The Golden Thread

The sun hadn't even peeked over the edge of the forest yet when Josie slid out of bed and dressed. She padded down the hall in her socks, carrying her boots in her hand and quietly made breakfast, leaving a short note that read, "Going to Miriam's. Phone if you need me. Love, Josie."

As she sat, eating her oatmeal and waiting for the impossibly slow coffee pot to finish brewing, she pondered whether or not she should bring anything with her. What do you need to learn magic, anyway, she wondered. The first thing she thought of was a top hat and white tipped wand. She had to bite back a chuckle. There was always the pointy hat and cauldron; crystal balls and colorful scarves. Finally, she settled on a set of work gloves and a tall travel mug of coffee. It was a farm after all, and as far as she knew, she may be doing some farm work along with her educational pursuits.

Miriam's farm was only a quarter mile down the road, and although it was foggy, the day promised to be beautiful and dry. The sun rose with a display of golden and saffron splendor. She breathed in deeply; thankful just to be alive on such a morning. Without really meaning to, she gave a few skipping spins with her arms held wide. Above her, the leave danced with the same joy she felt.

Running every decent afternoon, she'd come to like the sight of Miriam's house. It had such a beautiful old-fashioned feel about it. Her mom said she was sure it must be at least 100 years old. It was set back on a long driveway lined with oaks, whose branches hung thick with Spanish moss. The huge tree gate had always been closed before; that morning, though, it was opened.

There was a set of wide, brick stairs leading up to the house, and every other step had a pot of lilies on it. The lead glass French doors that led into the house were wide open, and Josie could hear singing from somewhere inside.

"Miriam," she said tentatively, and she rocked from her heels to her toes waiting.

There was only the sound of singing. She called out again, but again, there was no answer. She was about to walk inside when a white cat leapt onto the porch and ran into the doorway in front of her, spitting and hissing, with its back arched and its fluffy fur standing on end. Josie stepped back. The cat slightly relaxed its stance. She waited; the cat sat down, staring at her intently. It blinked, and cocked its head to the side, as though studying her. After several minutes, she took a step forward, and the cat jumped up again, with as much venom as it had the first time. Josie stepped back slowly, walking down the steps while still looking up to make sure the cat wasn't going to leap on her.

Maybe what she'd heard was a radio, Josie thought, and Miriam was already up and working. The field to her left was full of cattle; they were laying down, apparently sleeping, but there was no sign of anyone else. She looked out past the wooden fences towards the huge, red barn. Its door was open as well, and Josie walked inside, calling, "Miriam, I'm here. I tried to go in the house, but your attack cat almost got me."

From inside one of the stalls a sleepy-looking gold and white goat, with long horns and a broad tufted beard, stood up and bleated at her. "Oh, hi little guy," she said, reaching over the gate and scratching behind his ear. He leaned his head into her hand and gave her a look that very much resembled a smile. From the stall next to him came a loud kicking noise and she turned to see a large mule glaring down at her with crystalline blue eyes.

"Oh, jealous, are we?" she asked, reaching her hand up, but the mule snapped at it, and she pulled away.

"I wouldn't mess with Etienne if I were you," Miriam's musical voice came through the doorway. "He's got a rather nasty temper."

"I thought most horses were friendly," Josie said sheepishly.

"Well, he's actually only half horse; I suppose he didn't inherit the friendly part."

Miriam was wearing a flowing hot pink skirt, a lacy shawl tied around her shoulders covering a tank top, and a pair of high-heeled boots. Her hair was tied up in a high bun. She may not have had a pointy hat and broomstick, but Josie thought to herself that Miriam did look every bit the witch that morning, and wondered silently why she hadn't seen it before.

She looked down at her own bleach stained old jeans and thick-soled boots and wondered if she should have dressed the part a bit more.

Besides her, it sounded as though the goat laughed.

"Well, at least he likes me," Josie said aloud.

