A Different Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 5) (13 page)

She wanted them to be awesome for everyone.

In programming, if one angle didn’t work, you tried another.  “So how do we help Beth be ready for what we are?” 

“Maybe we don’t.”  Nat’s fingers stroked her mug meditatively.  “From what Lauren tells me, for Beth, love and sisterhood live in Chicago.  She’s here for something else.”

Training.  But life didn’t work like that, even for witches.  Maybe especially for witches.  “Magic doesn’t come in its own little separate box.  It grows out of the connections between us.”

“I know.”

Nell watched as Nat’s mind dug for an answer.  Patience didn’t come naturally to fire witches, but she’d learned that her sister-in-law’s wisdom was worth the wait.

“Some people come to my yoga classes ready to immerse themselves in the experience.  They come early, sit in the middle of the room, sink into the music and meditation their very first class.”

Nell’s lips quirked—most witches she knew didn’t fall into that category.  “Jamie was one of those, huh?”

Nat’s laugh was like dancing summer rain.  “No, he hung out in the back row and squirmed during meditation for almost a year.”  She sobered, love shining in her eyes.  “But he knows how to be in his body, so for him, the flow and movement were his key into the rest.  For some, it’s the music, or the same familiar spot in the room, or focusing only on one simple asana.  Small pieces of the whole that eventually let them join more completely.”

And there was the nugget she’d been waiting for.  “You’re saying that we need to give Beth small pieces of what we are.”  A bowl of nuts.  One adorable toddler holding a pretty ball of fire.  Things that would eventually lead to the rest.

“Something like that.”  Nat set her mug back down on the table.  “I also know that for some students, I struggle mightily to find the parts that will matter for them.”

Nell thought she knew where this one was going.  “And those are the ones who make you feel the best when you figure it out?”

“Yes.  Sometimes.”  Nat smiled a little sadly.  “And sometimes, those are the ones where I fail.”

Nell took a deep breath and blew it out.  Her gut said those were the words she’d really been waiting to hear.  The name to the shadow haunting her day.  The possibility they might fail.

That
she
might fail.

It wasn’t Nat’s wisdom she’d been seeking after all.  It was her courage.

Chapter 9

Lauren waved good-bye to Jacob and his father and closed the door to the Center.  It had been a good session, full of laughter, two new words, and a very lopsided pillow fight.

And it had added fuel to the litany of questions circling in her head.

Tabitha stepped up to her shoulder, two cups of coffee in her hands.  “That was a good day.  Come sit and tell me what’s got you so distracted.”

Lauren followed her over to a squishy couch that did double duty as the pillow fight headquarters.  “We have a new witch who’s come to Berkeley looking for some training.”

“Mmm.”  Tab raised a curious eyebrow.  “Mind witch?”

“No.”  The couch felt heavenly—it had been a very long day.  “Fire witch.  With Asperger’s.”

“Aaahh.”  They sipped together quietly for a moment.

“We didn’t get off to a good start.”  Lauren watched shadows flirt in her coffee cup and gave Tabitha the short version of Beth’s fetching.  “She had a rough arrival, and then we managed to compound the mess in her first training session with Nell.”

Tab’s mind winced. 

Lauren stopped, train of thought broken.  “You think that was a bad choice?  Nell’s one of our best fire witches.”

“Nell’s wonderful.  But she’s kind of the opposite of autistic.”

People with autism were as varied and diverse as people with brown hair, magic, or shiny red shoes.  Even very part-time work in the Center had taught her that.  Lauren frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Autism is a lot of things.  But at its heart, it’s a collection of issues that get in the way of being in easy community with others.  Think about Jacob.”

Lauren nodded slowly.  A year and a half ago, their small bright boy had such a need to spin that he couldn’t stop long enough for a hug.  Now he could—but he still lacked words.  And he made strange noises.  And he had a very hard time reading the body language and facial expressions and tones of a normal conversation.  “He’s improving so much.”

“He is.”  Pride shone from Tabitha’s mind.  “And he will keep improving.  But for him, relating to others is hard work.”

