Miss Almost Grown

There's a soft touch at my knee and I look down into a pair of round, yellow eyes.

"Good morning, Agnes," I greet the black cat that is currently attempting to climb up my leg. Obediently, I scoop her up and allow her to settle herself on my shoulders.

Agnes is Leslie's cat, the third or fourth in a line of cats all named for fictional witches. Agnes's namesake is one Agnes Nutter of Good Omens fame, which I heartly approve of. 'Bringing about Armageddon can be dangerous,' indeed.

Having curled herself around my neck, Agnes sniffs at my face. Quickly, I move my head to the side, out of reach of her wet sandpaper tongue.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" I ask her conversationally as I continue descending down the spiral staircase to the kitchen. Navigating the worn steps is not made easier by having to balance a cat on my shoulders, especially because Agnes digs her claws in every time I jostle her even a little.

"That's a stupid question, isn't it?" I answer myself when Agnes doesn't. "You've always had breakfast by the time I get up and yet, you would never admit to it."

I know Leslie feeds Agnes every morning, simply because Agnes makes sure to be fed. As all cats, she's very opinionated and refuses to be denied. As all cats, she's also always hungry, so she invariably tries to coerce me into feeding her again once I'm up.

She's taken to me, Agnes has, for reasons of her own. In the days I've been here, she quickly fell into a routine of fetching me for breakfast and having me carry her around on my shoulders for most of the day. In typical cat fashion, she's deeply averse to physical effort of any kind, so to have a human to carry her to and fro must be precisely her idea of good service.

Also her idea of good service is me sharing my breakfast with her. And my lunch. And my dinner. And any snack in-between. Leslie, I'm sure, is perfectly aware of it, but she turns a blind eye to spare the cat's feelings. After all, no self-respecting feline likes being accused of something as mundane as greed or gluttony.

"Shall we see what's for breakfast?" I ask Agnes, reaching up to give her ears a good scratch. "After all, it's not like you've eaten anything today, right?"

"Meow," agrees Agnes and leans into my strokes.

I suppose part of what makes me a good human for Agnes is that I have absolutely nothing to do but to cater to her whims all day. Leslie is the loveliest host and makes sure I'm as well-fed as the cat, but she's also quite busy with witch things, so Agnes and I are mostly left to our own devices during the day. We spend hours in the library to read – or, well, I read and Agnes naps on the sofa – or walking in the garden – which is to say, I walk and Agnes naps on my shoulders – or napping up in the Tower Bedroom.

Carl calls daily with updates, but so far, the information is limited. The rats knew to report about weird disappearances, but they couldn't place them or give much detail. Their news system works well, but they are limited by being rodents with rodent brains. We haven't even been able to figure out whether those disappearance disproportionally affect magical people or whether it's a general thing, so all in all, it's a bit frustrating.

Unfortunately, there aren't many other shapeshifters among the rats who could provide more detailed information either. I suppose that's what you get for letting people chose which animal they want to turn into while still children. Lots of lions and horses around, but not many rats. By the time they realise how unpractical it is to turn into a rare snow leopard, it's too late.

Carl was more sensible – or maybe just much more into rats than the general twelve-year-old kid – but while providing good coverage in dangerous situations, we're now learning the limits of his rat form. It's not really helped by him having to spend his evenings filling in for me at the bar. My colleagues kindly let him take over my spot without telling the owner, so we can keep up a steady income during my supposed illness. It's good for paying rent, but eats into Carl's time to find out what the sodding hell is going on here.

"And the witch isn't anymore helpful either, is he?" I grumble to Agnes. "Brought me here and then disappeared. So much for wanting to help poor Miranda!"

"Who's Miranda?" asks a female voice and for a moment, I genuinely think Agnes has learned to speak.

The cat, alas, just blinks at me dispassionately and bumps my hand for more scratches. The words, instead, came from a teenage girl so beautiful and golden that she can only be Leslie's daughter.

"Who's Miranda?" she repeats when I don't answer immediately. She sits at the kitchen table, a bowl of cereal in front of her, and eyes me with unmasked curiosity.

"A friend," I reply after a moment. "She… got into some trouble."

