Free Feathers (A Witch Central Morsel) by Debora Geary

Lauren looked up from her packing, contemplating how many pairs of shoes a person really needed for a week in the rainforest.  She eyed the woman sitting peacefully at the head of her bed, Fuzzball snoring in her lap.  “So how much did you have to do with this, exactly?”
    Nat raised an eyebrow.  “With what?”
    “Our sudden journey into a rainforest in July.”  Which, according to Google, was a fairly batshit-crazy time for wimpy tourists to be traveling to the Costa Rican jungle.
    Her best friend shrugged.  “I talked with Téo a little, that’s all.  This was Moira’s idea.”
    So everyone was claiming.  Moira always had her reasons—but they could run the gamut from deeply serious to a sudden craving for fried plantains.  Lauren laughed as her stomach growled.  Apparently it approved of the trip.
    “Don’t overanalyze it.”  Nat grinned.  “Maybe Witch Central just needs some play time.”
    It was a key ingredient in the glue that held them together.  Maybe it was just that simple.  “So we’re going to Costa Rica in the middle of their stinking hot season for fried bananas and fun, huh?”  She grinned at her best friend.  “We couldn’t have just resorted to the usual water fights and ice cream?”
    “You sound just like Jamie.”
    Probably—they both tended to hang out in the back-row delinquent territory of Witch Central.  “Kenna will love it.”  Matt had promised a big bonfire, which would delight all the visitors with arsonist tendencies, but no one more than her small, fiery niece.
    “Benny too.  Gramma Retha promised to teach him how to slide down a waterfall.”  Nat reached into Lauren’s suitcase and pulled out a shoe.  “I think you only packed one of these.”
    Good thing someone was keeping track.  Lauren looked around for its mate.  “Gramma Retha will probably have help with that lesson.”  Which was a good thing.  Benny was headlong reckless and tended to forget he couldn’t swim yet.
    “She promises me she hasn’t lost a grandchild yet.”  Nat looked amused.  “Although I’m pretty sure my crazy boy takes that as a bit of a dare.”
    Benny would be fine.  He had a bevy of uncles who knew what it was to have feet miles faster than your brain.  And two grandmothers—Helga had adopted him every bit as fast as Retha had.  The family tree of Witch Central, mangled a little bit more.
    Moira had claimed him too, but she somehow convinced him to rock in her lap, a feat that only Nat replicated with any regularity.
    Lauren found the missing shoe.  It would be fun.  Even if she melted.
    Nat reached over and did some kind of fancy shoe origami that freed up an extra square foot of space in the suitcase. 
    Lauren grinned.  There wasn’t a limit on what porting spells could transport, but Devin, his things neatly packed in a duffle bag the size of a small watermelon, had snorted when she’d insisted that seven pairs of shoes could fit in her suitcase.  Which she had somehow taken as a dare, complete with calling in the assistance of the best packer she knew.
    She contemplated the snorkel in her hand and a space next to one of her shoes that was more suited to a handkerchief, and did the deed anyhow.  The suitcase bulged dangerously.
    She stuffed in a couple of bikinis and tried to yank the zipper closed with one hand.  Devin was going to eat that snort.
    Nat chuckled quietly from the bed—and then fell over in full-blown giggles.
    Lauren raised a crooked eyebrow.  “What?  It’ll totally work—just help me get it zipped.”
    “You, um…”  Nat let loose one more hiccupping giggle and swung back up to sitting.  “You need a packing supervisor.”
    Lauren looked down at the protruding bits of swimwear she’d just stuffed in, perplexed.  Two tops, no bottoms, and one stray sock.  Oops.  “Dev wouldn’t complain.”
    “I’m sure he wouldn’t.”  Nat’s eyes flashed mischief.  “But Gramma Retha swears she’s going to get