“Michael,” I whisper as loudly as I can without drawing attention.  I tap on his window, right over the bed.

“Michael!” I insist.

If he doesn’t respond, I’m going in. I can’t have Bea and Mrs. Hamilton alone inour kitchen for long. It can’t be too pretty in there right now. And if it’s ugly, I surely don’t want to miss a thing. Okay, so I am bad, right along with Bea.

I hear stirring, then see the door to the guest house open.

“Yeah?” he says, groggy, standing there looking insanely awesome in white cotton pajama bottoms.

“Come, now. She’s here.”

“Who?” he says, looking around with squinting eyes. “What time is it?”

I push past him, not wanting to be seen on his doorstep at seven in the morning. Dad might get the wrong idea.

Wow, he really is a teenager. Not here 24 hours and the place is a cyclone. It kind of surprises me about him, but it doesn’t matter. We don’t have time for that now.

“Bea is here,” I say. “In my kitchen. Get dressed and come now.”

“Where?” he says, but something must have sunk in because he immediately shifts into hurry mode, hopping around trying to get socks and a shirt on. I guess the pants could pass as tropical casual or something. He grabs a pair of hemp sandals, just to complete the look.

“I don’t know why she came already,” I muse aloud. “She said we needed to find out when your aunt Helene was going to be in the air, but then she just went ahead and showed up at the kitchen door at quarter to seven.”

He musses his hair, I’m supposing to make it look better, not worse. It looks the same to me, before or after.

“Wait? It’s seven?”

“About”

“So according to her schedule, Helene is in the air right now,” he says, not sounding nearly as surprised as I feel.

“Somehow Bea knew,” I say, stating the obvious.

“That’s Gran Bea.”

“She said to have you put this on,” I say, handing him a medicine bag at the end of a long piece of leather string. It’s not fancy like Anna’s. Just a plain brown, sort of heavy. “She said you had to wear it. And not come closer than eight feet to her. She didn’t say why.”

He starts to look inside it, but I stop him by grabbing it back.

“She said don’t look inside,” I insist.

“Lot of rules for seven in the morning,” he says, still sounding gruff in the throat. He takes the bag back and puts it on without much more thought.

I guess he doesn’t balk at rules the way I do. I’d have probably at least tried to steal a glance, or give it a good squeeze.

Actually, I did do both.

“I have to warn you about something,” I say as we head out across the lawn from the guest cottage to the main house, hoping beyond hope that Dad or Sally don’t look. It’s not like I can’t say we have someone in the kitchen waiting for Michael. But it would be better not to have doubts in their mind from the start. I want them to trust me with him. Let me hang out with him without needing to look over my shoulder. For the most part, they don’t notice what I do.  But walking out of the guest house at seven in the morning with Michael looking like he just woke up? That’s a little over the top, even for them.

“Warn me about what?” he replies.

“There’s something going on already. You see, Mrs. Hamilton was poisoning Scottie, at least Jake said that is who he “saw” it was.”

“Like, psychically or something?” Michael asks.

“I guess. I think I saw what he saw, too. Bea wasn’t too happy about it either, so she said she wanted to meet Mrs. Hamilton when she met with you. Since I already did some magic with Mrs. Hamilton, I’m thinking it could get a little strange in there.”

“What did you do?” he asks. You can tell he wants to know really badly, but he’s playing it cool. Sort of like I do.

“I just had one lesson…” I caution.

“So they are teaching you!”

“I didn’t say that. Okay, I guess I did. But don’t tell anyone. Anyway, I’m not any good. I just broke a bowl. But Mrs. Hamilton got the drift I don’t want her messing with Scottie. Bea hinted that we might see her bad side.”

“Which, trust me, from what I recall, you don’t want to see.”

We approach the kitchen door and both reach for the handle at once. We laugh nervously and he steps back. He is the guest, after all.

We step inside and assess the situation. It’s a tough call. Bea is leaning over Mrs. Hamilton with both of their hunched over backs toward us. I walk towards then, while Michael hangs at the door. He’s a good twenty feet away, but I can see he’s not taking chances.

