``It's too short.'' Aunt Joan said looking at Felicity who was standing on an ottoman in the center of Joans living room.
Felicity had on her school uniform.
``It doesn't leave much to the imagination.'' Aunt Joan giggled. ``You must have grown.'' she said.
Felicity looked down at the skirt. She didn't remember it being that short at school last year.
Aunt Joan had shortened the shirts before the start of school. Felicity had worried that the skirts were a bit too short. Now, she recalled, that by the end of school her's had had been some of the shortest ones in school. But looking at them now even Aunt Joan, who always seemed to favor the style, had to agree that they needed to be taken down a bit.
Aunt Joan took out her wand and stood back a ways. ``longitudo'' she said.
The skirt which had broken about four inches from Felicity's knees started to grow longer. Slowly at first but then faster. In a moment it had reached the floor and was gathering up in big piles at the ottoman.
``Aunt Joan!'' Felicity said, a bit alarmed at the growing mound of fabric at her feet. ``I think it's long enough.''
``Ooops,'' Aunt Joan smilled. ``New wand.'' She said. She waived if in front of Felicity and the fabric stopped growing. ``Reseco.'' She said and the skirt again grew shorter. when it had reached about three inches above the knees Aunt Joan halted it progress and had Felicity turn about. After a few minor adjustments Joan declared the job done. ``Not as short as l like.'' she informed Felicity. ``But with Miss Brattle back in charge and with you growing so much it's just as well.''
Felicity had grown. Where once she might have hidden her figure under loose fitting clothing this was now impossible. She was nearly as tall as her mother and could easily fit into her mother's and aunt's clothing. She was tall for her age and athletic.
Aunt Joan saw it, Felicity was no longer the shy school-girl she had been. She was fast becoming a confident young woman. Joan wonder when this sudden change had occurred in her niece. Then she recalled her years at Salem Academy and how adulthood had crept up on her so quickly as well.
Aunt Joan modified the other skirts. Felicity would try on each in turn while Aunt Joan regulated the length as she had the first. As the afternoon wore on a pile of grey skirts grew on the couch.
Felicity looked about the room. It was cool and dark with dark wood part way up the walls. The walls were coved with photographs of family members. Some moved from time to time in the soft light. There was a picture of her mother and father in the row boat at the cottage on Cape Cod. Pictures of her grandparents holding babies who were now grown adults. Pictures of her father and aunt on brooms in front of the house.
There were pictures of Felicity as a baby as well. In particular was one of her sitting in a small rocking chair holding a black kitten.
The kitten was Marx. Marx had appeared at the Stockwell home the night Martin and Anne Stockwell had brought Felicity home from the hospital. At first Anne Stockwell was worried that the kitten might hurt her new born daughter. But the cat seemed to have a bond with Felicity and as she grew the cat, which Martin Stockwell hand named Marx, remained close by.
As a small girl there was never a night that Marx didn't sleep at the foot of Felicity's bed. It was not until Felicity had left for school that the two of them had not been together.
Felicity remembered that she had always thought of Marx as a perfectly ordinary cat until he had spoken to her. She should have figured that there was nothing ordinary in her life anymore. Brooms were a mans of transportation, all of her father's family were magical and cats, of course, could talk. When they wished to.
The sweaters and blazers needed only minor adjustments but Aunt Joan declared that the blouses were beyond even magic's help in making them fit. ``We'll have to go to WCMI and buy some new ones, those are way to tight for you.''
Felicity could see that Aunt Joan was right about the blouses. The sleeves were much to short now and they buttoned only with difficulty.
Felicity turned to take off the blouse and put on her sweatshirt. As she did so she notice the stained class panel above one of the windows. The sun cast a light through it leaving a colored patten on the rug. With in the glass where a design which Felicity had seen all of her life it was a right angel over a v shape. Her father had cufflinks with the design. and it was set into the knocker on the door of the Stockwell home.
Felicity had never given it much thought but now she recalled the engravings that her father had placed in the stone at Salem Commons. They were oddly similar in appearance. She gazed at the window for some time.
``Felicity.'' Her aunt said. ``Don't you think you should finish getting dressed?''
``Dressed, oh yes of course.'' Felicity said putting on the rest of her clothing.
``Aunt Joan, what are wizards marks?'' Felicity asked as they sat in Aunt Joan bight, airy kitchen eating a late lunch. The kitchen was painted in a bright yellow and looked out on Joan's herb gardens. Aunt Joan grew herbs for the various apothecary shops in the wizarding world.
