Free An Unlikely Witch by Debora Geary Page A

here.”  He was pretty sure she’d arranged it that way.
    Her face nearly crumpled.  Watching her fight it back into a semblance of Nat was one of the saddest things he’d ever seen.  “How’d you get here so fast?”
    There was no point hiding it—she’d figure it out as soon as her brain stopped weeping.  “Aervyn.  He picked up a little of what you were feeling.”
    His wife sucked in one harsh, guilt-laden breath.
    He grabbed her arms before she took that any further.  “He’s fine—he was with Nell.  And I’m damn glad he heard you and I got here.”  The last words rasped out over a throat determined to close.  “Why, Nat?  Why do this alone?”
    Her eyes slid closed, two shuttered windows in a landscape of pain.  “Because this is mine to do.”  She strangled a sob.  “And apparently, I can’t.”

Chapter 7

    Nat settled into the single mat in the middle of Spirit Yoga’s studio.  A very conscious choice.  Her mat, her turf.  A space of serenity and comfort, bathed in the energies of those who had come and met something important.
    Something life-changing.
    Spirit Yoga’s mission had never been small.  Humble, but never small.
    And the woman who dared to name changing lives as her purpose could ask no less of herself than she asked of every uncertain student who walked through the door.  Seek your truth.
    The mat had always been a place where she’d found what she needed.  And in the drab light of early morning, refreshed by sleep and the steady love her husband had emanated all night, it was time to do the hard work of figuring out what she needed next.
    Life before yoga had been coated in grays, punctuated by the awful maw of panic attacks and far too many nights drifting to sleep with cheeks covered in helpless tears.  A slim, blonde teenager dressed in the latest fashions, sent to the very best schools, and drenched in her parents’ precise and unending disappointment.
    She’d never been a child they could love.  And the five years of therapy they’d arranged had almost managed to convince her that the fault belonged with the child.
    Then, at sixteen, she had found a yoga mat, and found a way to keep the frayed threads of Natalia Smythe whole.  Strength in surrender.  In opening.  In breathing life into cold spaces and laughter into still ones.
    Strength in embracing the flow of the universe instead of hating it.
    At sixteen, just as now, there were powers and forces beyond her control.  But on the mat, she had choices.  Always.
    Nat sank deeper into her movements, dancing gracefully through a sun salutation sequence she only threw at her most advanced students, and then only when she wanted the class to dissolve in giggles.
    But as she flowed from warrior three into handstand, it wasn’t giggles that came.  It was power.  A body, mind, and spirit made for this.  For breathing and moving and bearing witness to whatever life asked.
    She was no fragile, bereft teenager anymore.
    Spiraling out of handstand, Nat arched back into reverse warrior.  Strong legs, open heart.  And dared to look at the cold, empty space tucked underneath her ribs.
    At sixteen, the cold inside had been a wild, unending landscape.  Now it was an island, surrounded by beating warmth from a heart that knew love in every possible corner.
    Witch Central had chased away icicles Nat hadn’t even known existed.  Taught her to add love to the power of the light.  Let her feel life without the cold spots and know that she was raising her daughter in a place where gray had no friends.
    She wanted, so very much, for the small boy with the blazing grin to join them here—to be a brother to Kenna, another piece of Jamie walking free in the world.  To bring another child into the rich, soul-feeding wholeness of the family it had taken her so long to find.
    Her blood revving now, Nat headed around the complicated sequence again, reveling in the speed and power.  Warrior to handstand, plank to