An Imperfect Witch by Debora Geary Read Free Book Online Page B

“Maybe we can use this for something else gross for Halloween.”  No point wasting perfectly good burnt gluck.  He scooped some out and put it on a plate.
    Aervyn got down at eye level to study the gelatinous goo.  “How come it has all those weird chunks in it?”
    That was a question for the ages.  “Dunno.  And I’m pretty sure that’s not green.”  As it cooled, the thing that looked way too much like a turd was turning disturbingly purple.  Making a purple turd would totally kill his badass-witch rep.  Especially if it was an accident.
    “Well, we can always try again.”  The six-year-old’s eyes brightened.  “And it is pretty gross.”
    Definitely a Sullivan.  “Exactly.  Sometimes we just have to roll with what life throws at us.”  Devin bent down to dig out another pot—and snuck a glance over at the crystal ball in the corner. 
    More than one witch rolling at the moment.  It was going to be an action-packed Halloween.
    Even if they never figured out the recipe for frog pus.
    -o0o-
    Moira smiled as footsteps clomped up her front porch.  Lauren had texted of her impending visitor, but Lizard’s footfalls were unique—there was no mistaking her arrival.
    A tiny woman with a very large presence.  One she hadn’t yet quite grown into—but it was a constant delight watching her find her way.  And apparently this day, the universe had decided to give their poet a wee nudge.
    Lizard blew in the door and slammed it closed behind her.  “Yo.  It’s freezing here.”
    Moira shook her head, amused, and surveyed the lime-green skirt, bare legs, and short sleeves.  “That’s a lovely outfit, my dear, but it’s not fit for October in Canada.”  Fisher’s Cove was experiencing the first truly wintery blasts of the year. 
    “I guess not.”  Her visitor grinned.  “Next time I’ll dig out my Arctic gear.”
    Such silliness over a little wind.  Moira held out one of her hand-knit throws.  “Here, cuddle up a while in this.  And next time, port yourself into my living room.”  It was a friendlier landing for her warm-blooded California friends.
    “I just came to make a delivery.”  Lizard held out the box in her hands.
    Moira eyed the takeout container of apple fritters and hid a smile.  There were witchlings aplenty in Fisher’s Cove who would appreciate the gesture, even if it was a last-minute excuse to send a certain young realtor for a visit.  “Those look lovely.  Why don’t you wander back to the kitchen with me and have a cup of tea before you head out into the cold?”
    Feet shifted uncomfortably.  “I should probably get back to work.”
    There were so many kinds of work to do in a properly lived life.  “Indulge an old lady, if you would.”  Moira pulled out her high-amperage ammunition.  “Aaron just sent over a tureen of his butternut-squash soup, if you’ve a mind for a bit of lunch.”
    Lizard’s eyes brightened.  “That’s really good with bacon on top.”
    “He sent a rasher of that as well.”  Their resident innkeeper knew exactly how to please fishermen and witches.  “And I think I’ve the makings of hot chocolate, if you’d like to putter in my kitchen a bit.”
    Her visitor made it two steps down the hall before she turned around, face covered in dawning suspicion.  “Lauren didn’t send me here to deliver donuts.”
    It wasn’t a question.  Moira smiled and laid a companionable hand on the young woman’s arm.  Two smart visitors in two days.  “Not at all, and I’m glad of it.”
    Lizard snorted, amused, as they ambled down the hallway together.  “You could have sold a hell of a lot of real estate.”
    She’d been accused of worse things.  “That’s your calling, my dear.  And I hear you’re doing rather a good job of it.  You must be very proud of yourself.”  She didn’t miss the squirm as they made their way into the kitchen.  A witch not yet entirely comfortable with her own success.
    Perhaps the