"Did she get pregnant by a dashing rake?" The girl wants to know, her eyes shining. "I'm reading a book right now where the heroine's sister gets into trouble by having the baby of a dashing rake out of wedlock."

For a second, I stare at her. "No, not that kind of trouble."

The girl nods understandingly. "Yes, I suppose it wouldn't be such a big trouble today. The book is set in the 17th century or something. There are handsome pirates in it though. Do you like pirates?"

"I… I can't say I've met any," I admit haltingly.

"No, nor me," sighs the girl. "But it would be such an adventure to fall in love with a rakish pirate, don't you think?"

"I suppose so?" It comes out as more of a question, but the girl doesn't care. I'm not sure she even notices.

"We'd be sailing the Seven Seas together and seeing all the wonders of the world," she tells me dreamily, painting shapes into the air with her spoon. I think one is meant to be the Acropolis.

I exchange a meaningful glance with Agnes, who appears to be of the opinion that sailing the Seven Seas sounds like much too much effort. Me, I can't help reflecting that pirating normally included a lot of looting and arson and also possibly murder. Not so romantic, when you consider the realities of it!

"He'd be very dashing, of course," continues the girl, now looking at me earnestly, "and he'd think me the prettiest girl on earth."

That, alas, I can actually imagine. She has the same careless beauty her mother has and I'm sure she only has to walk down a street to have a dozen boys falling over themselves to impress her. Faith, Carl's sister, used to be able to do that as well, quite unknowingly, only it was made a little awkward by one of those falling boys being my brother.

"Do you want me to lend you the book when I'm done?" asks the girl, evidently sincere in her offer.

"That would be nice," I agree, because while I wouldn't want to be a pirate, I have no problem reading about them, especially those of the rakish and dashing variant. I have many faults, but literary snobbism isn't one of them. I've never snubbed at a good piece of fictional escapism!

The girl beams at me. "You must tell me what you think of it!"

"I will," I promise. Agnes yawns heartily and snuggles her head into the crook of my neck.

"She likes you," observes the girl, "which means we must be friends. Any friend of Agnes is mine by default."

I laugh, taken by her logic. "In that case, friends we shall be. I'm Rilla."

"Persis," she introduces herself eagerly, stretching out her hand to shake mine. "I know we will be great friends!"

I reach out and shake the offered hand, making sure not to disturb Agnes more than needed. "I hope so." Persis is easily seven years my junior, but hey, age is but a number, right?

"Mum went out on some errands," Persis tells me conversationally as Agnes and I sit down opposite her at the kitchen table. With a wave of her hand, a bowl, spoon and glass float towards me from the kitchen cupboard and settle on the table in front of me. Another wave and a pack of orange juice floats up to fill the glass, while the bowl gets filled with cereal and just the right amount of milk.

"I only arrived this morning," Persis chatters on as she prepares my breakfast. "Mum wanted me to come earlier this week, but we had a hockey tournament yesterday and obviously, I couldn't miss that without a good reason. Since Mum had no good reason, I stuck around at school. It was totally worth it, too. We won by a mile!"

"That's great!" I raise a smile and toast Persis with my orange juice. Inwardly, I reflect that someone or something being on the loose and perhaps targeting magical beings definitely makes for an adequate reason for Leslie to call her young, half-trained witch daughter home, but that she obviously chose not to share it with Persis and that thus, neither will I.

Looking up from where I dip the spoon into my cereals, I find Persis watching me curiously and am briefly worried my face gave away my thoughts, but then she merely asks, "Mum said you're a friend of Ken's?"

"He… he helped me out of a tight spot and offered for me to stay here for a while," I reply, choosing my words carefully.

Persis nods, none of the curiosity gone from her eyes. "Are you sleeping with him?"

I nearly choke on my first spoonful of cereals. "Excuse me… what?"

"I was asking whether you're sleeping with Ken," repeats Persis, quite matter-of-factly. "I didn't like his last two girlfriends, but the one before that was nice. She was a dwarf and drew the loveliest picture of me. Do you want to see it?" She's already half out of her chair.

"Maybe later," I reply quickly and motion for her to sit back down. Persis shrugs and does so, before shovelling another spoonful of cereals into her mouth.

"Are you his new girlfriend?" she asks around the crunching noises made by the cereals.

