Feathers (A Witch Central Morsel) (5 page)

Mia stuck her head up, looking for their arrow.  And giggled like a maniac when she spotted it.  “Oops,” she said in her best Uncle Devin imitation.  “I guess we’re supposed to watch where they’re going, huh?”

“Nuh, uh.  Healers aim without seeing all the time.”  Ginia was studying the big target, face intent.  “If we practiced, we could do it.”

Shay, on the bottom of the pile, had to twist around harder to see.  “We’ll just tell the little tree to get out of the way next time.”

That should have been funny, and yet, somehow, it sounded almost reasonable.

Matt plunked down on the ground beside the pile of girls and stumps.  “Congratulations.  You guys just did something most people would say is impossible.”

The girls were untangling themselves.  Slowly.  Mia rolled a stump back and forth, eyes never leaving Matt’s.  “So did Nat.  And Helga.”

Lauren hid a snicker.  So much for her moment of glory as Helga’s silent partner.

Mia squinted.  “And Dad, because he doesn’t have really big muscles.  Just sneaky ones.”

There were several Sullivans biting back laughter at that one, including Daniel.

Matt had eyes only for the girls.  “So, who is the strongest?”

Ginia grinned over at her brother.  “It doesn’t matter—I was dumb and hungry too.”  She looked back at Matt.  “We were all strong in different ways.  Sometimes we changed the rules, but everybody did something important, and we learned from each other and we made each other brave.” 

And then her laughter blew loose, exuberant eleven-year-old girl done thinking.  She held up two hands, high fiving her sisters.  Lauren shook her head as the audience broke itself apart, heading for the girls and the bow in about equal proportions. 

Lesson for the day, totally owned.

-o0o-

The heat of the late afternoon in Costa Rica didn’t mess around.

Nell lounged under a wide tree near the swimming hole with all the other sane adults.  At this exact moment, that was a fairly small number.  The rest of their motley crew was in various stages of wet, with regular trips to the tree for sandwiches or one of the magical fruity beverages Téo and Nat had concocted.

Nell had a frothy pink one.  It was delicious.

A wet, squelching sound nearby pulled one of her eyes open.  Jamie, come to check on his napping daughter.  Kenna had sat down to drink some frothy pink and fallen over about ten seconds later, a slightly soggy sleeping cherub.

“Benny’s next.”  Jamie took a big bite of something manly and full of meat and talked around his food.  “Dev’s tiring him out a little more.”

That was a job for the ages.  “I manned the water slide last.  I’m pretty sure Benny came down every three or four sliders.”

Her brother chuckled.  “He hasn’t quite figured out the waiting-in-line thing yet.”

Nobody in Witch Central would have made him wait anyhow.  His exuberant yells as he went down the slide, over and over and over, were pure summer gold.

Matt joined them under the tree, bearing a sandwich almost as big as Jamie’s, and something that looked suspiciously like brownie.  He handed over half before Nell had done more than prop herself up on an elbow.

Brotherly love.

She grinned, deeply enjoying the chance to spend some lazy time with the brother she didn’t see nearly often enough.  “I knew there was a reason I love you best.”

“Hey!”  It was hard to look too aggrieved with a mouth full of stolen brownie, but Jamie managed.  “I made sure none of your girls ended up with arrows in their brains.”

Nell just retrieved what was left of the purloined chocolate and raised an eyebrow.

“No loyalty.”  Jamie shook his head, and then cocked an eyebrow at Matt.  “I can’t believe you armed Helga.  Business at the clinic must be slow.”

Their quietest brother smiled.  “I was more worried it might be Aunt Moira. Didn’t expect Nat, though.  Should have.”

That had been a hell of a javelin throw.  One she was now busy teaching Nathan and Téo.  Nell chewed contemplatively, glad to be in the shade of a tree.  Napping-kid duty was way less sweaty than the alternative pursuits.  “You earned yourself some major uncle points.”  She eyed Matt, putting weight behind her easy words.  “Thanks.”

Mia romped over, barely managing to avoid sleeping Kenna as she peeled around the tree.  “I smell chocolate.”