"Benson is a rather social little animal," Miriam crooned, going near the gate, but Benson walked towards the back of the stall and lay down, looking rather defiant, "Most of the time."

Josie looked around the cavernous barn for the first time, marveling at the gas lamps that hung from thick rafters that were intricately carved with vines and flowers. Inside the stalls that were occupied, most of the animals were sleeping peacefully, although some had stirred, looking curiously at their guests. The floors were cobblestone and swept almost immaculately clean. "It's beautiful in here," Josie said breathlessly, "like a barn out of a fairytale."

Miriam gave a happy sigh and looked around as though seeing it for the first time herself, "Thank you. I've always rather enjoyed it myself."

The mule kicked the side of his stall again.

Miriam scowled at him, "You can settle down or go outside! I'll have no tomfoolery threatening to bring the roof down on our heads today. Thank you very much."

To Josie's surprise, the mule leaned down, opened the latch to his stall with his mouth and calmly walked away to the door at the far end of the barn. He looked back over his shoulder and whinnied at the goat, who appeared to have dozed off. Benson jumped up at the sound, though, and in two clean bounces leapt over the gate to his stall to follow.

"I've never..." Josie said, eyes wide and round.

"Oh, I do believe you'll see a lot odder things than that if you stick around here, love."

The inside of the house was even more beautiful than the barn. It was as though they'd walked into a botanical garden; vines were snaking around the doorframes, tiny tins of herbs growing on the shelves of open cabinets, huge Chinese pots of palms and bamboo taking up whole corners of rooms. And besides the plants, there were charts and maps and globes and odd instruments that Josie couldn't recall the names of, hanging on the walls and the ceiling, and ornamenting tables. Had the house not been so clean, or had there not been so much sunlight streaming in from all the huge windows, adorned only with thin lace curtains, Josie imagined that the place could have had quite a spooky feel about it.

Miriam insisted that she have another cup of coffee, and rather than serve it to her in her travel mug (which Miriam washed and set aside) she gave it to her in a colorful little, gold-rimmed coffee cup with three sugar cookies on the saucer.

They took their coffee into the living room and sat down at a small, round table. Miriam folded her hands in a rather business-like fashion, "So where will we begin?"

Josie swallowed quickly. "Um, I really don't know. I was hoping you had a plan."

"Oh no, that wouldn't do at all. If I taught you what interested me, it would do little to instruct you in what you needed to know." She took a long sip of her coffee, peering over the cup's rim at Josie with an amused look.

"But I don't know what I need to know..." Josie stammered, breaking off when she realized how lame and pleading what she'd just said sounded. Her mind went to a million different things. Perhaps she could ask to learn to disappear; that would be handy. Or time travel. Or love potions. Is that even a thing? she thought, biting her bottom lip.

Miriam smiled and reached across the table to pat the back of Josie's hand. "That's okay, dear. No one expects you to know that right away. We'll start with something straightforward." She tapped her lip, thinking, then stood up and started walking to the far side of the room, talking to herself.

Just then, the white cat jumped up into Josie's lap, purring and rubbed its head against her hands. While petting the cat's head and neck and thinking about what funny creatures cats were, Josie's fingers received a small electric jolt. Pulling her hand back, she examined the fur and found a thin golden thread, looped like a loose collar around the cat's neck and glinting from the downy fur. Haltingly, she reached down again to touch it, and again, her fingers received a tiny shock.

"Doesn't this wire hurt your cat?"

"Wire?" Miriam asked, poking her head into the room. "Oh," she laughed as she walked back in, "How positively brilliant, of course, we should have started with binding. It's a very useful skill, you know?"

"Um, no, I don't," Josie said, shifting in her chair as she absentmindedly crumbled the edge of a cookie, "sorry. I'm not even sure what you're talking about."

