Even though the scone was easily three or four times her total mass, Sparkle put the whole thing away before I was halfway through my eggs. She collapsed on the plate with a happy giggle and stared up at the ceiling, resting her hands on her belly. Which, I noted with curiosity, wasn’t the least bit distended. Aside from a few crumbs on and about her, she showed no physical sign of having eaten anything at all.

Fascinating.

As I pushed my plate away a few minutes later - eggs and scone had both been delicious, and I was feeling better in general - Malcolm approached. “Thank you,” I said with all the sincere warmth I could muster, “for everything.” Sparkle finally fluttered up off her plate and reattached herself to the Master key.

Malcolm waved off my thanks with an airy gesture and collected our dishes. “Nothing doing. You’re a member of this community, even if you don’t really know it yet, and we take care of our own.” He returned and leaned down, resting one elbow on the bar and lowering his voice conspiratorially. “If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Caley…do you have the same talents your parents had?”

I blinked at him. “You mean…” I didn’t quite want to say it out loud.

He smiled and nodded. “Magic, aye. The Art, your mother liked to call it.” He tapped his chest. “I’ve a bit of talent that way myself, actually, but mostly hedge magic. Little things, you know? Simple cleaning and healing spells, a few herbal remedies and potions, that sort of thing. Nothing like what your parents could do.”

I couldn’t help but look surprised. “Really? Well…yes, I guess I do, but I’ve only just started learning about it.”

I thought the smile on Malcolm’s face then looked a little relieved. “Very good. Quite a few people in Oakwood have a bit of magical talent, but only about as much as I have. One or two a bit more, most a bit less.” His smile faded. “But those of us in the know have been worried. Since your father died, some strange folk have passed through town. Don’t know what they wanted, but the one who stopped here asked questions about the manor house. Wanted to know if anyone had taken up residence there yet.”

I must have looked as nervous as his words made me, because he smiled and gently padded my hand where it lay on the bar. “Never you fear, miss. I told him nothing that’d be of any use to anyone, just sent him on his way.”

“Thank you,” I replied softly. “My father left me notes that referred to some nebulous threats that might be lurking out there…” I trailed off and smiled wryly at the sepulchral tone my voice had unconsciously taken on, and how pretentious the words sounded.

To my surprise, Malcolm didn’t look amused. He didn’t look surprised, either.

“You mind that warning, miss,” he said gravely. “It was a public secret that your father had been seen driving off some scary-looking things during the last months before his death. Not often, not regularly, but…people saw things. We always have here in Oakwood, as far back as the town’s memory goes.”

I shivered a little. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m a quick study.”

Malcolm nodded gravely. “Oakwood Hall needs its Guardian, miss. So we’ve been taught for generations. And in my opinion, the town does too. I, for one, am very glad you’re here. I think you’ll find many others will be too.” His smile returned. “You’re going to be a local celebrity.”

“I’m not sure how to feel about that,” I replied honestly. Oakwood Hall, though…that struck a chord in me. It felt better than 'House' somehow.

He laughed softly and nodded. “Aye, I get that, and I don’t blame you. I’m not sure how I’d feel about it in your place. Just…try not to let it overwhelm you. Any time you feel like it is, you come down here and have a drink or two with the lads. They’ll make sure you’re well grounded.” He winked.

I smiled a little. “I don’t really drink much, but I’ll come anyway.”

“Nobody here will so much as blink if you order tea instead of a beer,” he replied with absolute confidence.

I giggled. “Or a glass of milk, like those parodies of American Westerns?”

Malcolm laughed. “You come by on Thursday and try it, and you’ll see.”

“I will,” I said firmly. As had happened in the House, I felt a sudden sense of belonging that shook me a little. In my mind, Oakwood was rapidly becoming associated with ‘home’ as surely as the House itself.

After another moment I rose and dug out my wallet. “What do I owe you for breakfast?”

Malcolm smiled. “On the house, just this once, because I got to be the one to welcome you to town.”

“I couldn’t -”

“You can,” he said firmly. “My pub, my rules. This morning, you eat free.”

I hesitated a moment, then smiled and nodded. “All right. But only if you let me buy a round for everybody on Thursday.” I made a mental note to quietly find out if there were any organizations in town that could use donations, or even individuals who might benefit from an anonymous bit of help. That was something I could do with part of that ridiculous pile of money I was sitting on now and feel good about it.

Malcolm blinked, then laughed. “You won’t need to buy their friendship, but I won’t stop you either. It’ll be fun just to see their reactions.”

I left the Oak & Ivy on a wave of warm farewells from Malcolm and Judy, and started up the street. As I headed for home - walking now instead of jogging, having just eaten - a curious routine of sorts took shape. I would find myself approaching one of the town’s older residents, who would stop in their tracks and do a double-take, or go slack-jawed for a moment. Then recognition and delight would flash across their faces, and they would hail me by name, calling me Caitlyn or Miss Reid, and welcoming me home.

The first two or three times it happened, I found it startling and a little unsettling. But as I stopped to talk to them, found out how they’d known my parents - one or both - and began to adjust to the idea that people here were simply going to recognize me, I started to relax a little again. By the fourth time it happened, it gave me a warm feeling that I couldn’t quite identify instead of an uneasy one.

One older woman - about Malcolm’s age, I guessed - actually hugged me tightly before identifying herself. She had dark hair streaked with gray and bright brown eyes that met mine with warmth and obvious affection.

“Not so little anymore,” she said with a laugh after calling me ‘little Caitlyn.’ “I’m Laurie, the town librarian. I used to babysit your mother when she was a little girl, and was a friend of your father’s until his untimely demise. I won’t hold you up while you’re exercising, but you come by the library and see me sometime, and I'll tell you tall tales. It’s open most mornings and every afternoon, except Sundays.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

She moved on before I could say anything more than a surprised, “I will, I promise!”

The people who stopped me along the way had known my father well, or had grown up with my mother. A few identified themselves as being distantly related to my mother’s side of the family in a variety of amusingly convoluted ways. But one thing remained the same with each meeting: they were all happy and relieved to see me. In a few cases, the relief in particular was almost tangible.

Some of the middle-aged residents I met - ones I guessed were about the age my parents would have been - recognized me after a moment as well. They were mostly content to smile and nod politely, or give me a cheerful wave and a happy “Welcome home, Miss Reid,” in passing.

It was the reactions of the younger people - my age or younger - that really threw me. Every single one of them, after realizing who I was, watched me with something like awe as I went by. It looked like Malcolm was right…I was going to be something of a local celebrity.

By the time I reached the edge of town and really started the hike back to the House, I found I was actually looking forward to getting home, and back to Ken. I wasn’t tired, really…after breakfast at the Oak & Ivy I was rested enough that - had I not had a full stomach - I could have jogged a few more miles. But I felt emotionally drained, and not in an unpleasant way. I had found myself in a town full of people who had been happy to see me; happy to know that I was there.

It was a delightful feeling.

Only one moment marred that first real visit to Oakwood. As I was walking contentedly up the road towards home, feeling eager to tell Ken all about my warm reception, a car approached me on the road, heading towards town. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have paid it any mind, I would have just stepped off onto the verge and kept walking. But this was a car. Even with my limited knowledge of automobiles, I knew it was something special.

It was a big, old black thing…a Bentley of some sort, spotlessly clean and trimmed with gleaming chrome. I actually stopped to watch it go by, it was so impressive. This car had definitely been made in a different age. It was practically art.

It cruised gracefully past me, giving me time to look through the windows, and for a moment I met the driver’s eyes. I only got a quick look at him, but I got a strong impression of thick eyebrows drawn down in concentration and dark, coldly glittering eyes. Short, dark, slicked-back hair framed the face, the sideburns longer than was fashionable, and he had thick lips framed by a neatly trimmed beard.

The man’s eyes tracked me for a moment, intense and obviously curious.

Then the car was past me and heading into town. I followed it with my eyes long enough to see it slowly disappear from sight among the buildings. I shivered a little, though there was only the faintest hint of winter chill in the air. For no reason I could put my finger on, the brief encounter left me feeling unsettled.

Malcolm O’Day’s comment about ‘strange folk’ being seen in the town flitted through my mind. Then I snorted a derisive little laugh and started toward home again. I was not going to let my imagination run away with me when there were so many amazing new things - apparently real things - to see and learn.

I had put the brief encounter out of my mind by the time I reached the House’s front gates and unlocked them to let myself in. As soon as I was inside the gates and had them locked behind me, Sparkle detached herself from my key and resumed her natural size and coloring. She flitted along beside me as I headed up the drive, leaving a short, barely visible purple streak in her wake that faded quickly.

After waving to Ken, who had opened the door as I approached and was hovering just inside - literally and metaphorically - I stayed outside for a few minutes, settling on the grass to do some stretches as a cool-down from the walk back. Ken left the door open and disappeared, returning as I approached with Sparkle now perched on my shoulder.