"Um, no." I shake my head. "No, I'm not. I never slept with him either. We really don't know each other all that well."

Persis looks disappointed. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I would have been nice to have him date someone magical again. One always has to be so careful around humans, don't you think?"

"It's certainly more sensible to be," I answer, quietly wondering when I became a person talking about what would be the sensible thing to do.

"I suppose it's normal for you. Mum said you're a fairy but have no magic." She pauses briefly, thinking. "She also said not to talk to you about it. Oops." The smile blooming on her face is utterly disarming.

I shrug. "It's fine. It's just one of the realities of my life."

If I hoped she'd let go of the subject, I find myself sorely disappointed. "Can't you learn it?" she wants to know, her face lit up with curiosity.

"Unfortunately, you can't learn fairy magic," I explain. "It's there or it's not."

She hums in thought. "Could you learn witchcraft?"

I hesitate. I actually never thought about that.

"I don't know," I tell her truthfully. "I'm not sure anyone has ever tried."

"No, I don't suppose any fairy ever had reason to," agrees Persis. "Fairy magic is way cooler than witchcraft." She looks at me with eager eyes. "Is it true that fairies can control fire?"

"Fire, water, air and earth," I rattle off. "Every fairy has a preferred element, but they can work with the other three, too."

"So cool," breathes Persis and I have a feeling that she just ascribed her fictional pirate alter ego the ability to control the elements.

I reach up and stroke one of Agnes's paws that is hanging halfway down my shoulder. She pulls it back under her belly without even opening her eyes.

"Which elements run in your family?" Persis asks, still with that eager look.

Seriously, if there was any truth to the saying of curiosity killing the cat, I'd be very worried about poor Agnes right now!

"Actually, there's one of each among my mother and my three sisters," I explain. "My mother has air, my oldest sister has water, and the twins have fire and earth, respectively. My niece looks to be shaping up to be another water fairy, from what I gather."

"Which element is the most powerful?" Persis wants to know.

This is, I readily admit, not one of my favourite subjects to talk about, but something about her unguarded, genuine interest makes it easier than it normally is.

"I suppose fire is the quickest to waken and the most obviously frightening one," I muse as I instinctively think of Nan's temper to match her element. "It's the most dangerous of elements in small quantities, because it never not hurts you, but it is also the element most easily controlled. It depends on wind to be fed and can be quelched by water."

"Right." Persis nods earnestly. "We can put out a fire, but we can't stop a storm."

"Exactly," I confirm. "Air is the second most volatile element, I'd say. It is a gentle breeze one moment and a full-blown storm the next. It's most interlinked with water. Usually, where there's wind, there's also water, be it in form of rain or waves. As for water itself, it's nourishing in its most common form, but once unleashed, it's very nearly unstoppable. Most people forget the force behind water." Just like Joy, who's a tranquil, composed presence most of the time but who shouldn't be crossed when she is angry.

Another nod from Persis. "Flooding. I see."

"Paradoxically," I continue, "I think the most powerful element is earth. It's so stable normally that we hardly ever realise its destructive power, but once the earth starts shifting, it destroys everything in its path. Not for nothing are earthquakes often accompanied by fires, volcano eruptions or even by tsunamis, so earth actually causes other elements to act up as well."

"So, the sister who has earth for her element is the most powerful fairy?" deduces Persis.

I pause, thinking of Di who is usually the calmest and steadiest of us but who, in the rare moments when she shows that she actually has inherited the family temper, can be downright scary. Out of my sisters she's also definitely the one who worked hardest to master her magic, even if Nan is quickest to employ it.

"You know, I think a case could be made for that," I agree slowly.

"That is so cool!" Persis looks like she means it. "We must talk about it more!"

"Uh-huh," I make, not meaning it quite as much as she does.

Persis doesn't notice. Instead, she leans forward to inspect my cereal bowl. "Are you done?" she asks. "I want to go for a walk. School's nice and well and the sea is fun, but I always miss the woods when I'm there."

"Sure, sounds like a good idea." Quickly, I shovel the remaining cereals into my mouth, making sure to leave enough milk as an offering for Agnes. She's already waiting for it, sniffing audibly and looking at the bowl alertly. The moment I place it back on the table, she gracefully jumps off my shoulders and starts lapping up the milk, her entire head disappearing into the bowl.

"Enjoy your third breakfast, Agnes," Persis wishes and pats her back with affection. The cat flicks an ear without so much raising her head.

There's a slight drizzle outside and normally, I'd be staying inside where it's warm and dry, but we're in the country now and have to act the part. Thus, in the hall, both Persis and I put on well-worn raincoats and muddy rubber boots that she calls over from one of the nearby sheds, before daring to venture outside. Agnes, predictably, remains where the milk is and where there's no risk of her silky black fur getting wet.

"I love being out here," Persis chatters cheerfully as we walk. "School's fine, but there's no place to stroll like we have here."

"Is it a magic school?" I ask, because I've been wondering about the existence of secret witching schools for a whole.

Persis laughs, delighted by the suggestion. "Good Heavens, no! There's no such thing as a magic school. Unless they have witches for parents, most people don't discover witchcraft until adulthood anyway. No, it's a perfectly normal boarding school, though there are some magical beings among the student body."

I nod, if a little disappointed. A witching school sounds like it would be a lot of fun for anyone able to perform witchcraft. "Do you enjoy it there?" I enquire, mostly to keep the conversation going.

In reply, Persis shrugs carelessly. "I actually like being at school because I love my friends there and the teachers are mostly alright, but I miss the trees. The main building overlooks the ocean and it's fun to watch the waves when there's a storm, but the wind always messes with your hair. The woods are much calmer."

"I grew up near the sea," I volunteer, slightly surprising myself that I do. "I couldn't see it from my room, but when you sat on the veranda, you could see the harbour and the gulf. There was also one attic window where, when you stood on your tiptoes, you could see the lighthouse in the distance."

"Where there trees?" asks Persis eagerly.

I nod as images of my old home appear in front of my eyes. "We had a garden with old trees and an orchard. Behind the house, there was a maple grove and a little valley with spruces and other trees. We used to play there as children."

"The sea and trees," sighs Persis. "It sounds like paradise."

And it should have been. In fact, I really think it was, at least for those clever and magical enough to fit in. Me, I couldn't get out fast enough.

"It's a lovely place," I tell Persis non-committally, because it is a lovely place and my childhood struggles aren't her problem. "There are lots of lovely places on earth. My friend Carl and I have been travelling a lot these past years and we've seen some truly magical places."

Persis sighs again, wistfully. "I'd love to travel, too. Mum won't let me go too far until I've really mastered witchcraft though. Dad travels the world all the time, but Mum and I usually stay home. Sometimes, I'm allowed to visit Ken in Edinburgh and once or twice a year, Mum and Dad take me to London, but most of the time, it's school or here." She grimaces slightly and for all her love of woods, I sense a kindred spirit.

"When you're done with school, you can come travelling with Carl and me," I offer impulsively, because if there's one thing I understand, it's the desire to be away.

"Oh, may I?" Persis looks at me, her face all hopeful and bright under the dripping hood of her raincoat.

"Sure," I nod, wiping a stray raindrop from my forehead. "It'll be fun. We never stay anywhere long, so we get to see lots of different countries."

"That sounds like such an amazing life!" Persis exclaims.

As any life, I suppose it has its drawbacks, but overall – "Yeah, it's pretty fun."

"Did you see rainforests?" she wants to know, all eager. "I've always wanted to see rainforests!"

"Oh, yes," I answer. "We saw rainforests in Asia and South America. We went hiking in some of them, too." Which was, to be honest, bloody hot and humid and strenuous, and don't even get me started on the mosquitoes!

Persis beams happily. "I'm so coming with you when school is over!"

I know I should be playing the sensible adult now and tell her that school is important and that she should be trying to do well, but that would be narrow-minded and also hypocritical. After all, I barely scrapped by in school myself and to this day, I maintain that magic must have been involved in my graduation. Secretly, I suspect Joy.

Thus, what I say is, "We could do with a good witch by our side."

But when I turn my head to smile at Persis, I find that she is not, in fact, by my side anymore. Instead, she's several meters away and she's – floating?

At first, I think she's showing off, trying to convince me that she is, in fact, already a good witch, but then I see her face. There's none of the bright, curious happiness there anymore. Instead, there's a smidge of surprise there and a bit of confusion, but most of all, sheer terror.

