All I want to do is sleep, I think as Scottie stretches two paws across my shoulder and pummels me gently.

“It’s my day off,” I say aloud to her, gently pushing her away as I groan and pull the sheet up over my head. Actually, it’s Monday, Bea’s official day off…finally.

What this means is that this is the first morning I’ve slept in since a week ago last Sunday— the day I met Michael. Bea doesn’t seem to be interested in sticking to the limited schedule she set with Sally, at least since the incident with the fire and Magic and all that. So now she’s pretty much been here from 7 in the morning to 8 at night every single solitary day. I thought she’d take the weekend off, at least, but no. “Too much magic to learn,” she said when I suggested she might be working too hard.

For that, I am grateful. You can learn a lot in one week, I’ve found. What you can’t do is slow Bea down. She’s got ten times my energy. And when I said that to her, she just smiled and said: “Soon enough, you’ll have it too. That’s just one thing Magic will do for you.”

Scottie finds a bit of bare flesh on my one exposed calf to knead her paws into. It’s not like I need to take her out or anything. She’s got her little in-out door to the closet with her litter box. It is just that the sun is up and she’s ready to play. I turn back over and reach down to draw her near, muzzling her soft belly with my whole face. She purrs, and again I’m reminded of the best thing to happen since I met the whole magical crew. Scottie is healthy. Perfectly. And for that I’d have worked every day for a year.

It’s not just that I want to goof off today, anyway. I’ve got to call Rod and see how he is doing. I heard Dad mention the divorce on the phone with Rod’s dad yesterday, and good friend I’ve been, I haven’t even checked on him.
 
I’ve also got to see Anna. I have not been this whole week. Not since I saw her completely comatose.  Bea has assured me she is back to normal—which I assume means still out of it most of the time but able to be roused if needed. Even so, I want to see for myself.

Just thinking of her in that place at all makes me sad. It always feels like she should be here, too, teaching me her ways. I have a feeling it isn’t good to learn only Bea’s ways.  But there doesn’t seem to be a way to make that happen. Michael’s involvement with us has to be kept hidden as long, and as well, as possible.

Which leads to another problem. It wasn’t so easy keeping him from Bea all weekend. He wants to learn so bad you can see it killing him to stand back and get it second hand from me. But today he’ll be off to soccer camp again, and will be exhausted after. So everything should be quieter, all around.

As if on cue, I hear a door slam down the hall, and another fight between Dad and Sally is immediately in full swing.  Bea says it’s the heat from the magical fire, which is helping Sally lose weight even while she’s eating like a total pig. Losing weight makes her cranky, Bea said, the same way it would if she were on a strict diet. I asked if there wasn’t something we could do about that, too, but Bea just shrugged as if to say you can’t have your cake and eat it, too.

Actually, I think it’s just that Dad and Sally are just reaching that time in all his relationships when things fall to crap. So far, they have all gone on pretty much the same schedule. Except for my mom. She was different, he said, though he didn’t really explain. I like to think maybe it was her having me that was what was different, but I don’t really know, and Dad doesn’t say. As much as I don’t overly like Sally, I kind of hope they aren’t going to get a divorce. I don’t like the idea of getting a new one broken in, and moving, and then redecorating, and all the stuff that comes with Dad getting married again. Besides, it just can’t be good for Dad.

“Okay, Scottie, I really have to get going,” I say, lifting her off of me and putting my feet on the ground. I swear I am sore from head to toe. You wouldn’t think cooking would be any great strain, but it really is. You are constantly standing, reaching, lifting, pouring, and all kinds of things you never think about until you’ve done if for hours on end. Add magic and working with all the elements—including Bea insisting we actually create a makeshift brick oven on the back deck so she could bake her favorite garlic and onion flat bread—and then add how much you have to think and remember about what goes with what and what never goes with what… Well, in the end, it’s downright exhausting.

I think about all of this again from another ten thousand angles as I grab a shower, breakfast, and head over to Anna’s.

I try Rod on my cell on the way, but his is turned off. Not surprising. It’s a Monday morning in the summer, and like all wise teenagers, he’s asleep. He will be till one or two this afternoon. I leave a message, short, sweet, and a little less snarky than I might have normally, but not so much less that he thinks I feel sorry for him. I do, but it won’t help if it looks that way. It’s just like that between us and now is not a time to make any sudden changes. He’s got enough of that.

Standing at the buzzer, I think back just a week and a half ago, when I was coming to take Anna for her first walk. Everything is so different now. I’m so different now. It’s like I live in a whole new world. I smile, realizing I’m not even decked out in unusual funky clothes—just a t-shirt and jeans. I haven’t even bothered to make sure my hair looks like a multi-colored rats nest. The ladies at the desk won’t believe it’s me.

Strangely enough, they do realize it’s me. They buzz me in and have me sign in without a comment. Not even a strange look or a “where have you been?”

I guess that’s the thing about not standing out. You don’t stand out. It’s a little of a bummer, until I remember that learning magic has made me truly different, so maybe I don’t have to rely so much on just looking different. I think I’ll have to think on that more. But later. Now, it’s time for Anna.

