A Nomadic Witch

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Spring had come to Nova Scotia, and with it, the consequences of last summer’s bout of contagious fertility. There were babies everywhere.

Which was why escape had been essential. A few hours of uninterrupted peace, under one of the first brilliantly blue skies of the year. A man, his fishing boat, and the open ocean. Perfection.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear that he was alone.

Marcus looked over at the cargo closet of his fishing trawler. It was fairly embarrassing to have a stowaway, especially when you were a mind witch with a reputation for being inhospitable. “You’ll freeze if you stay in there all day.” Cargo closets weren’t very dry places this time of year.

Total silence.

The boy had been watching too many pirate movies. “The worst I’ll do is make you swab the decks.” Probably. Marcus shoved the friendliest mind-vibe he could manage in Sean’s direction.

Another minute of silence, and then some scuffling. A couple of surprisingly eloquent curses later, a somewhat bedraggled eleven-year-old emerged from the closet, wet to his waist.

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