Aunt Joan look at her young niece with a puzzled look on her face. ``Now where did you hear of wizards marks at your age?'' she asked.
Felicity proceeded to tell her aunt of the visit to Salem, Massachusetts and the marks which her father had placed into the stones.
Aunt Joan realized at once that her little brother had clearly told Felicity more than he had intended to. She thought for a bit, and then decided that the damage had been done. Besides, Felicity was so curious that it was unlikely that she would find out about the marks on her own anyway.
``Well ... " her aunt began. ``I can't tell you everything about them. In particular how to read them, for that will have to wait until you are raised to the Master class at school. But I can tell you this. Each witch or wizard has a mark. In our father's case it is has been handed down from father to son just as the name Martin has been.''
Felicity's father, Martin Stockwell, was from a long line of Martin Stockwells, each of the oldest sons had shared his father's first name of Martin and his mother's maiden name. Felicity had broken the chain, being the only child of the last Martin Stockwell.
``So ... '' her aunt went on. ``When a witch or wizard needs to mark something like their property or a grave or what have you they use their wizard's mark. Your father's looks like this:'' Joan took out a sheet of paper and drew the following on it:
PICTUE HERE
``It's a complicated system which is why they wait till your a Master. And your not to be using them until you have graduated, so you don't get your own until you are about to graduate and become a full fledge witch. So you really don't need to be worrying about it now understand?''
Felicity nodded.
``But why do we have to wait to get our mark until we graduate?'' Felicity asked.
``It's an old tradition my dear, getting your wizard's mark is sort of like getting a diploma.''
Felicity and Aunt Joan walked out into the garden. Felicity helped her aunt pick some herbs and carry them back to the small glass greenhouse at the corner of the garden. There in a room filled with drying herbs she and her aunt packed herbs to be delivered to her aunt's customers.
The room smelled of a thousand different herbs all hanging in dry bunches from the ceiling and walls. Each package was carefully measured on a tiny delicate looking brass scale before being placed into a thick envelope.
Aunt Joan would then fold over the flap of the envelope and then take a red candle and drop a few drops of red wax to seal it. She then took a small brass seal and press it into the soft wax it left an impression of a box with a dot in the center and a triangle at the bottom pointing downwards. She held it up for Felicity to inspect.
``You see, my dear.'' She said. `` You can tell a wizard by his mark.''
Felicity had on her school uniform.
``It doesn't leave much to the imagination.'' Aunt Joan giggled. ``You must have grown.'' she said.
Felicity looked down at the skirt. She didn't remember it being that short at school last year.
Aunt Joan had shortened the shirts before the start of school. Felicity had worried that the skirts were a bit too short. Now, she recalled, that by the end of school her's had had been some of the shortest ones in school. But looking at them now even Aunt Joan, who always seemed to favor the style, had to agree that they needed to be taken down a bit.
Aunt Joan took out her wand and stood back a ways. ``longitudo'' she said.
The skirt which had broken about four inches from Felicity's knees started to grow longer. Slowly at first but then faster. In a moment it had reached the floor and was gathering up in big piles at the ottoman.
``Aunt Joan!'' Felicity said, a bit alarmed at the growing mound of fabric at her feet. ``I think it's long enough.''
``Ooops,'' Aunt Joan smilled. ``New wand.'' She said. She waived if in front of Felicity and the fabric stopped growing. ``Reseco.'' She said and the skirt again grew shorter. when it had reached about three inches above the knees Aunt Joan halted it progress and had Felicity turn about. After a few minor adjustments Joan declared the job done. ``Not as short as l like.'' she informed Felicity. ``But with Miss Brattle back in charge and with you growing so much it's just as well.''
Felicity had grown. Where once she might have hidden her figure under loose fitting clothing this was now impossible. She was nearly as tall as her mother and could easily fit into her mother's and aunt's clothing. She was tall for her age and athletic.
Aunt Joan saw it, Felicity was no longer the shy school-girl she had been. She was fast becoming a confident young woman. Joan wonder when this sudden change had occurred in her niece. Then she recalled her years at Salem Academy and how adulthood had crept up on her so quickly as well.
Aunt Joan modified the other skirts. Felicity would try on each in turn while Aunt Joan regulated the length as she had the first. As the afternoon wore on a pile of grey skirts grew on the couch.
Felicity looked about the room. It was cool and dark with dark wood part way up the walls. The walls were coved with photographs of family members. Some moved from time to time in the soft light. There was a picture of her mother and father in the row boat at the cottage on Cape Cod. Pictures of her grandparents holding babies who were now grown adults. Pictures of her father and aunt on brooms in front of the house.
