s lap, unconcerned by the sudden tackle. “Don’t be mad, guys. It just wants somebody to listen.”Lauren sent one pithy word to her husband. Switch. And then climbed to her feet, eyes glued to the object in Devin’s big hands. There were rules, and the damn orb had just broken them.To hell with respect.She took the glass sphere into her own hands, fury barely leashed. Sensed the training circle her husband slammed down over her and the misbehaving globe as he put his bulk between them and a certain small boy. And readied a mind message powerful enough to melt a concrete wall.Leave. Him. Alone.The orb vibrated with the impact. Shuddered, its milky whites turbulent and almost sick. And then it sent back a single reply.Listen.It wasn’t a threa...t. Quite. Just an implacable demand.The best negotiator in Berkeley watched the shifting milky surface of the globe. And then bowed her head.She would listen. It had found her price.-o0o-The orb quaked, well aware how close it had just come to being a pile of glass dust on the floor.It had known the one who could listen had power. It had not known how much.One more small flick of her mind and she would have set off the cascading fractures to put the orb out of time altogether. Its surfaces yet reverberated from the impending doom.And still the forces had insisted on a reply.Sometimes none of them had a choice. The greater good was more important than any one puny soul.But the orb felt bad. It was growing to like this listener—and it feared for the small boy at her side. For now, the boy was protected, encased in the fierce love of the woman with the mind of steel and those who stood with her.One day the forces would be less gentle with him.The orb felt its surfaces still shaking. And knew it would one day have to choose a side.A sense of purpose slid in under the quaking. Perhaps that began now. Strengthening those who walked with the child. One day the tiny woman who loved words might be important.The orb settled. And waited.Its moment to act would come.-o0o-She didn’t know why she was here.Lizard scowled at the expanse of California beach, empty and far away from the urban bustle that made her feel human and important and consequential these days.She liked those feelings.Carefully, she pulled a much-abused piece of paper out of her backpack. The poem of no title, written in slashing letters and drowned in way too many tears. It hurt her just to look.Write it down and let the water wash it away. A morning message on her phone, sent by a witch far too old to be texting.Lizard stuffed the paper back in her bag. No point polluting the one pristine beach left in California.She sat down on a scraggly piece of driftwood, dropping her bag in the sand. The chic red leather told her story better than the angsty words on paper. Once upon a time, everything she owned had fit in a backpack.Woman straddling two worlds—and screwing up in both of them.A business card poked out of one of the red front pockets. She pulled it out, still embarrassed by her face on the shiny paper rectangle. She’d walked in to the photographer’s office in a suit and the most subdued earrings she owned. And left with a picture of herself in tats, a flippant grin, and more attitude than all the other realtors in Berkeley combined.Clients loved it.And in the dead of night when no one was listening and nobody cared, so did she.Lizard held the card in her hand. A talisman, of sorts. The important stuff of her new life.She knew what else lived in the front pocket of her bag. And some sudden masochistic streak made her want to pull it all out.The keys to her hole-in-the-wall apartment, attached to a small plastic skull that had been a birthday present from Aervyn. She set the keys down in the sand, next to her business card.Enough Romano’s receipts to keep the Russian Army marching for a week. A napkin-wrapped brownie—an Irish witch’s benediction for the road. A book of poetry for her current college class, written by a guy with way too much time on his hands and a tendency to abuse commas.Her fingers found the last thing in the bag’s pocket, even as her heart stuttered.A silver bracelet. Shiny, new, and as she set it down on the sand, Lizard knew that if the ocean waters suddenly raced up the beach, it was the first thing she would save. Her fingers traced its lines—and the last of her anger mutated into sorrow.Frack, she’d broken a lot of things. Drop-kicked Josh, stomped on her boss and a woman who flopped in a freaking concrete hole down a crappy alley, and sobbed all over Moira about her terrible life.The things on the beach told a very different story. Bracelets and poetry books and snazzy business cards and keys to a home that was all hers. One life, not at all terrible.Raven was a problem, not a neutron bomb. So far, the worst wrecking ball in Lizard Monroe’s October was the face staring out of the business card. Lizard leaned her chin on her knees and sighed. Angsty blame-the-world temper tantrums were way easier than this growing-up stuff.A pretty purple rock caught her eye, sitting quietly next to the bracelet. A jagged white line ran down its surface. She felt a spurt of sadness for the pebble, broken by an uncaring wave in a vast and indifferent ocean. Lizard reached out a thumb and finger, driven by some futile impulse to mend. And felt only wholeness.MoreLess
Write Review:
Guest
Read Also
8 / 10
User Reviews: