“Really,” I say.
“Like, what kind of witch things did she do?”
She’s not altogether convinced, but I have her attention. I drop my voice to a confiding whisper. “I’ll tell you when you’re old enough,” I say, evading the immediate pitfall. “But no running at night, not until you’re ready. Witches can see things at night that other people can’t see. Dead people, for instance. If you’re not instructed and prepared, it can be scary.”
“I’m not a witch, though,” she says uncertainly. She’s considering the options.
“You may not realize it yet,” I say. “Your grandmother believed the talent is passed on. It can skip a generation. I’m sure you’ll grow into it. When that happens, you must be very, very careful. You mustn’t abuse your power.”
She hugs herself. “I feel cold.”
She’s thrilled. Who of her age would not be?