Heading into her room with a quick nock, I find she is much as she always is: Head bobbing; a little drool. But she is sitting up in her wheelchair, not flat out in bed. I don’t even bother to talk to her beyond a loud, fake “Hello Mrs. Bayless” before getting her medicine bag and heading her out the door. We’ve plenty to say to each other, and if there is one thing I have learned, it’s best not to have it happen anywhere near the inside of these walls.

Lowering her onto the earth, she lets out a huge sigh. She’s already invoked her ancestors as we wheeled out. I sort of hummed along quietly, as if to say I agree, even if I don’t know the names and dates. I put on her drugstore glasses and get in her eyeshot.

“You have been learning,” she says, looking me over and smiling proudly.

“Trying,” I say, smiling too, though a little sheepishly. It feels good to hear she can see it. Bea’s not one to say much about how you are doing, and surely not how she’s proud of you, though I suppose I have gotten the sense that she thinks I’m up to the tasks she’s giving me, and that’s something, too. Anna’s more open about her approval, and as hard as it has been, I’m realizing a direct pat on the back goes a long way. I’m also realizing just how much I’ve missed this half of the twins.

“Tell me everything,” she says, already moving her attention to look around and marvel at the bugs and mulch and twigs.

“I hardly know where to start,” I say.

“I can imagine. Tell me about Magic. I can see Bea is teaching you. Your confidence level has risen greatly and that much, occurring that quickly, can only be attributed to Magic.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “But it seems like the more I know, the more I realize how much I need to learn. I would think that would make me lose confidence.”

“It is true that the more you know, the more you realize all that you don’t know,” she says, pursing her lips and pondering. “Perhaps it is better said like this: What you assume is learning, is actually becoming. You are becoming magical. In a world where there are so many limitations within the framework of time, space and energy, to become magical is to have more resources and therefore, more confidence.”

“Becoming magical,” I whisper. It feels like too much to say at full volume.

“You are right to be wary of the idea,” Anna says. “The more you think you understand, the less open for knowledge you become. Stay in awe of it and you will learn all you need to know.”

I nod, thinking that’s what I miss fromAnna. Bea is smart, and good at working with Magic. But Anna is wise in a completely different way. She makes me feel like I’ll be protected, and all Bea makes me feel is overwhelmed.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Anna says, sounding surprised I have to ask. “Anything.”

“Magic came to me one night. It changed everything around me. I mean, like, the whole world I was seeing. I still don’t understand what it was. A vision or something. But Michael was there, and I saw your face in the fire. Jake came, at least his voice did, and then later, I realized none of it had happened. Bea said it was Magic, that Magic is feminine, and that she wants to speak through me. But I want to know what you think, and if you were there, or aware of it when it happened, or anything.”

Anna sucks in air, not quite a gasp, but it is clear she’s not taking what I have said lightly.

“It hasn’t happened since,” I continue, “but Bea says it could anytime. She’s been around me as much as possible, and keeping me really busy. I think it might be so that it doesn’t happen again, but I’m not sure.”

“Bea is right to stick close,” Anna says firmly. “Not that you must worry about Magic. If you have been selected as the vehicle of communication, you will be protected by Magic herself, in more ways than you can know. But you are so early into your education. This can threaten so much. Magic must feel a great urgency, to appear so soon.”

I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. She seems to be mulling it over, and I can’t blame her. It’s pretty big news, I’m thinking. But the more she is silent, the more it worries me. I mean, if it’s big to Anna, it must be really big for someone like me.

“What IS Magic, anyway?” I finally say, if only to break the silence. “I don’t understand, it being female or even like a person at all. I thought it was a force or something more like that.”

“Oh, Magic is not a person,” Anna says. “You are right about that. A force would be closer to the truth, but that would not quite be correct, either. Let me think of an image to help you…”

With this, I see her eyes glaze off, almost as if she’s gone into one of her drug induced stupors again. But this time, I see it differently. I see she is not gone, or at least not gone against her own will. The realization shocks me—Anna “leaves” on purpose!

The idea sends chills up and down my spine. Perhaps she is not a victim of this place and all its madness, even when she is laid out flat. Just the possibility amazes me. I mean, if it were true, what would we have to be afraid of in our old age?

“I see it now,” Anna says, back as quick as she left. “A chandelier with many crystals. The great power of the Universe is the chandelier. From it hang so many forms of magic, but not only that. All religion, and all forms of goodness, and badness for that matter. All manner of things which conduct and carry the power of the Universe out into the world. Our Magic is one stunning crystal on that great plugged-in appliance that leads straight to the One source, and ours happens to be feminine. She carries the force of magic within her, but she is not the source. Not the ultimate source.”

“So she is like goddess, then?” I ask, feeling like I might be beginning to understand.

Anna smiles, her eyes dancing. “So, Magic is talking to you! You received an image too!”

This time I smile full on.

