I was in danger of drifting off to sleep - Sparkle’s gentle light was just that relaxing in the warm darkness of my bedroom - when Ken finally returned, the door opening silently and clicking shut quietly behind him. He paused and smiled, glowing faintly in the dim light. “I see Sparkle has made herself right at home again.”

I sat up a little and yawned behind my hand. “I’ve never had such a perfect night-light before.”

Above me, I heard Sparkle make a soft sound that was clearly joy. Did my simple expression of pleasure have that big of an impact on her? I filed the thought away for later consideration as Ken approached.

“You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you?” Ken asked as he settled on the edge of the bed.

I felt the bed shift ever so slightly, and saw the comforter indent just a little. That was interesting. Obviously, he had some sort of mass, but not much. Something else to file away for later consideration.

“No,” I said, sitting up a bit more and smiling. “It was a near thing, though.”

“Well,” he returned my smile, “you had a busy day. Maybe we should put this off until tomorrow night…”

I frowned a little. “Put what off?”

“I was going,” Ken said, “to start your training tonight. But after the day you had, I’m not sure it’s entirely wise.”

I blinked slowly. “I think I’m too tired to do anything else today, and I’m already in bed…” I pointedly grabbed and fluffed one of the pillows before putting it back behind me and lying down again.

He smiled. “What I was going to do is similar to what I did earlier, in viewing your memories. Just in reverse.”

I lifted my head and stared at him. Maybe I was just too tired, but I couldn’t make heads or tails out of that. “All right,” I said after a moment, “run that one by me again.”

“Your father,” Ken said, “took advantage of one of my natural abilities as Guardian of the House - which I demonstrated earlier - and modified it. Mind you, this modification will only work on one person; namely, you.”

I laid my head back down and frowned. “All right. That still doesn’t really tell me anything.”

Ken huffed out a little laugh. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. I’m being rather vague. Basically, your father used a form of blood magic -”

“Blood magic?”

Above us, Sparkle giggled. “You’re doing it all wrong.”

Ken sighed. “Perhaps. We’ll get to that later. Suffice it for now to say that it’s an esoteric form of ritual magic. Okay?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Good. What it allows me to do,” he said, “is to use my ability as Guardian to see into your mind. But instead of just looking, I can…use your dreams to give you information.” He hesitated again, then added, “That was the first time I ever said it out loud, and it sounds kind of creepy to me now.”

“Just a little,” I said. “But honestly, it also sounds very useful.” I propped myself up on my elbows to look at him. “Try it again, but with details.”

“All right.” One corner of his lips quirked up into a smile. “Let’s try it this way: It’s an ability that will enable me to teach you things while you’re sleeping, by engaging your subconscious, which is capable of processing information at considerably greater rates of speed. You won’t consciously remember it happening - though we could probably work out a dream construct in which to frame the lessons, if you really wanted - and it won’t feel like anything to you. You’ll simply wake up in the morning, having learned something completely new while you were asleep.

“Actually,” he added, “I don’t think it would work if you didn't already have a highly organized memory. Or at least, it wouldn’t work as well. Your father was very clever about taking advantage of that talent while modifying me.”

I tipped my head a little. “Does it bother you?”

He blinked. “Does what bother me?”

“Being…modified.”

He smiled. “No, Mistress. It allows me to better serve my purpose, therefore it is a good thing.”

I digested that for a moment, decided it was yet another item to be filed away for later consideration, and got back on topic. “So, the purpose of this…modification…is to give us more time in which for me to study magic, and to accelerate my studies, correct?”

“Correct,” Ken nodded. “Because of the way your subconscious mind works, and the way dreams work, we will be able to educate you literally at the speed of thought…which in this case is, as I said, vastly accelerated. We’ll be able to cram a five-hour lesson into a single ‘dream’ period lasting less than a half-hour, and do that several times a night.”

I could almost feel the lightbulb go on over my head. “So you pour magical theory into my head while I’m sleeping, which frees us up to do practical application while I’m awake.”

Ken beamed. “Precisely, Mistress.”

“That’s so cool,” Sparkle said from above us. I looked up to see her peering down at us. She sighed rather wistfully. “I bet Mistress Chessie would’ve loved that.”

Ken laughed softly. “Yes, she definitely would have. Your mother,” he added to me, “always had trouble concentrating during her theory lessons.” He smiled fondly at some memory. “It was very difficult to get her to sit still long enough.”

“Well,” I said, “in that, at least, we’re not alike. I’ve always enjoyed theory.” I laid back again, getting comfortable and pulling the comforter up to my chin. “But I can certainly see and appreciate the practicality of using all the time I’m asleep. I like the sound of creating a…a dream classroom as a framework for the new information, rather than having it just be there. That sounds less disorienting to me. How do we do this?”

“I wait for you to fall asleep,” Ken said, “then get started.”