Nell happily threw her brothers under the bus.  “I think they ate the last brownie.”

Jamie and Matt didn’t miss their cue.  “Did not.”

A snicker popped out of Mia’s cheeks, aided by Jamie’s totally over-the-top look of innocent dismay.

Nell grinned at her daughter.  “You should have tried growing up with them.  They never left anything good to eat.”

Jamie rolled his eyes as Mia laughed.  “You didn’t have to live with a big sister who tried to turn you into a trio of frogs every time your mom wasn’t looking.”

She’d only tried that once.

Mia’s giggles were legion now.  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Jamie glared, aggrieved.  “
Pink
frogs.”

“Did you ever make it work, Mama?”

“Nope.”  Nell shook her head.  “Moira told me it didn’t work because frogs are really smart and they all hid every time I started my magic.”

Jamie grinned.  “Probably because they didn’t want to be pink.”

It was like being eight all over again.  “Probably because they didn’t want to be
you
.”

“Children, children.”  Retha stepped over to the tree and winked at Mia.  “When they’re acting like this, you need to send them to their rooms with moldy socks for dinner.”

Mia’s hands wrapped around her ribs as more giggles squirted out.  “I don’t think Nathan packed any of his socks.”

Nell hid a snort.  Barely.  Nathan’s feet had turned into pure teenage boy lately.  Nobody went into his room anymore.  Which might be the point.  The kid had probably figured out a moldy-sock spell.

Jamie looked suspiciously amused.  And guilty.

Nell grinned up at them, ruffians all.  Summer was the very best.  Especially if there were more brownies.

Lauren stared at her husband, not comprehending.  The sun had barely crept into the morning sky.  She clutched her coffee, hoping for cup-to-skin caffeine.  “We need to do what?” 

He swung at imaginary things in the air.  “We need to find a field.  Someplace to play baseball.”

Sure—those were plentiful in the rainforest.  She struggled through the deep fog of not-quite-gone sleep.  It had been a long, late night.  Again.  “We need to do this right now?” 

“Yup.”  Her husband’s eyes gleamed with overgrown-boy enthusiasm.  “Daniel’s gone to chat with Téo and find equipment, and Aervyn’s porting whatever we can’t source here.  Our job is to scout a location.”

She had no idea how she’d been nominated Sullivan most likely to find a baseball diamond in the middle of the jungle, but her brain was beginning to work out a couple of muddled details.  This was no innocent ball game.  “What’s going on?”

“We’re playing baseball.”  Dev took a swing through the air again.  “A game where everyone has teammates and sometimes things don’t go according to the rules.  And some people who don’t know what their feathers mean yet might have a chance to figure it out.”

Aervyn had been a little quiet last night, watching his sisters fire dance with their feathers.  And he hadn’t been the only one pondering the meaning of their little bit of parrot.  Lauren slugged down more coffee.  “You’re meddling.”  A behavior the men of Witch Central firmly attributed to women and small children.

“Nope.”  Twinkling eyes belied the word.  “We’re playing baseball.” 

Like hell they were.  Lauren considered.  “Isn’t a water fight easier?”  There was lots of water nearby.  And lots of witches who would have fun dumping it all over everyone.  Baseball sounded hot.  And sweaty.

“A baseball comes fast and hard.  And there’s only one thing to do with it,” said Devin quietly, eyes never leaving hers.  “Sometimes you miss when you swing.  And sometimes you hit it over the fences.”

She could hear the end he didn’t say.  Lots of life lessons that might appeal to certain someones wanting to feel worthy of their feathers.  Oh, hell.  The dregs of her cup grated as they went down Lauren’s throat.  She stood up, reaching for her husband’s hand.  If baseball was the way Witch Central was watering itself today, she’d tromp all over Costa Rica looking for a field.

His smile pushed the caffeine fast and hard into her veins.  And totally distracted her from the presence in front of her until she nearly ran him over.

“Yeesh—sorry, Téo.”  Lauren pushed herself gently back from his chest, apologizing to both him and her jangled brain.  Definitely not enough coffee.

He smiled, looking far too awake.  “I hear you need a baseball diamond.”