Miriam sat down and gently took the cat off Josie's lap, standing it on the table. "You see, this thread helps me keep track of Celeste, and also keeps her safely on the farm." She looped her finger under what Josie had assumed was a wire, but as she ran her finger down it, Josie could see that it did, in fact, move with the fluidity of a fine, silk thread.

"I'm not sure I understand," Jose said, staring at the thread. It seemed to be too thin to do anything much, but she supposed that must be the way it was with magic; common, everyday things turning out to be uncommon.

"Let me see," Miriam said as she stood up and walked across the room to an old china closet. She opened the bottom drawer and brought out a large spoon of golden thread. "This, in and of itself, is not very much, really," she handed it to Josie. "It's valuable, true, but in the hands of say, your mother, it could do no more than adorn an embroidered pillow, make a fancy hem, or the like. However, in my hands, it's able to bind animals or people so that they're under my control."

Josie gave an involuntary shudder. "People?"

"Oh, sadly, yes. It is a tragic fact of life that not everyone will be kind to you, and you must learn to take care of yourself."

Josie nodded but remained silent. Something cold and terrifying had entered Miriam's voice, although her demeanor hadn't really changed.

"Let's take Celeste here. This thread around her neck allows me to keep her from harm, and keep her within the perimeter of this property."

"Kind of like an invisible fence."

"Yes, very much like that invention."

"What else does it do?"

"Well, if she decides to get unruly, it allows me to subdue her." Miriam raised her hand, and Celeste lay down on the table.

"Does it work the same on people?"

She nodded, "You see how useful a skill this is, then?"

"So if I used this thread, I could make someone do anything I wanted them to?"

"Oh, there are always limits on magic, but for the most part, yes."

"But it's so thin; couldn't they just break it off?"

"Not on their own. I would have to free them myself, or someone else with equal power would."

"Has that ever happened?"

"There have been those who've tried," Miriam said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Something about the way she said this made Josie begin to regret that she'd asked at all. In fact, the entire topic of binding began to make Josie regret agreeing to learn from Miriam in the first place.

Josie's voice broke a little as she asked, "So how do I learn to bind animals?" She had no desire to learn about binding people. She couldn't imagine ever wanting to control another person, regardless of how they treated her.

"Oh, by practicing, of course. Practice makes perfect," Miriam's soft, kind demeanor was back.

Miriam brought out a cage of mice and set it down on the table. Seeing them, Celeste turned up her nose and jumped down from the table, walking to the couch where she gracefully leapt up to the top and watched the goings on with, what appeared to be moderate interest. Miriam drew a set of golden scissors from her pocket and cut several short lengths of thread and laid all but one of them in front of Josie. The mice jumped around in the cage, panicking as though they knew what was next, but undeterred, Miriam removed a fat, gray one and held it firmly in her hand. With the other hand, she held the thread she had cut for herself. She brought it to her lips, kissing it, and then looped it several times around the mouse's neck. Holding it so that Josie could clearly see what she was doing, she ran her finger along the thread, and Josie saw that it dissolved into itself making a single, thin thread that hung loosely around the mouse's neck in an unbroken circle. The mouse stopped straining against her grip, and she placed it on the table. "Stand," she said sweetly, and the mouse stood up on his hind legs. "Walk," she said, and he clumsily walked to the edge of the table. "Jump," she said, and Josie started to protest, but Miriam held a hand up. The little mouse jumped, cut three flips in mid-air and landed with the grace of a gymnast on his two back feet.

"That will do," she said with a smile and put the small creature back in with the rest. "So now you see how it's done."

"Sort of," Josie said, watching the fat little mouse parade around the startled lot of his peers. "I don't really understand how you did it, though."

Miriam smiled down at her, "Not yet, but you will." She turned and walked out of the room.

"What am I supposed to do?" Josie called after her.

"Practice makes perfect, love," she called back.