The dots were lining up.  “And Nell is the heart of Witch Central and makes it look effortless.”  Relating writ large.

“Yup.”  Tab set down her coffee.  “She lives and breathes community—and she offers it to others generously.  You would know that.”

She did.  But for a newbie mind witch from Chicago, used to interacting with a sea of people on a daily basis, it had still been a near-drowning experience.  “They have no idea how overwhelming they are.”

“The world needs Witch Central to be exactly as it is.”  Tabitha gave Lauren a searching look.  “But it also needs people who remember what it was like to stand in the path of that kind of wave.”

A mirror.  Tabitha was particularly good with them.  Lauren looked into her coffee cup, which was suddenly mysteriously empty.  “Funny, I came here to see if you could help us understand Beth and how to help her.  You always help me see myself more clearly instead.”

“Oh, I can help with Beth too.  You already have the perfect person to help you understand her.”

Lauren blinked.  “Who?”

“Beth,” said Tabitha wryly.  “Jacob can’t speak for himself.  She can.”

Lauren remembered back to her first whirlwind days in Witch Central.  She’d barely been able to figure out what to eat for breakfast.  “I wouldn’t have known what to say.”  It had taken her months to process that particular upheaval in her life. 

“
You
aren’t autistic, either.”  Tabitha’s eyes were kind—and flagged another lesson coming.  “You roll with life with an ease that makes me very jealous.  Those of us who are less adaptable need to learn how to cope with the world, and that involves figuring out what we need.  Beth sounds like a strong and amazing woman.  From what you told me earlier, she owns a business, has friends, is in a long-term relationship.  Handles the role of coven leader with quite some skill and grace.  No one with Asperger’s could do most of those things without learning a whole lot about themselves.  I’m quite sure she’ll have a very good idea of what she needs.”

Phew.  “They—Nell, but even Moira—see her as weak.”

Tabitha raised an eyebrow.  “And you don’t.”

It wasn’t a question, thank goodness.  “No, although I don’t think I’d painted quite as clear a picture for myself as you just did.”  Lauren paused, at the center of her dilemma now.  “How do I help them see?”

The pause was a very long one.  “I think maybe you don’t.  We don’t do a competent person any favors when we carry them on their journey.”

“Her partner said much the same thing.”  Have a little respect.  Clearly, on this issue, with this witch, they were very slow learners.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime.  And let me know how it goes.”  Wistfulness wafted into the air along with the smell of coffee.  “I like to hear of adults with autism who have full, rich lives.  It gives me hope for my kiddos.” 

-o0o-

Beth squinted, wishing her eyes could see magical flows with half the ease of anyone else here in California.  “It gets all blurry when you move it that fast.”

“Hmm.”  Jamie leaned back, studying his hands.  “It has to move that fast.  Fire flows are really difficult to slow down.”

She’d been slowing them down all her life.  “But if they go fast, I can’t see what they’re doing.  And if I can’t see what they’re doing, I can’t shape them into anything useful.”  Beth could feel the frustration rising in her throat.  Another magic lesson headed somewhere wrong.

“I hear you.”  The flickering light on Jamie’s palm died.  “Let me try holding the final spellshape steady for you again—maybe now that you’ve seen pieces of it forming, you’ll be able to weave it yourself.”

“No.”  Beth was coming to a very uncomfortable realization.  It wasn’t just a problem with speed.  “My mind doesn’t work like that.”  She wasn’t creative or spontaneous, unlike apparently every other witch in Berkeley.  “If I want to get to a specific destination, I need a map.”  A very detailed, thorough one.  Like the one Aervyn had drawn for her, neatly tracing all the lines of his beautiful magical ball. 

But that had been yesterday.  Today, she was an autistic witch—and apparently back to unteachable.

Jamie smiled wryly.  “I wish I had my nephew’s skill, but he’s the only witch I know who can teach magic like that, and unfortunately, his presence was required in kindergarten this morning.”

