Free An Unlikely Witch by Debora Geary Page B

downward dog, and back to handstand just because it was possible and there and fun.
    And then back into warrior, reaching her heart to the sky.
    Yoga wasn’t entirely about surrender, although that had been her first and deepest lesson.  It was also about openness.  And about seeking.
    Last night, she had been grieving a child she’d lost.
    Maybe it was time to go looking for him instead.
    Thighs aching, every muscle stretched, Nat pulled up out of warrior and walked off her mat.  She knew where to begin.
    -o0o-
    Moira looked up as the door to Sophie’s apothecary blew open, caught by the crisp winter wind.
    The hand holding it moved quickly to get the weathered wood back where it belonged, keeping the whirling December air out of the cozy room.  “Sorry about that—it’s feisty out there.”
    Sophie was ignoring the fluttering of her herbs.  Her eyes studied their visitor, measuring.  Recording.  Wondering why this particular woman had come in this particular door.  And then shifted to Moira for a bare fraction of a second.
    The old witch didn’t bother to confirm what the younger one already knew.  Need had arrived.  And she held in her own sorrow—the magical swim in the ocean clearly hadn’t done the work she’d hoped.
    Nat smiled uncertainly from her post by the door.
    That much, Moira could still help with.  “Hello, my dear.  Come sit a while—it’s lovely and warm in here and we’ve a fresh pot of tea brewing.”
    “Thank you.”  Nat slid out of her jacket and found a handy hook behind the door.  “I took a walk on the beach before I came—the winds don’t rage like this in California.  It was beautiful.”
    And it had likely fit the inner turmoil of the woman who had come to see them.  The two healers exchanged glances, cataloging the clues.  They’d both wandered a few stretches of sand over the years.
    Sophie picked up a jar and held it out.  “Does this smell like something Nell wouldn’t laugh at?”
    Nat’s eyebrow quirked, but she leaned over and sniffed.  “It’s simple and light.”  Then she frowned a little as the afternotes hit.  “Or maybe not.”  She eyed the holder of the jar, openly curious now.  “What exactly are you sneaking in there under the innocent scent of mint?”
    Moira had been asking that for two weeks now.  Daniel had made a request of the younger healer, and various versions of this particular potion had been bubbling on the stove almost daily.
    Sophie only grinned and stoppered the jar.  “Something I think she’ll like.”
    Their visitor was relaxing now.  Judging the time right, Moira poured three cups of tea.  “And what do you have in mind for our young Trinity?”  That had been an interesting choice the triplets had made—as their father might say, they hadn’t tossed Auntie Nat an easy pitch.  Making the feisty woman from the streets happy without dampening her pride was going to be a delicate task.
    “I’m not sure yet,” said Nat, smiling.  “I have a chance to listen a little tomorrow.  We’re going to Lizard’s castle to help out with a cooking lesson.”
    Moira pushed over a cup of tea, wondering if Nell’s girls knew the real gift they’d given Witch Central.  “There’s nothing more wonderful than learning what a soul wants to become and giving it a little help.”  Meddling was its own lovely reward, and the triplets had just given dozens of people permission to stick their noses in many wonderful places.
    Nat grinned.  “Aervyn’s been plotting for Jamie.  Nell tells me I should be very afraid.”
    Sophie chuckled.  “You should be.  Sean and Kevin were filling his head full of ideas the other day.”
    Indeed.  The favored idea when Moira had shooed them out of the inn to play in the crisp winter afternoon had been a broomstick rocket ride to the moon.  However, the hurt living in their serene mistress of yoga didn’t have any relation to boyhood imaginings.  Moira sat still and waited,