Miss Eliza Livingston thought of herself as a responsible, levelheaded person. The Tempranillo family governess had been looking after children for over twenty years, after all, and had successfully dealt with undisciplined children, absentee parents, relatives with wandering hands, and other annoyances of the profession with skill and aplomb. By any measure, her current post should have been an easy one. The Tempranillos were generous employers and caring parents, while their daughter Marcia was a sweet, outgoing, and bright child.
The only source of trouble was Marcia's choice of friends.
Cressidor Blan-Virgine, Miss Livingston was convinced, was destined to be a Bad Influence. Mind, the (presumably adopted, but who knew?) daughter of Mage Consul Lillet Blan and her lover, opera star Amoretta Virgine, was a pleasant child: intelligent, polite, respectful, slightly spoiled but grateful for what she had rather than whiningly entitled.
But her dog...
What kind of parent gives her child a giant barghest as a pet!?
That was the kind of thing that happened when one was the greatest magician since the Archmage, Miss Livingston thought. They could say all they wanted about "wards" and "proper training" and so on; it still gave her palpitations whenever Marcia and Cressidor would play fetch or tug-o'war or whatever with a fire-breathing, demonic hound that could bite a child's head clean off in one snap of its jaws!
The fact that the eight-year-olds clearly felt sorry for her was just the icing on the cake.
"Miss Lizzy?"
There was a gentle tug on her dress.
"Miss Lizzy?"
She looked down.
"Yes, Marcia?"
"Cress and I have a surprise for you!"
"W-what is it?" She hated herself for stammering, and for the paleness she could feel coming into her cheeks. A governess should not be an object of pity for the eight-year-olds in her charge!
"It's okay, Miss Lizzy; Mother took Shuck out to the garden," Cressidor said. Her expression then brightened. "But that's related to the surprise!"
"Mm-hm!" Marcia agreed. "Come this way!"
"Oh, what is it?"
"We got you a present!" Marcia said.
"We felt bad because you're scared of dogs," Cressidor said. "It's not fair that you can't have a pet to love, too."
"So we had a great idea!"
"What's that?"
"It's right this way."
They took her down a hall and stopped at a door that led, if Miss Livingston correctly recalled the layout of the Blan-Virgine mansion, to a side parlor.
"Ms. Virgine's cat was a daddy, so I thought we could give you a kitten! And don't worry, I asked Papa first and he said it was okay."
"We thought you'd probably want to pick your own," Cress said, "so you'd get the one who most appeals to you. That's important when you're adopting."
She opened the door.
Inside the room, which was indeed a parlor, were six jet-black kittens. Two were curled up together, fast asleep, in the pool of light from the strong afternoon sun streaming through the windows. The others were, as kittens are wont to do, romping around and playing. One was pouncing on a small gutta-percha rubber ball which was apparently hollow with a bell inside. Another stalked the shadow of a leaf that twitched when the breeze tossed its shrub outside the window. The other two were having some kind of cat duel in which they walked around on their hind legs, pointing toothpicks at each other which spat little sparks.
This last observation seemed to Miss Livingston almost as if it was being made by someone else. Her thoughts were foggy, like clouds were drifting through her mind—maybe that was why it was called "the vapors"? Her legs didn't seem to want to work properly, and she found herself pitching forward onto the soft carpet.
"Miss Lizzy!" she heard Marcia yelp from somewhere above.
"Did she get hit by a stray sleep spell?" Cressidor sounded concerned.
"I don't think so. I'm sorry, Cress; I guess she's just the sort of person who doesn't like any animals."