The French doors closed, telling Josie that she was alone in the house. She looked down at the cage of mice. They had congregated at the far end of the cage from their bound brother, who was now sitting cross-legged on the edge of the food dish. He carefully picked up piece after piece of food, turning them over in his paw as he inspected them. Finally settling on a kernel of corn, he lazily bit into it, chewing with a slowness that was not at all mouse-like.

After a few minutes of watching this, she decided she'd better get started if she wanted to get anywhere that day, and carefully cut a piece of thread about the same size as the one she'd seen Miriam use. She opened the cage and reached her hand in. One of the mice jumped up and bit her as she made a grab for it.

As she sucked on her finger, she looked at Celeste, "How about I just flip this cage over and let you have breakfast?"

Celeste yawned and turned towards the window.

"Weird cat," Josie muttered as she grabbed a mouse and held it tightly. Wrapping the thread around its neck proved difficult, as he kept thrashing, but when she finally had wound it several times and ran her finger over it, nothing happened.

She tried several times, focusing with all her might on the string, but still nothing. Different mice and different strings proved no more successful. Remembering that Miriam had kissed the thread before she bound her mouse, she tried that without result. She stood up, thinking that maybe position had something to do with it. When the large grandfather clock in the hallway chimed noon, Josie let out a half-stifled scream of frustration and tossed the latest hapless mouse into the cage, slamming the lid shut after it. "Do you get how this works?" she growled at the cat.

To her surprise, the cat nodded.

"Well, I wish you'd explain it to me, then."

The cat blinked at her with what was clearly a bored expression and walked out of the room. Josie tossed herself down on the sofa, watching Miriam's mouse walk around the cage on his hind legs. It looked like he was trying to start a conversation with one of the other mice. He squeaked, his forepaws gesturing eloquently, but they simply huddled a little closer to each other, squeaking disapproval.

A half hour later, Josie found Miriam sitting under a pecan tree in the pasture, Thorne was laying near her, with his head in her lap. They were watching as the mule she'd seen earlier plowed a large patch of sunny ground. She recognized the glint of golden thread around their necks. They seemed so obvious that it made her wonder how she had missed seeing them before.

"I don't get it," Josie said as she carefully made a large circle away from the wolf and sat down on Miriam's other side.

"Oh, but you will," Miriam said with a smile, without taking her eyes from the mule.

Josie followed her eyes, "Couldn't you, like, enchant a tractor or something?"

Miriam chuckled, "Yes, I suppose I could, or turn the Earth over myself. It would take much less time, for sure."

"But..."

"But I prefer using Etienne. He has to do something to earn his keep, after all." She said it in such a light-hearted, matter-of-fact way that Josie wondered if this was a natural extension of her country lifestyle.

"Oh," Josie said, watching the mule lean into the harness. The rich dirt turned over under the plow. It seemed pointless and cruel in the middle of such a hot day, much like making the mouse flip off the table. Although Josie had spent much of her life in rural areas, she was no farmer. She'd noticed that those who truly lived off the land had different views about what was cruel than she did, and she'd learned, over the years, to bite her tongue and try to see things through their vantage point.

"Why don't you take a break from practicing? If you wanted, you could go gather eggs from the hen house, or take a stroll through the flower gardens." She pointed to an ivy-covered brick wall with a wrought iron gate. "I personally always feel a bit more myself after a good swim, and there's a pool just beyond those gardens."

Josie grinned in spite of her frustration, "I can't imagine making that thread stick will be any easier if I feel 'more myself.'"

"You'd be surprised. Anyway, the rest of the day is yours. If you need a swimsuit, there are some in the bedroom to the right upstairs." Miriam did not stir from her position or say anything more after this, and after several moments, Josie realized she had meant this as a dismissal.

First, Josie went to the hen house. She noticed that each of the chickens had a golden thread around their necks. The red henhouse, with its pagoda roof, had a large wire basket hanging on a peg near the door. There were about forty nesting boxes inside, each holding two or three eggs, gathering all of them, she brought the full basket to the kitchen, and set it on the counter.