He heard everything.  “You got any of those here in the rainforest?”

The man with dark eyes and a new blue feather in his hair snorted.  “This is Costa Rica.  We have them tucked behind every tree.”  He nodded his head.  “Come, I’ll show you my favorite.  It’s a bit of a trek, but worth it, I think.”

That figured.  She picked up her coffee mug.  All things would be better just as soon as she was fully caffeinated.

-o0o-

Nell surveyed her team.  They were a pretty motley crew, and way too many of them had a very loose connection to the actual rules of baseball.  Which she had about three minutes to fix.

Helga chortled from under a bright pink hat.  “So we run that way after we hit the ball, right?”

“Yup.”  Aervyn nodded helpfully.  “But you gotta put your foot on that white thing.  That’s the base, and if you don’t step on it, Gramma Retha gets to tickle you.”

Nell grinned.  That rule probably didn’t apply to players over ten.  Or maybe it did.  Gramma Retha didn’t generally play fair, and Daniel, captaining the other team, would be sure to have her manning first base.

“You have to hit the ball first.”  Lizzie was swinging a bat experimentally.  “I’m not so good at it, though.”

She would be today.  Daniel was pitching for the opposing team, and he had excellent aim.  And if he couldn’t land the ball on Lizzie’s bat, there were ten witches in attendance who would quietly help.

Moira leaned over to Kevin, newly arrived from Fisher’s Cove with his brand-new baseball glove.  “You’re sure that makes catching the wee ball easier, are you?  Big lug of a thing it is.”

“Yup.”  He grinned.  “It can handle a freight train.  So you can throw the ball at me as hard as you want.”

Nell chuckled.  Moira had an impressive arm for a seventy-three-year-old, but she’d be hanging out in left field with Aervyn.  It was far more likely superboy would be the one hurling badly aimed balls back at the shortstop.

And him, nobody would be helping.  Aervyn insisted on playing baseball with no magic—he had ever since he’d been old enough to understand the quiet help generally given to their littlest players.  He never seemed the least bit traumatized by his wild throws or even wilder turns at the plate.  Nell was fairly convinced he enjoyed the chance to be an entirely normal boy for a few hours.

One with fairly hopeless baseball skills and a giggle that would get him picked to a team every time.

The other team was heading onto the field.  Nell nodded at her eldest son.  “You want lead-off or cleanup?”

“Cleanup.”  He grinned.  “I think Helga should bat first.  Dad’s totally scared of her.”

Not a chance, but her son had come by his trash-talking skills honestly.  And Helga didn’t seem the least bit cowed by the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about baseball.  Carefully, she adjusted her hat to a closer approximation of Nathan’s and then swaggered up to the plate, holding the wrong end of the bat.

Nathan snickered and offered a pithy, whispered correction.  The old lady grinned back at him and adjusted her hold.

And then she stepped up to the plate, eyed Daniel, and dropped into a picture-perfect batter’s stance.

Nell’s eyebrows flew up.  And stayed up there as Helga calmly watched a couple of easy lobs go right through the strike zone.

Daniel was no idiot.  The third throw was a real pitch.  Not a fastball, but not what he lobbed at the under-four-foot crowd, either.

Helga’s bat made solid contact, right in the sweet spot.

The batter grinned as both the shortstop and second baseman dove and missed.  And then she winked at Daniel and headed for first base, not at all confused about where it was or how to get there.

Nell laughed.  They’d been had by a pro.  She waved at Shay, who was already choosing her bat.  “Get her onto second, girlchild.  We’re going to win this game in the first inning.”

When Shay sent the first throw winging hard up the third baseline, it seemed like the universe was listening.  With half her brain, Nell kept her lineup moving, sprinkling the skilled players in often enough to keep runners on base and the people in the outfield awake.  The other half of her brain and all of her heart sank into the pleasure of a game of baseball on a hot and muggy day.

The sharp thwack of ball in glove.  The good-natured taunts at the pitcher.  The whispered instructions from players on both teams as their littlest ones ran the bases or fielded a ball.  The cheers for a good catch or a brave swing, even if it missed.