Beth tried not to cringe—most of her memories of school were not good ones.  “Does he like kindergarten?”

“Loves it.”  Lights flickered on Jamie’s palm again.  “His favorite part of the day is weather forecasting, closely followed by making paper lanterns out of shiny red paper.  I think they’re getting ready for Divali.”

It didn’t sound like any school she’d ever been to.  “What’s Divali?”

“Indian Festival of Lights.  Witches aren’t alone—most cultures have some kind of celebration at this time of year.  A reaction to all the dark, I guess.” 

Beth blinked as the power lines on Jamie’s hand slid briefly into focus.  And then blurred again as she squinted at them.

“Keep talking to me.”  His voice was soft, but carried a touch of command.  “What were your favorite parts of kindergarten?”

“I didn’t like school.”  The lines stayed blurred.

Jamie sighed.  “Me neither.  My brother Matt did, but Devin and I weren’t born to sit still.”

Sitting hadn’t been her problem.  “I had trouble with all the noise.”

He grinned.  “Devin and I
were
most of the noise.”

She’d hidden inside a locker once, trying to get away from kids like that.  For the briefest moment, the lines slid into focus again.  “It’s hard for me to focus when there’s too much going on around me.”  At school, or anywhere else.  It was making her crazy, trying to talk and watch his hand at the same time.

And yet, there were tiny glimpses of success peeking through.

Hope.

The lights on Jamie’s palm vanished.

Beth’s eyes snapped up to his.  “Why did you turn them off?  I was seeing it.”  Just a few more quick flashes and she might have enough—her mind learned maps very quickly.

“I know.  I think maybe we just learned something useful, and we’ll try again in a few minutes.”  He reached into a dilapidated leather bag on the floor and came out with a small green container.  “Nat sent over more of her granola.”

“Thank you.”  She never understood why people interrupted important work with inane small talk, but she tried to roll with it.

“Check your power levels,” said Jamie quietly.

She blinked—they hadn’t been doing any actual magic. 

“Gas tank’s on low.”  His eyes watched her steadily.

Beth did the quick self-check that was the first lesson she taught every witch in her circle.  And cursed the spluttering dregs of power that she found.  To be that low after so little was embarrassing—but not noticing it was far worse.  “I’m sorry.  That was a beginner mistake.”  One that had her teeth gritting.  Jamie had shown up on her doorstep bearing coffee and burritos and announced that they needed to start at the beginning.  Ten years of hard work as a fire witch and apparently she wasn’t yet skilled enough to try the tricks small children did with ease.  The last thing she’d wanted to do was prove him right.

“You were trying something new.”  He seemed unconcerned by her sloppiness.  “It’s easy to lose track of something.”

Something in his casualness grated on her nerves.  “It’s dangerous.”

“It would be if you were working alone.”  His cookie stopped halfway to his mouth.  “Ah.  Which you usually do.”

Not always.  “I have a circle.”

“But you’re the strongest.”  His eyes were clear now, like he saw right through her.  “You’ve always been the one who has to keep track of all the pieces, make sure no one in your circle is overexerting themselves.”

“Of course.”  Keeping her circle safe was a leader’s biggest priority.  And they were her friends.

“And you train alone.”

“Yes.”  She tried not to feel judged.  “Liri monitors when she can, but it exhausts her.”  She did the best with what she had.  “It would slow down my learning if I never worked alone.  I’m very careful.”

Jamie set down his cookie.  “When we train here, we try to transfer most of those responsibilities to the trainer.  It frees up your energies to be less careful.  To explore the magic more, knowing someone has your back.”

It was a tempting offer—and a dangerous one.  “I’m only here for a short time.  I don’t want to pick up any habits that would be unsafe at home.” 

“We’d layer in the checksafes again before you go.”

He was trying so hard to understand.  Beth took a deep breath and tried once again to explain the reality of being an Aspie witch.  “I need rituals and patterns.  They help my mind to connect with the magic, but they also help me as a person to stay comfortable.”  Something all her circle knew and helped her with.