Witches in Flight Read Online Free

can’t be around Lauren for long without wanting that same solid
ground under your own feet—and I suspect you know that better than
anyone.
    If it’s being a wise old cookie monster that you seek, I suspect
all you have to do is wait for the old part.   Mingling with people who think I’m dead has me convinced
that growing old is overrated, however.   Enjoy the wisdom of youth for a while first.
    Looking
forward to coming home,
    Jennie
    ~ ~ ~
    Lizard stretched and tried to identify the sound that had woken
her up—for the first time in weeks, it wasn’t her alarm or one of Elsie’s
weird dreams.   Then she heard the
sound from the kitchen again and sighed.   They had to have a talk about singing along to loud opera music at 6
a.m.
    She rolled out of bed, reached out blindly to the chair where
she usually threw her clothes, and hit soft leather.   Her eyes popped open, looking for the intruder—and
discovered her poet pants, half hidden under a couple of other discarded
outfits.   The ones she’d worn when
she’d dumped her insides out all over the Starry Plough stage.
    Maybe someday she’d want to thank Elsie for that.   But since strangling currently seemed
like the better option, she’d just stay in bed until her roommate left the house.   It had worked the past two
mornings—and evening classes had pretty much kept them out of each
other’s way at night.
    That and hiding in the coffee shop until midnight.
    However, it didn’t take a psych degree to know that Elsie
singing at 6 a.m. was another dare.   The old version of her roommate had been pretty easy to get around.   The new model had guts and brains and
eyes that got all sad and made it difficult to be an obnoxious brat.
    Crap.   Lizard
reached for an old hoodie.   It
matched her disreputable mood.   Time to get the inevitable over with—she probably wasn’t the only
one still supremely pissed about her dare.   They could fight over breakfast, assuming whatever Elsie was
making was edible.   If it was burnt
waffles again, she was moving to San Diego.
    Hoodie on and mind barriers up, Lizard headed for the
kitchen.   It wasn’t until she was
halfway down the stairs that the obvious sunk in.   Elsie’s aria wasn’t the mad, fighting kind—or even the
slightly pissed kind.   It was all
pretty and giggly and hopeful.
    At 6 a.m.?
    Lizard walked slowly into the kitchen, wary now.   Nobody should be that happy at the
crack of dawn.   Her roommate stood
at the counter, making grand, sweeping gestures—at a carton of eggs.   Oooh, boy.   “That’s probably the hard way to crack them.”
    Elsie spun around, pulling headphones out of her ears.   “What?”
    “Why are you singing to the eggs?”   Lizard’s brain was waking up enough to realize that was a
fairly dumb question.   “It looks
like they’re your audience or something.”
    Elsie looked dismayed.   “Oh, no—was I singing out loud again?”
    Yes.   At 6 a.m.   Lizard figured her scowl would convey
that information just fine.   “What
are you making?”
    “I’m not sure.”   Elsie grinned and held up her phone.   “I was reading about these egg soufflé things, but they
sound kind of complicated.”
    Lizard didn’t have time for French egg experiments.   She reached for a frying pan.   “I have to be at work in an hour, so
how about good old scrambled eggs?”
    “On Saturday?”   Her
roommate looked disappointed.  
    It was the freaking weekend?   Lizard peered at the clock on the stove, ready to share some
pithy thoughts on early wake-up calls on the two days a week she got to sleep
in a little.   And realized it was
10 a.m., not the crack of dawn.
    Elsie touched her hand.   “I was hoping we could have breakfast together.   I wanted to have a chance to talk, to
thank you for what you did for me.”
    And she totally meant it—her mind was swimming in
sincerity.   Which was insane.   “I dared you to hold on to a skinny
little piece of