“Break things?” I was incredulous. “I don’t care about things. I’m concerned for their safety. I’m afraid that Philip can see time and manipulate it and can’t yet walk in a straight line. I’m afraid that he might disappear and I won’t be able to find him. I’m afraid that Becca will try to follow him, and end up in an entirely different place and time. I’m afraid that Satu J?rvinen will find out, or one of her friends, and demand the witches investigate this precocious manifestation of magic in my children as a way of getting back at me for spellbinding her. I’m afraid that Gerbert will discover that Philip and Becca are even more interesting than he thought they might be, and will become fixated on them.”
My voice rose with each new fear until I was practically shouting.
“And I am deathly afraid that this is only the beginning!” I finished.
“Welcome to parenthood,” Agatha said serenely. She held out the shortbread. “Have a cookie. You’ll feel better. Trust me.”
I was a great believer in the power of carbohydrates, but not even Marthe’s baking—spectacular though it might be—was going to solve this dilemma.
* * *
—
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, the twins and I were playing on a blanket under the sprawling willow that was tucked into the corner where the moat curved around Les Revenants. We had collected sticks, leaves, flowers, and stones and were arranging them in patterns on the soft wool.
I watched, fascinated, as Philip selected items according to their textures and shapes while Becca preferred sorting her treasures by color. Even at this young age, the twins were developing their own likes and dislikes.
“Red,” I told Becca, looking at a bright leaf from a Japanese maple that was kept in a pot in the courtyard, a tightly furled rosebud, and a sprig of cardinal flower.
She nodded, her face scrunched up in concentration.
“Can you find more red?” I asked. There was a reddish pebble, and some bee balm that was such a dark pink that it bordered on crimson.
Becca handed me a green oak leaf.
“Green,” I said, putting it next to the rose. Becca immediately moved it and started amassing another pile.
As I watched the children play under a blue sky, the willow branches sighing gently in the wind above us and the grass making a bright cushion under the blanket, the future seemed less dark than it had inside while talking to Sarah and Agatha. I was glad the twins would come of age in a time when playing was seen as a form of learning. The lessons Marcus had been taught in The New England Primer were weighted far more toward control than freedom.
Still, I needed to help them find balance—not just between playfulness and discipline, but between the other opposing tendencies in their blood. Magic needed to be part of their lives, but I didn’t want them to grow up thinking of witchcraft as a labor-saving device. Nor did I want them to think of it as a tool of revenge or power to hold over others. Instead, I wanted them to equate magic with ordinary moments like these.
I picked up a sprig of muguet de bois. The perfumed flowers of lily of the valley always reminded me of my mother, and their white and pink bells looked like ruffled caps that might hide a smiling face inside.
The breeze set the small flowers dancing on their delicate stems.
I whispered to the wind, and the faint sound of bells could be heard. It was a small bit of elemental magic—so small that it didn’t stir up the power I’d absorbed along with the Book of Life.
Philip looked up, his attention captured by the magical sound.
I blew on the flowers, and the sound of bells grew louder.
“Again, Mama!” Becca said, clapping her hands.
“Your turn.” I held the sprig between her lips and mine. Becca pursed her lips and gave a mighty blow. I laughed, and the sound of bells swelled and grew.
“Me. Me.” Philip grabbed at the flowers, but I held on to them.
This time, with three witches blowing on the dancing bells, the peals were even louder.
Worried that the sound might carry to warmbloods who would wonder how they could hear church bells so far away from town, I stuck the stem into the ground.
“Floreto,” I said, sprinkling some earth over the sprig. The flowers grew larger, and they craned upward. Inside each bell the pale green stamens seemed to form eyes and a mouth around the longer pistil that made up its nose.
By this point the children were mesmerized, staring openmouthed at the floral creature waving its leaves in welcome. Becca waved back.
Matthew appeared, looking concerned. Then he saw the waving lily of the valley, and his expression turned to surprise, then pride.