I yawned and nodded. “Okay.” I curled up on my side and pulled the comforter up a bit more. “Goodnight, Ken. Goodnight, Sparkle.”

I heard Sparkle yawn softly and then murmur a contented-sounding, “Sleep well, Mistress.”

Waking up the next morning didn’t really feel any different than usual. I blinked sleepily at the sunlight pouring in through the huge bay windows, listened to the muted chirping of unfamiliar birds, and looked up to see Sparkle stretching and yawning in her little bird cage. I felt rested and relaxed as I sat up and stretched too.

Except that I could distinctly remember spending hours sitting in a classroom - one with only two desks, mine and the teacher’s - having the theory of evocation magic explained to me at length and in great detail by Ken.

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I blinked a few times. I had an intellectual understanding of evocation magic now, one that I thought I might be able to put into practice, with a bit of guidance.

I had to agree with Sparkle…it really was very cool. And definitely a time-saver. Better yet, it didn’t even feel like cheating. Not really.

With another stretch, I got out of bed and decided to try out the huge claw-footed tub instead of taking a shower. Sparkle fluttered into the bathroom after me, still yawning cutely. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I usually take a shower in the morning,” I said, shedding my nightclothes, “but today I feel like trying out that bathtub.”

Sparkle giggled and fluttered around my head as I started the taps. “I don’t need to bathe,” she said. “I use magic to keep myself clean.” She landed on the rim of the tub. “But bathing is a lot of fun, so I’ll join you!”

I gave her a thoughtful look, but since the tub was more than large enough for us both (and probably two other human-sized people), I decided not to comment. She did more splashing around and swimming than actual bathing - her size relative to the tub made it like watching someone swimming in a large pond - but her presence was pleasantly entertaining.

As had happened yesterday, my nightclothes had been replaced with a silk robe while I was bathing. As I dried off, I said, “Sparkle, do you know who’s doing that?”

Sparkle, still dripping wet on the lip of the tub, blinked up at me. “Doing what?”

“Silently swapping in a robe for my nightclothes.”

She beamed. “Oh, that’s just the House.” She gave herself a shake, then more of a shake, and when she stopped she was completely dry. Her hair had fluffed out in a short halo around her head, which made me giggle. She grinned up at me, then did something that - with a soft but audible crackle, like static electricity - made her hair settle into its normal style.

Just the House. Okay, then.

Ken was waiting as we exited the bathroom. “Good morning, Mistress. You slept very well…would you like me to bring you breakfast here, again?”

I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head. “No…I think I’d like to have breakfast in the kitchen today. Would you please take care of my hair again?”

He beamed. “It would be my pleasure, Mistress.”

Ken dried and plaited my hair so quickly, gently and efficiently that I was almost unaware of him doing it until he let the long braid fall against my back. “There, ready for another day of exploration.”

I smiled. “Almost. Now turn around so I can get dressed.”

Sparkle giggled, but Ken did as I asked with a small, genteel bow. “Of course, Mistress.”

Out of the selection of clothing in my closet - which had once again, no doubt thanks to the house, expanded overnight - I selected jeans, a short-sleeved forest-green blouse, a pair of green trainers that I had definitely never bought but which were my size, and appropriate undergarments. I dressed quickly and bounced on my toes, testing the trainers. They felt broken-in, as if I’d been wearing them for ages.

That was…simultaneously impressive and a little disturbing. I appreciated what the house was doing - trying to do? - by providing me with luxuries, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. Both with the luxuries themselves, and with the idea that I was inside something that might be…sentient was the wrong word. Aware?

“Ken,” I said quietly.

He turned to face me with a smile. “Yes, Mistress?”

“Just how aware is the House? You sort of dodged the question the last time I asked.”

Ken pursed his lips and looked pensive. “I wasn’t actually dodging the question, Mistress. I’m honestly not sure.” He folded his arms. “It has, as far back as I can remember, always demonstrated a certain sensitivity to and awareness of the people living within it, especially the Guardian. But it is an…” He frowned a little. “An…an atavistic sort of awareness, for lack of a better term. I don’t think it is intelligent, per se, and so does not understand intelligence. Instead, it seems to respond to emotion, needs, desires.”

“So it’s filling up my closet because…?” I trailed off questioningly.

Ken smiled a little. “Perhaps because you were embarrassed by how little you had,” he said gently. “Yes, I noticed, and no, I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t my place, and I had already embarrassed you with the question.”

I waved it off. “It hardly matters anymore, does it. Not when I wake up every morning to find my closet increasingly filled with precisely the sort of clothes I like to wear. Not to mention shoes that fit me perfectly and feel as though I’ve broken them in already.” I broke off, realizing that my voice had been rising.

I made a quick assessment of my mental state - agitated, a little frightened.

