It was ten days later. Foxglove had given Bee a massage, and was finishing off by brushing Bee’s hair. Being rather short, it didn’t actually need very much brushing, but it was part of the sensory experience. Bee made a purring sound to encourage her.

“Oh!” said Foxglove. She held something out for Bee. “Make a wish.”

Make a wish. Foxglove said that every time they witnessed something benign but anomalous. Glimpsing a shooting star. Finding a five-leafed clover. Cracking open an egg and seeing two egg yolks. Bee didn’t immediately get what the big deal was, in this case. It was… a hair?

“Your first white hair, Bee!”

It was white. Completely white. “No way! I’m twenty-two!”

“Tough! You’re an old lady now!”

Bee looked round at Foxglove. Foxglove saw her fearful expression and dropped the grin. “Do you think it’s because of all the magic I’ve been doing?” asked Bee.

“Oh, Bee. I think one or two white hairs at our age is normal.”

“Really?”

“I think so.”

“Oh geez, I didn’t expect to be confronted with mortality so early in the morning. I need a drink.”

“You never drink!” cried Foxglove.

“I meant your special hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows.”

Foxglove laughed, disbelieving. “Bee!”

Bee gave a lopsided smile. “Please?”

Foxglove laughed a little more then nodded, smiling warmly. She gave Bee a kiss. “Of course, my love.” She turned and made for the kitchen.

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“Like, all the marshmallows.”

“Sure, Teddybee.”

“That’s not a figure of speech. We don’t have that many left.”

“Since when was it your birthday?” called Foxglove back teasingly.

There was the thud of a letter dropping in through the letter slot.

“Ooh, letter!” cried Bee. She went to pick it up.

Bee, Daughter of Margaret, 1, Orchard Way, Suringen. The address was written in flamboyant cursive. On the other side of the envelope, the wax seal bore a familiar coat of arms. Bee broke the seal and took out the letter.

To whom it may concern – that is, Bee, Daughter of Margaret –

It is with great anticipation and hope that I, Vincent Montgomery de Welltoudere II, write you this trifling missive.

I was impressed beyond words by your remarkable, nay, unprecedented wizardry when last we met. Seeing it, my future flashed before my eyes, and I knew I would whenceforth dream of only one thing.

I write these words to ask you, nay, beg you, nay implore you to consider my most humble and inadequate services as your apprentice.

I trust this communiqué reaches you in good health.

Yours (hopefully)

Vincent Montgomery de Welltoudere II.

There was another page, written in a smaller, plainer hand.

Dear Bee,

Vincent hasn’t been able to talk about anything else since you showed him your magic. He’s an odd boy, but has a wonderful heart. If there’s anything I can do to make it possible for you to make his wish come true, please tell me.

Francis de Welltoudere.

“Here,” said Bee, handing the letters to a curious Foxglove. As Foxglove read, Bee got out paper and an inkpot.

Foxglove squealed. “Sweet little Vincent! He would be an adorable apprentice, wouldn’t he, Bee?”

Bee grunted, focused on what she was writing.

Foxglove had a look at it over her shoulder. “Bee, you can’t write that!”

“What? It’s the truth!”

Foxglove sighed. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah,” said Bee.

“Fine. Let me help you.”

Foxglove took a new piece of paper and started writing.

My dearest Vincent,

As a magical prodigy yourself, I am sure you will be able to understand me where no others truly can. I deeply regret to inform you that while I appear to be capable of startling magical effects, I can no more explain them than I can explain what causes rainbows to appear after rain. In all honesty, I believe I learnt much more from our exchange than I suspect you will ever learn from me.

Regretfully,

Bee, Daughter of Margaret.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” complained Bee.

“Brutal honesty, Bee? That’s the point.”

“If you like brutal honesty so much, why don’t you let me—”

“Because he’s a kid, Bee. And quite literally the sweetest thing alive.”

“I thought I was the sweetest thing alive.”

“You are currently second in the rankings.”

“Is this because I’m having all the marshmallows?”

There was the hissing sound of milk boiling over into flames. “The hot chocolate!” Foxglove cried, running to the kitchen.