He gave me a smile that was both warm and - I thought - relieved. “Did you enjoy your jog, Mistress?” He asked curiously. “You were gone longer than I expected.”

“It was wonderful,” I said with a smile, taking the water bottle he offered and handing him the backpack he’d given me when I left. “Thank you. I can see I’m going to love this town. It’s absolutely charming, and everyone was so friendly and happy to see me.”

Ken nodded, still smiling warmly. “I had a feeling they might be. I’m glad you had such a warm reception, Mistress. Are you ready for breakfast now?”

I sipped some of the water. “I ate at the Oak & Ivy pub in town. I even have an invitation from Malcolm O’Day to go back on Thursday night.”

Ken laughed quietly. “He told you how your father went to throw darts and have a few drinks, I take it.”

“Oh yes,” I said, “and a few other things besides. If I’m not completely exhausted tomorrow night, I think I’ll go. It would be very nice to meet more people who knew my parents and…” I trailed off, uncertain of how to voice the emotion that was running through my mind.

Ken, as always, seemed to understand instinctively. “It would be nice to put down some roots in the community, yes?”

I nodded. “Precisely so. I’ve never really belonged to a community before. It…” I hesitated, then finished rather lamely, “It sounds nice.”

Ken chuckled softly. “You are discovering that you’re a social creature after all. Perhaps you’re more like your mother than you think.”

That startled me, and caused my hand to rise unconsciously to touch the platinum band around my throat. “Really? But…from what I’ve seen and heard so far, she sounds so…so…”

“Outrageous?” Ken asked, smiling.

I nodded.

“She was,” he said fondly. “But that was who she was on the surface and in public, and it was - at least in part, I think - a response to how staid your father was. Beneath the bright colors and good cheer, she was never entirely sure of her place in the world. At least,” he added quickly, “that was my impression.”

“You haven’t been wrong yet,” I said. I considered my own largely repressed personality for a moment, then shook my head. “I should take another shower…”

“Before you do,” Ken said, “I think you should get some spellcasting practice in. I’ve revised my plans a bit…we’ll work on your wind spell for a few days before shifting to lightning. Economy of energy can come later, after you’ve worked on your aim a bit.” He winked. “Poorly aimed lightning would be…bad.”

“Yes, definitely,” I agreed heartily, relieved that my next attempt at spellcasting wouldn’t be something violent. I just wasn’t ready for that yet.

“And then after lunch,” Ken said, “I thought we could start working on your first staff.”

For some reason, that sent a frisson of excitement through me, and appealed to me deeply. Why did that project excite me so much?

“Because it’s a tangible act of creation,” I said quietly to myself. “Lasting proof that magic is real, and that I can really do it.”

Ken tipped his head a little, his expression curious. “Do you have reason at this point to think magic isn’t real?” he asked, rather teasingly.

My cheeks heated up. I hadn’t even realized I was thinking out loud. “No, of course not, but…”

He smiled and nodded. “It’s all right. Every wizard gets excited about making their first staff. It’s a milestone, of a sort, and you’re right…it is proof that you’re capable of molding and manipulating the energies needed to produce a functional staff. It’s a big deal, and we probably won’t get to that part of it for a couple of weeks.”

“Weeks?” I asked, my excitement dimming a bit. But then, nothing ever worth doing was easy.

“Weeks,” Ken agreed with a smile. “It’s not just picking a length of wood and starting to use it. The length of wood in question - or whatever material you end up using - must resonate with you in specific ways. Then it needs to be prepared to contain and channel the energy you’ll be using it to work with, which involves a certain amount of carving, and perhaps the embedding of other materials in it, as well as meditation and other mental preparations.

“A magical focus,” he went on, quickly slipping into a tone of voice I was already coming to associate with his lecturing mode, “is more than a physical construct. A properly made focus becomes a part of you, for lack of a better way to explain it. Most spellcasters can never use another’s foci for precisely that reason.”

Ken’s tone softened a little. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you need to start over two or three times before you get it right. Your father usually took two attempts to make a new focus, and your mother…” He trailed off and laughed. “As I recall, it took your mother five tries to make her first staff.”

“I see,” I said, not entirely sure that I did, but fully prepared to take his word for it. “Well, if it took Mom five tries, then I have a goal to beat.”

Ken grinned. “Indeed, Mistress.”

“All right, then,” I said, feeling ready to dive back into this new world in a way that I hadn’t when I’d woken up that morning. “Let’s go assault a pinwheel.”

Sparkle cheered from my shoulder.

Ken beamed. “That’s the spirit!”

I glared at him.

He coughed. “Ah…no pun intended. Sorry.”