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

degrees of shock. 
    “It’s awful.  To lose control of your own brain like that—it’s awful.”  The words came one at a time, stretched thin.  “Even when what you see makes you happy.  The loss of self is a violation.  Every time.”
    Lauren shuddered—even secondhand, it had been a violation.  “She saw me.  And Devin.”  The warm bulk of chest behind her breathed.  He’d heard some shattered, incoherent pieces of this when she’d first gotten home.  “On a beach somewhere.”
    “There’s a shocker.”  Jamie’s teasing tone was rusty, like he hadn’t brought it out for a while.  “My brother, hanging out near the water.”
    It hadn’t been California water.  She looked at Jamie.  Time for at least some of the truth.  “And something else.  I was sitting with Nat, holding a baby that looked like you.”  Her heart squeezed.  “Or Devin.”
    “Aw, shit.”  His mind exploded with aching empathy. 
    He understood.  Lauren breathed out, the part of her that mourned a tiny baby, seen for an instant, feeling a little less crazy.  “It’s probably the little boy you’ll build a snowman with.”  Leftovers from Jamie’s precog vision the first time he’d seen Nat.
    “Maybe.”  His eyes were as gentle as she’d ever seen them.
    Dammit.  She hadn’t wanted a child.  Not really, not yet.  Not until the moment she’d felt herself holding the tiny baby that might be hers and simply loved.
    Devin’s hand stroked her arm in the same quiet rhythm he’d been using all evening.  Lauren swallowed again.  “There was more, but I can’t talk about it yet.”
    The Sullivans didn’t say things like that. 
    She closed her eyes.  In some things, she was not yet a Sullivan.
    Oh, baloney.   Retha’s mindvoice was laced with laughter and a good swift kick in the pants.  All my children have kept secrets and been foolishly courageous.  You fit right in, sweetheart.
    Some odd bubble around Lauren burst, the mess that she had been holding at bay landing full force on her bruised soul.  And charging right behind it, the tangible, visceral, no-holds-barred love of the clan Sullivan.  Lauren sat for a long time, wrapped in her husband’s arms and the invincible support of three veterans of magic’s wars.
    When she finally opened her eyes, the colors in the room loomed oddly vivid.  She let the gratitude in her mind speak for itself.
    “Goofball.  What did you expect?”  Nell rolled her eyes and reached for a cookie.  Veterans, getting back to business.  “So, Hannah had visions.  Did she conk out like Jamie here, or just get all hungry, like Mom?”
    Jamie ported the plate of cookies away from his sister’s reach.  “I don’t conk out.  Usually.”
    “No.  We, um—” They were doing this for her benefit.  Giving her a chance to think, report, feel competent.  Lauren searched for words to explain the visceral mindwar that had happened next.  “She made them go away.  The visions.  Not all the way, and she ran away before it was totally done.”
    Jamie’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling.  “Seriously?  Can I hire you?”
    Not for all the spaghetti sauce in the world.  “I don’t know if I could do it again.”  It had been like trying to stuff a million pounds of toothpaste back into one tiny tube.  “And she did most of the work.”
    “Like hell she did.”  Retha grabbed the cookie plate from her son and stuffed it into Lauren’s lap.  “No wonder your channels feel singed.”
    Lauren felt Devin rise up in protest.  “I checked her.  Her channels are fine.”
    “They’re not.”  The Sullivan family matriarch pulled out her phone.  “She had walls up around the worst of it.  We need a healer.  Now.”
    “Moira and Sophie are busy.”  Lauren suddenly felt the day sucking her down a drain.  “Chicken pox.”
    Retha looked at Nell—and two of the world’s toughest moms made a very quick decision.
    Lauren waited, exhaustion