A Lost Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 7) by Debora Geary

witches who share her magic have sudden, screeching chalkboards.”
    Oh, hell.  The final pieces slammed into place.  Being around strong magics was a well-known trigger for emergence.  And there were very few magics Aervyn didn’t have.  Nell grabbed the suitcase.  They were leaving.  Now.
    -o0o-
    Moira set her bundle down inside the door of the inn.  She had some fresh herbs for Aaron, but those could wait.  There was an unhappy child sitting inside on a warm summer’s afternoon, and that was a far more pressing concern.
    She found Ginia curled up in the parlor’s biggest armchair, a stack of books on the table to her right.  The one in her lap was massive, old, and entirely depressing.  Moira grimaced—any child who had picked that one up was on a very determined mission.  “Hello, sweet girl.”
    Ginia looked up, her smile not making it entirely into her eyes.  “Hi.  I’m doing some research to help Hannah.”
    Trying to make herself useful.  Moira sat down on the couch.  “Would you like some company?”  Young Kevin sitting by himself was never cause for concern, but Ginia had a heart that drew her to people.  “Or Lizzie’s about to head down to the water, if you’d like to get your toes wet.” 
    The grin was real this time.  “She’s gonna get a lot wetter than that.”
    More than likely.  “I remember playing on the beaches when I was her age.  My mother used to wring out my skirts when I got home and ask me if my knees had suddenly grown toes.”
    Lines like that were supposed to get a giggle or two, not half an unhappy  smile.  Moira leaned over and touched the dusty pages of the book in Ginia’s lap.  “It’s making you sad, lovely girl.  Perhaps you’ll tell an old witch why.”
    Still-small fingers traced some unknown image on the page.  “Why are there magics that are just awful?”
    A big question, from a witchling who was never looking for easy answers.  “All magic carries risk, child.  It can all harm.  None know that better than healers.”
    “I know that.”  Ginia studied her own hands.  “But I can make somebody feel better.  And Sophie fixed your brain so you could be here to love us some more and help us grow up right.”
    Sometimes love hit the heart so fiercely that it was a wonder it kept beating.  Moira touched her chest and felt her eyes growing wet.  “You will grow up wonderfully, Ginia Walker.  And I’m blessed every single day that I get to be here to see it.”
    “So what about the people who love Hannah?”  Their young healer’s eyes weren’t so dry anymore either.  “They don’t get to see her all grown up and happy.  Her magic doesn’t do any good.  It’s just mean and awful and terrible.”
    There were some things ten-year-old girls just shouldn’t have to contemplate.  But when they did anyhow, they deserved the most honest answer you had.  “I don’t know, sweetheart, I truly don’t.  In our history, sometimes those with precog saved lives, or even whole countries.”  More often they had died cruelly for being the messenger. 
    “It isn’t even always true.  How can that be useful?”  It was the deep rage of a child who had grown up in a generous and mostly just world.  “Nobody should have magic like that.  Or like Morgan or Evan or any of the other people who die just because they were born an awful kind of witch.”
    No one would ever have cause to doubt the size of Ginia’s heart.  Moira gathered her close, knowing that it wasn’t words that were needed now.  She let her own tears leak down into the blonde curls, two hearts hurting together.  For those with untenable magic now—and for a small boy they both loved who might one day walk that road.
    Sometimes the price of magic was impossibly high.
    -o0o-
    Retha stepped out of her car, taking a moment to appreciate the salt-laden air and the sultry heat of the noonday sun.
    A moment was all she had.  Her grandchildren weren’t the only