There were pictures of Felicity as a baby as well. In particular was one of her sitting in a small rocking chair holding a black kitten.
The kitten was Marx. Marx had appeared at the Stockwell home the night Martin and Anne Stockwell had brought Felicity home from the hospital. At first Anne Stockwell was worried that the kitten might hurt her new born daughter. But the cat seemed to have a bond with Felicity and as she grew the cat, which Martin Stockwell hand named Marx, remained close by.
As a small girl there was never a night that Marx didn't sleep at the foot of Felicity's bed. It was not until Felicity had left for school that the two of them had not been together.
Felicity remembered that she had always thought of Marx as a perfectly ordinary cat until he had spoken to her. She should have figured that there was nothing ordinary in her life anymore. Brooms were a mans of transportation, all of her father's family were magical and cats, of course, could talk. When they wished to.
The sweaters and blazers needed only minor adjustments but Aunt Joan declared that the blouses were beyond even magic's help in making them fit. ``We'll have to go to WCMI and buy some new ones, those are way to tight for you.''
Felicity could see that Aunt Joan was right about the blouses. The sleeves were much to short now and they buttoned only with difficulty.
Felicity turned to take off the blouse and put on her sweatshirt. As she did so she notice the stained class panel above one of the windows. The sun cast a light through it leaving a colored patten on the rug. With in the glass where a design which Felicity had seen all of her life it was a right angel over a v shape. Her father had cufflinks with the design. and it was set into the knocker on the door of the Stockwell home.
Felicity had never given it much thought but now she recalled the engravings that her father had placed in the stone at Salem Commons. They were oddly similar in appearance. She gazed at the window for some time.
``Felicity.'' Her aunt said. ``Don't you think you should finish getting dressed?''
``Dressed, oh yes of course.'' Felicity said putting on the rest of her clothing.
``Aunt Joan, what are wizards marks?'' Felicity asked as they sat in Aunt Joan bight, airy kitchen eating a late lunch. The kitchen was painted in a bright yellow and looked out on Joan's herb gardens. Aunt Joan grew herbs for the various apothecary shops in the wizarding world.
Aunt Joan look at her young niece with a puzzled look on her face. ``Now where did you hear of wizards marks at your age?'' she asked.
Felicity proceeded to tell her aunt of the visit to Salem, Massachusetts and the marks which her father had placed into the stones.
Aunt Joan realized at once that her little brother had clearly told Felicity more than he had intended to. She thought for a bit, and then decided that the damage had been done. Besides, Felicity was so curious that it was unlikely that she would find out about the marks on her own anyway.
``Well ... " her aunt began. ``I can't tell you everything about them. In particular how to read them, for that will have to wait until you are raised to the Master class at school. But I can tell you this. Each witch or wizard has a mark. In our father's case it is has been handed down from father to son just as the name Martin has been.''
Felicity's father, Martin Stockwell, was from a long line of Martin Stockwells, each of the oldest sons had shared his father's first name of Martin and his mother's maiden name. Felicity had broken the chain, being the only child of the last Martin Stockwell.
``So ... '' her aunt went on. ``When a witch or wizard needs to mark something like their property or a grave or what have you they use their wizard's mark. Your father's looks like this:'' Joan took out a sheet of paper and drew the following on it:
PICTUE HERE
``It's a complicated system which is why they wait till your a Master. And your not to be using them until you have graduated, so you don't get your own until you are about to graduate and become a full fledge witch. So you really don't need to be worrying about it now understand?''
Felicity nodded.
``But why do we have to wait to get our mark until we graduate?'' Felicity asked.
``It's an old tradition my dear, getting your wizard's mark is sort of like getting a diploma.''
Felicity and Aunt Joan walked out into the garden. Felicity helped her aunt pick some herbs and carry them back to the small glass greenhouse at the corner of the garden. There in a room filled with drying herbs she and her aunt packed herbs to be delivered to her aunt's customers.
The room smelled of a thousand different herbs all hanging in dry bunches from the ceiling and walls. Each package was carefully measured on a tiny delicate looking brass scale before being placed into a thick envelope.
Aunt Joan would then fold over the flap of the envelope and then take a red candle and drop a few drops of red wax to seal it. She then took a small brass seal and press it into the soft wax it left an impression of a box with a dot in the center and a triangle at the bottom pointing downwards. She held it up for Felicity to inspect.
``You see, my dear.'' She said. `` You can tell a wizard by his mark.''