An Unlikely Witch Read Online Free Page B

held it.  “I came without even thinking, seeking the comfort you always seem to have ready.”
    Lovely words, even if the voice that said them wavered.  “If I’ve any magic left, it’s that of hearth and home.  And you, daughter of my heart, will always be welcome.”
    A dark head curled down, finding a soft shoulder. 
    Moira reached her hand to a cheek cold from the frosts of winter.  “You walked a bit before you came, then.”
    “I did.”  Lauren’s breath lurched out.  “Berkeley’s my turf now.  My streets.  They help me think.”
    Just as an old witch had her gardens.  Moira led the two of them into her cozy parlor, fire quietly burning in the hearth and the light smell of cinnamon dancing in the air.  She’d felt festive this morning.
    But cinnamon also called to bravery.  Courage.
    Perhaps her fingers, meandering along her spice jars in the dawn hours, had known.
    Moira took her time, letting the fire and the coziness do their bits of magic.  She settled Lauren in a corner of the couch and draped a fuzzy green throw over her knees.  And then, finding her own seat, took two of Aaron’s cookie treasures out of the simple tin, still warm from his morning of baking. 
    The man had infallible instincts, both as an innkeeper and as one of the witching community’s best caretakers.
    Lauren’s fingers worried their way into the soft green yarn.  And ignored the cookie.
    The old healer sitting three feet away worried.  There were degrees of sorrow—and a witch able to ignore a freshly baked cookie was pretty deep into them.  She took a breath and found the words to begin.  Love could go even where maple-pecan cookies couldn’t.  “Tell me what makes you so sad today, sweet girl.”
    Another stuttering breath as one of Berkeley’s steadiest witches tried to right herself.  Lauren picked up the cookie, tracing its edges.  “The crystal ball is talking again.”
    Moira nodded in approval, even as her worry ratcheted up.  “The two of you are beginning to learn to work together.” 
    That flew past her visitor with nary a comment. 
    Dread landed in an old witch’s heart.  “What did it show you, love?” 
    Lauren’s voice hitched as her fingers crumbled the cookie into dust.  “Nat.  With the little boy and the snowman.”
    Moira felt her soul catch.  No more needed to be said.  There wasn’t a witch alive who didn’t know of Jamie’s vision.  A beautiful story of romance, magic, and love at first sight.
    And a story of two who waited, so patiently, to be a small boy’s parents.
    Moira was quite sure there were very few who understood just how deeply Nat and Jamie yearned.  Or all the bits of why.  But one of the people in the know was the fierce friend sitting under her green throw—and what lay in her eyes was almost defeat.  An old witch reached for blind hope.  “Are you sure the orb doesn’t bring good news?”  This was a babe long awaited.   A moment perhaps worthy of announcement.
    Lauren’s eyes were dark and full of sorrow.  “I asked it that.  It’s sorry, but it doesn’t know.”
    Moira blinked.  In Great-gran’s day, the crystal ball had been mysterious, powerful, and greatly revered.  But not once, in all the stories, had it ever had feelings. 
    “I don’t know what to do.”  The tears that had been threatening leaked down Lauren’s right cheek.  “I can’t tell Nat,” she said hoarsely.  “This will hurt her so much.”
    Nat Sullivan was one of the strongest people Moira knew.  And one who loved deepest.  “I don’t think the orb speaks to you lightly.”  An old witch sat, torn, wondering if her next words were an act of kindness, or one of cowardice.  “But it’s never a bad thing to proceed with care, especially when what you might be carrying is so heavy.”
    “That’s what Devin said.”
    A man far wiser than he looked.
    “This is more than just a baby.”  A deep breath from a witch demanding much of her own