She looked around the kitchen, which was as full of plants as the rest of the house seemed to be. It had a black, antique stove with copper dials, and clusters of herbs drying from the rafters.

As tempting as it was to go through the room, opening all the screened cabinet doors and examining the contents of the eclectic jars and vials, Josie walked out and went to the garden. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally turn herself into a frog or something. Celeste was lying on the porch railing and jumped down to follow her as she headed towards the garden. Pushing back the gate, Josie stood in the entryway for a moment and breathed in the beauty before her. The only times she'd seen such beautiful gardens before was in magazines. It seemed the plants cascaded over each other in waves, winding around each other into vibrant streams of color around the brick paths. She sat on a concrete bench beneath a set of weeping willows and looked down into a small pool of koi. The willows seemed to whisper to each other, but Josie couldn't make out what they were saying and was too fascinated with the garden to care much for their thoughts. The cat jumped up on the bench and sat beside her, looking down at the fish spiraling around each other lazily. "Well, they're not bound," she said, looking down at Celeste.

The cat nodded.

"Do you understand me?" Josie asked, just above a whisper, feeling more than just a little silly for striking up a conversation with a feline.

The cat nodded again.

"Does it hurt?" Josie asked, gesturing to the thread.

The cat stared at her, as though wishing to say something more, but after a few minutes nodded.

"Are you a dog?"

Celeste hissed, and shook her head 'no."

"Just checking, just checking," Josie chuckled. "For all I knew, you just nodded every time anyone said anything." She gently rubbed behind the cat's ears, and smiled down at her, "Friends?"

Celeste nodded.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When she got home that afternoon, a gray Lincoln Town Car was sitting in the driveway. Josie smiled at the Chinese lucky cat hanging on the rearview, then took the stairs up two at a time.

Her Maw-Maw was sitting at the table with her mother, sipping on afternoon coffee when Josie burst into the front door. "Hey, Maw-Maw," Josie said, leaning down to kiss the top of her pewter hair. As her lips touched her, an electric shock went through Josie, and she stepped back with a sharp intake of air. She knew that feeling

"Geez, the static this summer is something awful!" Her Maw-Maw said with a knowing grin.

"How was your first day, honey?" Ms. Breaux asked, not noticing anything strange about their interaction.

"Good, good," Josie's answer was automatic; her thoughts in a million other places. She looked down at her grandmother, who was still smiling at her. "It was great. I, uh, hey, Maw-Maw, did you see the gardens already?"

"No," she said with a deep chuckle, "why don't you take me on the tour. We'll be back in just a few, Brenda."

"I'll start on supper. You are staying, right?"

"That'd make my day," she said, rising and taking Josie's arm. The electric charge was still there, but without the surprise, it was not painful. Alison Breaux was a small lady, barely five feet tall, with shoulder length hair that curled slightly, and a voice that managed to be at once both deep and very girly. Maybe that was because she almost always was smiling. Her smile would change, from a placid smile to a sly grin and all emotions in between. It was a rare moment that she frowned longer than to give a playful pout.

At the bottom of the stairs, Maw-Maw leaned in, "I've been wondering if any of you would receive the gift."

"What for gardening?" Josie laughed nervously. "Natalie says Aunt Susan killed a cactus a few years ago."

"For magic, dear," her Maw-Maw said matter-of-factly as she examined the watermelon plants.

Josie froze mid-step. "You're saying you're a witch too?" The question that had been churning in her mind the last few minutes rushed out.

Her Maw-Maw threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, you have been learning from Miriam." Then she sighed, "I would have preferred you to find a different teacher or to learn from me. When your mother told me about your 'job', I had to come see. In all the years Miriam Appleby's lived in this town, she has never once had a farm hand."

"So, you don't trust her?"

"No, I don't," her Maw-Maw said, her face looked unusually troubled for a moment, then it lightened, "but you have nothing to fear from her, cher. She's a capable, talented woman. Of that, I can attest, if nothing else. And for the record, I don't like the title 'witch,' it just seems so, I don't know, sinister. Doncha think?"

