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

Sullivans who needed tending to this day.
    A door creaked to her left and Devin stepped out of the woodshed.
    She crossed over to his side and hugged his broad shoulders, ignoring the axe in his hand.  The weight on his heart was a far more immediate concern.  “How is she?”
    “Tired.  Shaky.”  Her son let out a blustery sigh.  “Lizard sent her home from the office about ten minutes after she arrived.”
    “Good.”  Lizard was one of Retha’s favorite people.
    “I shouldn’t have let her go in.”
    Ah, the tangled knots of marriage—the path of loving unconditionally wasn’t always a well-lit one.  “I imagine you tried.”
    Devin snorted.  “Everything short of duct tape.”
    Then he’d done exactly right.  She slid an arm around his waist, guiding them both down the path to the gardens.  And trusted her son’s excellent instincts.  “How can I help?”
    He stopped to pluck a dandelion growing in protected splendor down the side of the path.  “See if she’ll talk to you.”  When he looked up, his eyes were so very solemn.  “We spent hours cuddling on the couch last night and I think she said about two words.  Nat came by with breakfast and got about two more out of her.”
    It was a lovely testament to a young marriage that not a whiff of self-doubt floated in Devin’s mind.  He worried only about his wife.  And something more angry than that.  She opened a mind channel.  Do you need cuddles before you’re going to talk to me? 
    His grin was lopsided, but real.  “No.  I’m okay.”
    She only waited. 
    He blew out a breath and shrugged.  “I’m not used to being the one on the sidelines.”
    That was a masterful understatement.  “You’re discovering they’re not sidelines, my dear.  Welcome to the land of those of us who love someone insanely brave.”
    The corners of his eyes crinkled.  “This is some kind of karmic payback, is it?”
    Something like that.  She smiled, still seeing the little boy with the ever-bright eyes and so adoring the man he’d become.
    “I don’t know how to help her.”  His forehead furrowed, angst arrived in a heartbeat.  “I’m not like this after I do something crazy.”
    Retha touched his face and wished a kiss and a Superman Band-Aid could make it all better.  “When you were little, I would wait for you to crack afterwards, to get scared or to have a bad dream.  You rarely did—you just moved on and found the next thing.”
    “Lauren’s not like that.” 
    “No.  She is brave differently than you.”  She squeezed the arm under her hand.  “It costs her more, I think.  And she’ll need more time to work through the aftermath.”
    His eyes held so much hurt.  “Then why does she do it?”
    He knew the answer.  Gently, she held up a mirror so he could see it.  “Because she embraces the responsibility that comes with her very unique talents, because she loves deeply, and because you, my son, are as contagious as all hell.”
    He was with her until the last point.  His eyes snapped up in surprise.  “This is my fault?”
    Close enough.  “We shape those we love, and we share in who they become.” 
    Devin grumbled.  “That’s not what all the self-help books say.”
    Retha chuckled, delighted with the idea of her hurricane son reading one.  “Clearly they’ve never loved a witch.”
    Her son moved down the walkway, mind working now, adding dandelions to the small collection in his fist.  She followed, content now to watch and listen. 
    When he hit the corner of the cottage and caught glimpse of the sea, he halted, breathing deeply of salt air and the watery magic that flowed in his veins.  And when he turned back her direction, something in him had settled.  “She saw something in Hannah’s visions.  Something that’s hurting her.”
    Precog had rendered Retha silent more than once—and it had never done so gently.  “Yes.  I imagine so.”  She touched her son’s bundle of