“I found him,” I say tentatively.

“Goodness, gracious,” Bea says, turning to me with a worried look, nearly ignoring her own great grandson behind me. “Did you know Mrs. Hamilton is allergic to cats?”

Now Mrs. Hamilton turns, her eyes red and practically pouring water, with her face all swollen.

It is all I can do not to laugh. Isn’t Bea supposed to turn into a black panther when she shapeshifts? That would be one big cat. But I don’t dare say anything. Mrs. Hamilton is all blotchy and red and I don’t want to give anything away by being glad about it.

“It’s neva behn thith bad,” Mrs. Hamilton says, looking bewildered.

“Poor dear, even her tongue is swelling,” Bea says the kind of fake tone of concern a bad actress would muster up.

“You might want to see a doctor… soon,” Bea says.

Mrs. Hamilton doesn’t have to be told twice. She reaches for her purse. “Tell yar dad I’m goin on vacathon early. I’ll be bac in tew weeks.”

 “This kind of reaction could last even longer than that, I’m afraid,” Bea says with a dramatically furrowed brow and a solemn nod. “You might need a series of shots or something.”

Mrs. Hamilton looks about as worried as I can imagine.

“In fact,” Bea goes on, “you  might not want to come back at all.”

With that, I swear on a hundred thousand graves of really good people, Bea’s head changes into a black panther. Just long enough to turn at the neck and look from Mrs. Hamilton to me, and then beyond me to Michael.

It’s unmistakable, then it’s over.

It happened so fast, you could almost think it was impossible to have happened, and so imagine that it really didn’t.

From the corner of the kitchen, I hear Michael gasp.    

Oh yes, it happened.

Mrs. Hamilton is in a complete state of shock, do doubt wondering if her watery eyes are playing tricks on her. A perfectly straight-faced Bea helps usher her to the dining room door, which is opposite the door Michael is standing in, and tells her to hurry on.

“Do take care now,” I say, unable to help myself.

“Well now,” Bea says once Mrs. Hamilton is fully gone, turning back to look at Michael, “how is my great-grandson?”

“Hi Gran Bea,” he says, still shocked, but smiling this huge, adorable smile.

“I’m sorry you can’t come near,” she says, finally sounding like her genuine self, though maybe a little nicer than she speaks to me. I think there are even tears riming her lower eyes, but I can’t be sure. “I’d give you a great big Gran Bea hug.”

He nods without moving closer, though he’s got a good 12 feet leeway. I’d swear he had water in his eyes, too. “I understand.”

“Do you?” she asks, turning serious. “How much?”

“I have magic,” he says. “Not like what you just did. That was… unbelievable. But I can do some things.”

“Show me,” she says, and takes a seat at a small side table nearer to the dining room door.

“Could I have a spoon?” he asks me, and I move to give him one.

Just as he did with me, he puts the spoon in front of him. He lays it on the counter and begins to bob his hand over it, then begin to make circles with his finger.

Only this time, it doesn’t spin. Well, not much anyway. More, it wobbles in place.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he says, turning a bit red.

“I saw him do it yesterday,” I say in his defense.

She waits as he tries, but nothing much happens.

“I don’t get it,” he says, impatient with himself.

Bea stands. “I know you can do it. You were doing it as a toddler. You wouldn’t remember—and that is exactly how we wanted it. You were not supposed to have learned this again yet. Must be Anna and I being apart, or distracted from our blocking you.”

“Why block me?” he says, sounding not only confused, but downright hurt.

“You’re not ready to learn,” she says.

“I am ready!” he says, not exactly raising his voice, but definitely straining it.

“Even if you are, it doesn’t matter,” Bea says kind but firm. “We all promised your mother we would not teach you until you reached the legal age. A full 18, and not a day sooner.”

“But, and I say this respectfully Gran Bea, it’s already happening. Only I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t even know what it is for.” He leans in, as if getting five inches closer could help. “I feel like I don’t even know who we are. As a family. And for sure not who I am. I have to wait until I am 18 to know that?”

