Feathers (A Witch Central Morsel) by Debora Geary Read Free Book Online

pithy, whispered correction.  The old lady grinned back at him and adjusted her hold.
    And then she stepped up to the plate, eyed Daniel, and dropped into a picture-perfect batter’s stance.
    Nell’s eyebrows flew up.  And stayed up there as Helga calmly watched a couple of easy lobs go right through the strike zone.
    Daniel was no idiot.  The third throw was a real pitch.  Not a fastball, but not what he lobbed at the under-four-foot crowd, either.
    Helga’s bat made solid contact, right in the sweet spot.
    The batter grinned as both the shortstop and second baseman dove and missed.  And then she winked at Daniel and headed for first base, not at all confused about where it was or how to get there.
    Nell laughed.  They’d been had by a pro.  She waved at Shay, who was already choosing her bat.  “Get her onto second, girlchild.  We’re going to win this game in the first inning.”
    When Shay sent the first throw winging hard up the third baseline, it seemed like the universe was listening.  With half her brain, Nell kept her lineup moving, sprinkling the skilled players in often enough to keep runners on base and the people in the outfield awake.  The other half of her brain and all of her heart sank into the pleasure of a game of baseball on a hot and muggy day.
    The sharp thwack of ball in glove.  The good-natured taunts at the pitcher.  The whispered instructions from players on both teams as their littlest ones ran the bases or fielded a ball.  The cheers for a good catch or a brave swing, even if it missed.
    And then, somehow, they were at the bottom of the batting order.  Just two players left.  Nell nodded at her youngest son.  He held her eyes for what seemed like a very long time—and then headed off to do his job.
    His father watched from the pitcher’s mound, assessing.  Measuring.
    Aervyn crouched down over the plate, his face screwed up in an excellent imitation of his older brother.  Daniel lobbed an easy curve in the air.
    The swing was big enough to have knocked one into the trees—and missed the ball by about three feet.  Jamie, on catcher duty, managed to come up with the ball without getting conked on the head.
    The cheering section, still wildly exuberant, did their best imitation of the local monkeys.
    Aervyn giggled, picked himself up out of the dust, and set up at the plate again.
    Jamie leaned over and whispered something in his ear.
    Aervyn listened seriously and then crouched into his batter’s stance again.  This time, his hands clutched the bat about halfway up.  Daniel, who knew better than to aim at his son’s bat, tossed another easy curveball.
    Again, the bat swung and missed.  But this time, only by a couple of inches.
    Nell held her breath.
    “Damn.”  Nathan watched intently from a couple of feet away.  “He might actually hit one.”
    They’d been waiting for three years.  Ever since Aervyn issued the edict that nobody gave him little-kid help anymore.
    One more time, Aervyn set his feet just behind home plate.  The sounds of the jungle slowed, as if the day itself was watching.  Daniel moved through a long, exaggerated windup, gluing his son’s eyes to the ball.
    And let it loose.
    The baseball came into home plate, smooth and steady and chest high.  Aervyn’s face was a study in focus.
    And this time, when he swung his bat, he caught a piece of the ball.
    There was no crack.  No home-run ball flying gracefully into the air toward the trees.  Just one that stuttered about three feet and then rolled in the dust in the general direction of center field.
    But nobody saw it.
    They were all watching one seven-year-old boy, charging to first base as fast as his legs could run.  Beaming million-watt glee.
    Gramma Retha was dancing long before he hit her base with two exuberant feet.
    It surprised no one at all when the radiant kid covered in dust joined her, one hand wrapped around the feather in his hair.  And then he headed for second, since