“Just don’t believe anything too much,” she warns, frowning. “Magic is more fluid than that. She doesn’t want to be understood. The minute you claim to understand, or even think you do, you will be out of your league and in for a few new lessons. Do you understand?”

“I think so. A goddess or a crystal from a great chandelier are just ways to think of Magic, but not really what she is? And when we forget how big she is, and think we understand, we are at risk of having to learn new lessons that take us back into the mystery.”

Actually, I have no idea where that came from. It just popped out of my mouth, like I actually know what I’m talking about, even though I don’t.

“Oh my,” my elder says in what sounds like actual awe. “Oh my dear Mayden. We have chosen well in choosing you, haven’t we? Or did we choose you at all, I must wonder. Perhaps Magic chose you, or even more possible, you chose yourself, and we could not deny the force you set in motion when you did so. From what I am seeing in you, anything could be possible.”

I don’t know who chose what, but I seem to feel what she is saying. That, more than anything, is what Bea has been teaching me. To feel things in order to know them. That’s what all the blindfolded cooking is for. And learning the spices by scent, well before learning a name. “Labels won’t help you,” Bea has said again and again this past week, and maybe I’m beginning to understand.

“Now,” Anna continues, nodding, “if you were given a vision, surely it was a vision of something important. What was it?”

Again I’m hesitant, because it makes it look like I’m not respectful of my teachers. But I have to tell the truth. That much I know. “Jake and Michael and I were plotting to get you out of here.”

At this, Anna actually gasps.

“We were going to work as a team,” I continue quickly, to get it over with. “Jake seemed to imply it was like some ‘old days’ when we were also together. Bea suggested it was probably a past life. Michael thought so, too.”

“And you? What did you think dear Mayden?”

Truthfully, I haven’t actually said what I think to Bea or Michael. I’m not even sure I know what I think—but I have this feeling…

Anna looks at me with raised eyebrows, waiting and probing at the same time, like she has heard my thoughts.

“I think… I think it isn’t from the past. I think it is from the future. I think we will work together in such a strong force, the feeling could reach back to us, to show us the way.”

Anna stares at me, eyes wide, but saying nothing.

“I don’t know,” I quickly add. “It’s a strange idea. I can’t really say, maybe it was in the past that we know each other, and…”

“Don’t do that,” my teacher says sharply. Her eyes bore into me, then soften. “Not ever. Don’t give away what you know, even if you only have an inkling, just because you don’t understand it, or think someone who supposedly knows more will agree.”

“But I could be wrong, and that could lead to mistakes.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “But it is more likely you will be a little right, and following that small piece of truth will lead you to a greater truth. Surely that is a better path than backtracking to someone else’s truth.”

“But you and Bea and Michael know so much more than me. And Jake, too. I know I have a lot to learn. If I go off in my own thinking, isn’t that disrespectful, if not downright dumb of me?”

“This knowing isn’t about learning,” she says, again fierce. “It is about what is true. All you have to learn is what you know. Truly know. And how to access what you know. What is true, at lest for you. I fully agree that the others have more education and experience than you, and that is worthy of respect. But each and every person has access to their own knowing, and that must not be compromised. Stay open to being taught, of course. But remember that teaching is to lead you to knowing. It would be wrong to give what you already know to someone else’s knowing, even in part, in order to learn more first.”

“It’s all so confusing,” I say, not wanting to complain, but also wanting to get it right.

“That you must give up,” Anna says.

“What?” I ask.

“Being right.”

My eyes widen, because I didn’t say that out loud, but she knew. Or heard. Or something.

“Think of it this way, dear Mayden. Each person has her own world, and parts overlap with the worlds of others, but not all parts will. There is no ‘right’ with so many truths out there. There could not be. There is only what you know, and what is right for you. Sometimes it meshes well with others and sometimes it doesn’t. But insisting that you be right in every world that is out there, and with every person, is madness. Surely you can see that?”

Not only can I “see” it the ways she says it, I can literally see it. There are a few dozen dancing worlds before my very eyes, tiny little globes that seem to contain little drops of what she is saying. With my very next breath in, they slide into me. Crazy as it seems, I know what has happened. I’ve swallowed her lesson. Her meaning is inside me.

Okay, that was really freaky.

“Exactly,” Anna says, nodding her approval. “Exactly.”

“But what just…”

“Now, let us turn our attention to you getting me out of here. That’s what Magic wants, doesn’t it?”

I guess she isn’t going to tell me what just happened. I guess that’s up to me to know, or not. I sigh again, but this time inside.

“I think so,” I answer.

“Then we must see how much strength you have for the task. Here, finger wrestle me.” She puts up a pinky finger and leans on her side, as if to arm wrestle.

Okay, that is so out in left field. There is now way I’m finger-wrestling an 88-year-old mostly-invalid out in the woods. I cock an eyebrow at her.

“You must. I need to see how much Magic has taken hold.”

It seems there is nothing else I can do. The thing is, I have a feeling I won’t win. And that is just so lame to even imagine.