You can see Bea doesn’t like this any more than Michael. But she’s not a woman to break her word, I feel certain of that. Nor Anna.

She considers long, looking him over much the way she looked me over that first time, only from a distance.

“It’s one thing to be able to spin spoons,” she finally says, “when there is nothing working against you. It’s another when someone, or something, is in the way. The smart magician seeks to discover what is blocking him and how to dissipate the interruption.”

There is a silence, and in it, I try to read between the lines. It seems Michael is doing the same.

Is she teaching us, or him, without saying so? Was that just a lesson she didn’t give? I think so.

“Who are you?” Sally demands to know from the dining room entrance.

We all look up, but Bea is the one instantly on her feet.

“I’ve come to cook for you, dearie. I’ll arrive daily at two to prepare and be gone by 8, after the dishes are dried.”

Michael and I look at each other as if to ask “Did you say something to her about the cooking job?” But it was brought up after I left her, and this is their first meeting. From the looks we both wear, it’s obvious we are witnessing another small feat of magic.

“Oh, right,” Sally says. “You’re the chef that Michael is going to audition while Mrs. Hamilton is away. That was fast, Michael.”

“Indeed,” Bea says, approaching her gregariously. “You may call me Fiona.”

Again, Michael and I offer each other quick glances.

Fiona?

Well, I guess she can’t say outright that her name is Bea. Word could get back to Helene pretty quick.

Sally looks her over, no doubt wondering how a nearly-ninety woman is going to handle a daily job at the house, let alone at a restaurant. But then a look comes over her that says “But that’s not my problem.”

So very, very Sally.
 
“Wonderful, Fiona,” she says. “I’d love to go over my dietary requirements with you before you start on Monday, if you have the chance.”

“Actually,” I chime in, “Mrs. Hamilton left for vacation already. She as having an allergic reaction to something. Maybe Fiona could start today?”

Everyone waits for “Fiona” to reply.

“I’d be thrilled!” she says in just that same voice she used with Mrs. Hamilton. “I’m sure we can all discover a great deal in two weeks worth of daily auditions.”

I feel a surge of glee rush through me and see it register on Michael’s face as well.

Bea, here, with us! There’s got to be some kind of learning going on in that!

“I must tell admit, though,” Bea says to Sally, feigning concern, “I’m deaf as a doornail. It makes things look odd every so often. And you’ll have to be right in front of me when you speak to me. I hope that is not what these young folks call a deal-breaker?”

Sally wavers, seeing her out.

“Not at all,” Michael says, jumping right in. “You mentioned that on your application and you come with amazing references. We can work around it without a problem, right Sally.”

“I suppose, if you want to, Michael. But what about payment? My husband will want to know about rates, get her social security number…”

A trace of concern goes over Bea’s face, but you wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking.

“I’ve got it covered through the restaurant. Fiona will be paid by me and listed as simply catering here. It’s only fair, since I want to try her out without our current chef getting wind of it. You won’t say anything to anyone about this, will you Sally? Even to my aunt Helene—I’m dying to show her the kind of chef I can find on my own. Of course, she’ll have to give her approval once Fiona has proven herself to us. Which she will, I promise you, Sally. She’s magnificent in the kitchen. And you’ll be able to say you helped discover her!”

You can tell he wants this nailed.

Sally hesitates again, but then agrees. It’s the bragging rights, for sure. “No, of course we won’t say anything. I’ll let my husband know not to say anything, either. He likes a young man with initiative.” 

“Just one more thing,” Bea says, smiling wide.

Everyone seems to be holding their breath.

“Yes?” Sally and Michael say at the same time.

“I’ll need some help with finding my way around the local stores, plus some basic assistance in learning the house. All that. Mayd… Julie, is it dear? Would you be willing to help me out?”

Now Sally is looking at me like I’m supposed to be polite, at the least.

“Not a problem,” I say, smiling.

Sally’s jaw drops open. It makes me smile even more. My own magical teacher right in my house, every day, plus help in shocking the family? Really, what could be better?

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