Agitated made sense…I was out of my depth, and was still adjusting to a new and utterly bizarre situation. But what was I frightened of?

Refer to said bizarre situation. Frightened made some sense, at least.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Sorry.”

Ken smiled lopsidedly. “That’s quite all right, Mistress. I expected you to have a bit of a…what your mother would’ve called a ‘freak out’ before now. You have a tremendous amount of self-control.”

“Thank you.” I took another deep breath and let it out. “All right. Breakfast. I’ll feel better with some food in my stomach.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring it here?” Ken asked.

I shook my head. “No. I can’t hide in this room, not if I’m going to really learn about this place.”

Sparkle landed on my shoulder. “I agree!” She said firmly. “Mistress Caley needs to adjust to the House, and the House needs to adjust to her.”

Ken gave Sparkle an odd look. “As you say, Sparkle. Well, then…shall we go to the kitchen?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” Ken smiled and opened the door. “Lead the way.”

“Me?” I asked, startled.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Consider this another step in taking proper ownership of the House. Finding your way.”

I stepped out of my bedroom and looked around. Hallway, carpet, sconces with decorations, lamps, doors. Lots of doors. “How do I know which way?”

“Concentrate on the room you want to go to,” Sparkle said in my ear, “and let the House guide you.”

“Vague,” I said teasingly. But even as I said it, I thought of the huge kitchen I’d seen on my first day. After a moment I felt a very faint sense of pressure and warmth on my left arm, so I turned in that direction. The faint feeling of pressure and warmth shifted to the front of my body. I turned straight around, and felt it on my back. I turned around again, and the feeling returned to the front of my body.

“All right,” I said. “Hot and cold it is.”

I followed the sensation down four flights of stairs (in a three story building, which made my head ache a little), around three corners, and through what felt like hundreds of meters of hallway. Finally, after walking a distance that could not possibly have fit within the house’s exterior, I saw the doors into the foyer up ahead, and opened them onto the huge oval room almost gratefully. “Whew.”

Ken laughed softly and Sparkle giggled as we hung a right and went into the kitchen.

“So,” I said, as the kitchen - no matter how large it was - restored something of my sense of grounded normality, “shall I do my own cooking, or is there some sort of invisible staff?”

The question made Ken grin, and Sparkle - now sitting on my left shoulder - giggled again.

“That,” Ken said, “is a very interesting question. But not one we need to address right now. The short answer is yes, you may do your own cooking, or I can cook something for you. You may, however, find it easier just to ask the refrigerator for whatever you want for breakfast.”

I stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide if he was pulling my leg or not. “Run that one by me again?”

Ken smiled. “Just try it. Go up to the refrigerator and tell it what you want.”

I continued staring at him for a moment, then sighed and shrugged. It was up to me to adjust to all of this world-altering weirdness. So I walked over to the refrigerator.

Up close, I could see that the glossy black door was some sort of brushed metal. It had a decorative-industrial sort of look to it, and was about the size of most of the other doors in the house. It looked rather like the door of a large walk-in freezer, or something similar.

Sparkle nudged my ear. “Go on, it won’t bite.”

I briefly considered asking for a Continental breakfast, or something really decadent like an old-fashioned English fry-up. But in the end the healthy body/healthy mind attitude the Sisters had drilled into me as a child won out.

Feeling vaguely ridiculous, I addressed the refrigerator door. “Shredded wheat, toast and bacon, English Breakfast tea and an orange.” Then, as an afterthought, I quickly added a polite “Please.”

Sparkle chimed in with, “Hot chocolate chip cookie!”

That made me smile. I suppose fairies don’t need to eat healthy food. Maybe she didn’t really even need to eat at all, or just needed the complex sugars. I made yet another mental note, this one to look into my new little friend’s biology.

Then I waited.

After a moment, Sparkle nudged my ear again. “Open the door, silly.”

So I did. The inside of the refrigerator was pretty much what I’d expected. Deep and wide enough for me to stand in and move around in a bit, with shelves of varying heights and sizes, holding an almost bewildering variety of foodstuffs. My eyes picked out a full head of Romaine lettuce, packaged deli meats, several types of bread, bottles of juice and milk, soda, ground beef and steaks, a whole chicken, and more…

…Before settling on the absurdity that I’d refused to even see at first. Slightly below eye-level, center-front, was a shelf that was empty except for a cafeteria-style tray. On the tray sat a bowl of shredded wheat, a small pitcher of milk, a plate with two slices of toast and a half-rasher of bacon, both cooked to what was - to my eyes - perfection. Behind them on the tray sat a smaller bowl with a few pats of butter and a jar of apple jelly (my favorite, of course), a steaming teapot and a mug - no dainty cup, this was a serious, four-finger mug.

And a plate with a chocolate chip cookie on it.

The cookie was, as requested, hot enough to still be steaming a little.

My brain decided to take a short holiday.