Free Feathers (A Witch Central Morsel) by Debora Geary Page B

Moira would have found you and made you drink some green stuff by then.  You’d be fine.  And I’d never get sick of spaghetti.”
    A new hand tagged Nathan’s floating baseball.  Daniel tossed a small bag onto the pile.  “Who are we trying to make grovel?”
    “Our eldest.”  Nell knew when to add fuel to the fun in her life.  “He thinks I’m old and decrepit and my baseball skills are in severe decline.”
    Nathan just snorted.
    Daniel raised an eyebrow.  “And he still lives?”
    “Mmm.”  Sometimes there was nothing in the world better than pure silliness. “I’m considering bread and water rations, though.”
    “That works.”  Nathan had reclaimed his baseball.  “Caro’s making a gazillion loaves today.  I like the sourdough one with all the holes in it best.”
    “ That’s for me.”  Daniel returned his son’s pitch.  “Inmates of the dungeon get the moldy crusts living under Aervyn’s bed.”
    Uh, oh.  Nell winced.  “Is he running science experiments again?”
    “Yup.”  Daniel grinned and fielded the fastball from his eldest son.  “He’s pretty sure the blue stuff is penicillin.  Ginia’s quarantined the whole mess and they’re going to go visit Sophie after breakfast and meet us in Costa Rica later.”
    Sophie qualified as the witch most likely to be sympathetic to Aervyn’s mad-scientist tendencies.  Even if skunky bread was involved. 
    “You better check his luggage,” said Nathan darkly.  “You never know what he might try to grow in the rainforest.”
    Good advice.  And a little scary.  “Whatever it is, we’ll feed it to the obnoxious teenagers in the dungeon.”
    “They’re long gone.”  Nathan’s ball returns were almost as fierce as his father’s.  “Some old, decrepit parent forgot to lock the door.”
    Nell whipped out an air-layering spell, snatched the ball out of Daniel’s fingertips, and blasted it to within a millimeter of her son’s nose.  And then dusted her fingers on her shorts.  “Watch who you’re calling old, punk boychild.”
    Her husband grinned at their son, who had only flinched a little.  “She’d be the old, decrepit shortstop on my team.”
    Nell fired the baseball at Daniel’s nose, just for good measure. 
    Game on.
    -o0o-
    Packing always had such loaded memories.  Moira laid a light summer dress on her bed and looked at her ancient valise.  Remembering.
    Once, a journey across the waters had seemed nigh impossible.  Now she could lay a finger to her phone and be anywhere in the world.  An old witch wondered if perhaps something got lost in the speed and beauty and ease of a teleporting app.
    Oh, she wouldn’t give it back for all the earth—her elder years were so deeply fertilized by all the hearts she got to be with far beyond the edges of Fisher’s Cove.  But she knew what it was to journey long and hard.  To have it be a full day’s walk merely to see the ocean or deliver a healing tea or borrow a book.
    Or to leave, and know you could never return.
    She shook her head ruefully and selected another dress.  Traveling always brought out her cranky old curmudgeon.  The young of this day would learn different lessons, perhaps—but they had not lost the capacity to learn.  Eyes were as bright as they had ever been.  And they did an old witch the honor of still coming to her doorstep for a lesson or two.
    Or in this case, taking her with them.
    Costa Rica was a wonderful place, full of thick air and bright sounds and friendly faces.  A lovely destination for a water witch, even if it was a stitch warm at times.  She considered, and added a pair of whimsical shoes to her pile.  The young ones would run barefoot, and an old Irish granny probably would too—but sometimes old feet appreciated a little tender loving care at the end of a day.
    Costa Rica’s air was full of water and magic.  The kind of place where people got called to walk the pathways of their souls and to fill their