"Miriam says it doesn't matter much what we call ourselves."

Her Maw-Maw didn't answer for a moment but bent down to examine a tomato plant that was beginning to bloom. "If I called you an idiot, would you take it as a compliment?"

Josie shook her head.

"Words are powerful. The whole universe was built on words. Of course, in and of themselves, their power is limited. The person saying them and the person hearing them give them most of their power. To Miriam, perhaps, the title has little power. Perhaps," she said again with a barely restrained smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "I kind of doubt her flippancy, but maybe it doesn't mean much to her. When I say 'witch' to you, though, what do you think of?"

"I don't know," Josie chuckled, "green women throwing rat spleens in cauldrons? Something like that."

Maw-Maw took Josie's chin in her hand, turning her face slowly, examining it as she just had the plants, "Don't look green to me. How's my complexion looking?"

"Freckly."

"Ever cooked rat spleen?"

Josie laughed, "No."

"So you see, you don't really think of yourself as a witch. They're something dark and mythical; fairy tale stuff, gingerbread houses, and flying on broomsticks."

"Aww, you mean we can't fly on broomsticks. I was kind of looking forward that," Josie snorted, some of the tension she'd felt fading.

"Oh, I guess you could if you want to sit on a narrow piece of wood, dodge birds, and scare the bejeezus out of the local kids; but I wouldn't advise it."

"So what do you call yourself? I mean, what do you call us?"

"I prefer to call myself Alison. I take it you still prefer Josie to Josephine?"

She nodded, "But I mean, you don't think we're something different? Special?"

"Sure we are, but you don't think your mama's special? I do."

"But she could be one of us. I mean, if something happened, an accident or something, she could turn into one of us, right?"

She shook her head, "You can't honestly think that's the only thing that makes a person special. Listen, I've lived a long, long time, and I've met people without a drop of magic in them, not any. But they, oh, they had spark, zest, talent I never even dreamed of; your Paw-Paw was like that."

"So did he know?"

"Oh, yeah, he did. You're mama and aunt don't though, it's best not to tell children about it before they turn, can make them try crazy things just to get the gift. But your Paw-Paw, he knew. You can't be married to someone and not tell them something that big."

"Why don't you tell Mom now, though? I mean, she's probably not going to jump off a building or something just on a chance."

The older woman nodded, considering it as she looked back at the house. "I've been thinking for some time now that they deserved to know. It would make things much easier for me, for sure. But it's a tricky thing, inviting others in on this secret. One slip of the tongue, and you've got to make a run for it."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come now, you're a smart girl! What will happen if someone realizes what we are? At best they'll think the person doing the telling is crazy. At worse, you've got greedy people, willing to exploit you. Tell the wrong person and next thing you know the government is breaking down our doors, wanting to study us or use us as weapons, or else lock us away for the rest of our lives. No, thank you."

"But they wouldn't say anything," Josie said as she watched her Mom through the kitchen window. It would be a shock for her and Aunt Susan, sure, but they wouldn't turn on their own family.

"Probably not, but even so it's a hard thing to accept; the idea that everything you've believed in for so long is wrong. You're turning reality upon its head."

"So, you think I shouldn't tell her?"

The older lady followed her granddaughter's eyes to the house; then smiled back at her, "I think you should tell her when you're ready. When you've weighed out all the positives and negatives and think it's best."

"I won't out you, though. I promise."

She chuckled as she guided Josie back towards the house, "Oh, I have a feeling she'll find out pretty soon regardless."

"Is that your gift? Seeing the future?"

She shook her head, "I've never met a human being who could really see the future. Lots of charlatans claiming to, but nothing real, I guarantee. There's just too many different things that could happen, I suppose."

"So what is it? Your gift?"