"Persis?" I hear myself whisper, my mind racing to catch up, to try and understand what –

And then I feel it.

There's… there's a… a pull, of sorts. It's dragging me… dragging me backwards… and back… and back…

I dig my heels in.

Still, I'm being pulled.

Frantically, I flail around, trying to grab something, trying to hold on to something, trying to not be dragged, but –

My hand falls on something solid. Something solid and rough and slightly splintery.

A tree.

I hold on. For dear life.

Still, I'm being pulled. My heels dug into the ground and my arms slung around the trunk of tree, I try to resist it, but whatever this is, it's strong.

I don't know how long I can hold on.

"Persis?" I call out, frantic now, and desperate.

I can't see her anymore.

"Persis?"

A second passes. My grip starts slipping.

"I'm here." Her voice comes from somewhere above. It's as panicked as I feel.

What is happening?

"I'm scared!" shouts Persis. She sounds it, too. "What is this?"

"I don't know!" I call back.

The force is pulling stronger. I'm digging my fingers into the tree bark and it hurts, but my hold is slipping, slipping, slipping…

But I can't let go.

Somewhere above me, I hear Persis scream.

I close my eyes and grip the tree tighter, pressing my cheek against the rough bark. Whatever is happening here, I can't let go. I know that much.

Don't let go.

Don't. Let. Go.

"Hold on," calls a voice. "I'm coming!"

It sounds like Persis, but not really, so I turn my head, searchingly, trying to find out who it is –

It's Leslie, running towards us, and she has murder in her eyes.

The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Miss Independent' (written by Kelly Clarkson, Rhett Lawrence, Christina Aguilera and Matthew Morris, released by Kelly Clarkson in 2003).

To DogMonday:
Got it in one! That's exactly what Ken was doing when he emptied the glass of water over Rilla and it's why she was so irritated by his behaviour. He had an inkling that she might be a fairy and wanted to find out for sure, so he used witchcraft to manipulate the glass to tip over. Most fairies would instinctively have used magic to influence the water (either by magicking it away completely or by making it change course), but Rilla couldn't do that, which piqued his initial interest in her. Rilla alluded to that when talking to Carl, but of course the background of it only became clear in the previous chapter. Since I'm no more well-versed in fantasy than you are, I'm making up the limits of fairy magic and witchcraft as I go along though, so even if you'd read every fantasy book under the sun, that wouldn't have helped with cluing in sooner ;).
I promised this story wasn't just about magic and fantasy, didn't I? =) I many ways, it's just a vehicle to attach more common themes to, some of which include being different and how that affects people and their behaviour or their relationships. The nice thing about including magic is that I can occasionally make things go 'pouf' just for the special effect, but the underlying issues are no more different for my magical characters than they are for everyone else.
To me, Leslie is an interesting character to explore because of her backstory. In Twist, I explored how the trauma of her youth and her first marriage could have led to serious mental problems, but I wanted a different sort of Leslie here. She hasn't had an easy life either, but in this story, she managed to overcome it and be stronger for it. It turned her into quite a resourceful woman, which Ken feels here first hand when he's bossed around and made to make breakfast ;). And as for that castle, it's most definitely cleaned by using witchcraft - which does certainly make me feel rather envious myself!

To Mammu:
I'm writing about a family of witches living in Scotland - how could I resist giving them a castle for their home? And how could I resist putting Rilla in the tower? ;) I suppose the term 'castle' is a bit of an euphemism actually, because it really only consists of that tower, a lower annex and some outbuildings, but Leslie turned it into a cosy home for a family and that's much more important than fancy, gilded rooms.
How Ken recognised Rilla as a potential fairy is an excellent question! He doesn't have the type of handy magic radar that she has, so he must indeed have used other ways to figure it out. However, instead of explaining it here, I shall let Ken himself do the honour in two weeks' time, so please keep hold of that thought!
Rilla is 23 at the moment, Persis is 16, Carl is soon to turn 25 and Ken will be 27 in a couple of months. Except for Persis, they're all technically adults, but there's definitely still room for growth ;).

To Guest:
Excellent question! For obvious reasons, I can't reveal too much about the villain just yet, but they might just lurk where no-one is looking...