"I have a lot of gifts," she said with a smile. "You will, too, the more you learn."

"Could you teach me?"

"I can't think of a thing I'd like more."

"Could I still go to Miriam's?"

She nodded, "I'm sure that'll only add to your education," she bit her lip to stifle a chuckle as she opened the door.

Inside the house smelled strongly of Italian seasonings and baking garlic bread. Ms. Breaux was busy browning meatballs. "I thought you two had gotten lost," she said with a smile over her shoulder. "You like spaghetti, right, Mom?"

-o-o-o-o-o-

A steady blue orb came to rest just outside of Miriam's bedroom window. She scowled at it for a few minutes, ignoring the kisses her lover was placing on her shoulder. Shrugging him off, she slipped on a silk robe and silently walked out the room. She grumbled to herself while walking down the stairs.

Before stepping out the door, she cast a protective barrier around herself and took a deep breath to steel her nerves. The orb was waiting outside the front door for her, and she spoke to it as though it were a rather annoying person, "Well, get on with it."

The orb went into her chest, spreading out and enveloping her as though it were some huge, glowing ameba. Then as soon as it covered her completely, she vanished. She opened her eyes and found herself a small living room whose walls were almost completely covered with photographs. "Sorry for waking you," Josie's grandmother said, as she rose from the recliner where she had been sitting.

"I haven't done anything to the girl."

Mrs. Breaux smiled, though it was with an uncharacteristic coolness, "And you won't either. Sit down."

"I prefer to stand."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she simply nodded, "Suit yourself. Want some tea? I grow my own chamomile."

"Thank you, no," Miriam said, shifting her weight as she watched the old woman shuffle to the kitchen and put on a kettle of water.

"When you moved here, we made an agreement. Even though I can't think of a much more disgusting hobby than your little 'farm,' I agreed to leave you alone so long as you left my family in peace. Josie is my family."

"And I've told you, I did nothing to the child except teach her."

"Teach her binding," the revulsion in her voice was thick.

"Yes, and if I may be so bold, it's a far less despicable talent than your primary."

"Aha," their eyes met, and the old woman smiled, "you remember. So you will also remember what will happen to you if she's injured, mistreated, bewitched, or, and remember this well, bound."

Miriam pulled her robe tightly around herself. "Would you rather me send her away?"

"Oh no," Mrs. Breaux said tut-tutting, as she poured the steaming water into her cup. "But I'm sure you've got enough brains in that devious, little head of yours to know what I'd do if she is hurt, at all; or changed, in any way I'd be unhappy with. I'm sure you can imagine what I'd do to you."

Goosebumps broke out over Miriam's skin as a cold jolt of fear coursed down her spine, but she forced a smile. "I've never had anything but the best intentions for her," Miriam's voice became even smoother than normal, "but your point has been made, and it is late."

Mrs. Breaux sipped her tea and smiled at Miriam. "Do you need help getting home?"

"I think I'll manage, thanks," she said stiffly, backing towards the door.

"Watch out for feu follets, the ones near the bend have been up to mischief lately."

As the screen door snapped shut, Mrs. Breaux sat down with a smile and picked up a photograph of her two girls when they were younger. If truth were told, she had always expected that one of them would have had the gift. There were times when they were little that she was sure she'd seen them manipulate things magically, but as soon as she'd look closer, she'd see it was really just a trick of the light or some other silly mistake. There, of course, were the parents who tried to force magic out of their children, and often it worked, but the very real chance that she could have harmed them, or worse yet, lost them forever, had always kept her from resorting to that. It had been almost 40 years since she and Miriam had first struck their accord; while she was still pregnant with Brenda. The truce had sat on her heart like lead, but a witches' war was enough to destroy the peaceful world she'd worked so hard to build for herself and her little family. Setting the picture down, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back against the chair. The world was not black and white; she'd learned that long ago. Perhaps allowing Josie to experience that for herself would help train the girl more than any other lesson she could give.