Chapter 2

Priestly townhouse, NYC Sunday, April 6, 2014

Miranda's cell phone rang just as she finished reading the New York Times. Still in her silk nightgown and untied gray robe, a half-drunk mug of steaming coffee before her, this Sunday morning was a quiet, relaxed one. She answered the phone as her eyes glanced at the clock: eight o'clock.

"Mom! How are you? I know we don't usually call this early, but we are meeting friends in a bit for lunch," Cassidy began. Miranda shook her head as she smiled. That girl always began a conversation as if she were racing against the clock.

"I am fine, darling. It is good to hear from you. Where are you?" Miranda asked as she crossed her legs at the knee and settled back in her chair, her attention focused entirely on their conversation.

"Um, we went to the townhouse to call you. We ran out of minutes, and it's such a pain to find a phone near school, anyway," Cassidy said in a rush.

"You are in London?" Miranda asked, sitting straight up.

"Yes. Not for long, though. And, we'll make sure the wards are in effect when we leave. I promise."

"Cassidy, you know how I feel about your being there without me. What if—" Miranda began.

"Don't worry, Mom. We were careful, I swear. And Santie was glad to see us. Here's Caroline. I love you!"

Miranda tried not to huff her irritation as Caroline came on the line. She did not want to fight with her girls, but this was not acceptable. They should know better. Her mind flitted to Santie, their house elf, and her ire abated, a soft smile crossing her face. She had released her from servitude decades ago, but the loyal elf had insisted on remaining at their ancestral home.

"Hi, Mom. I'm sorry. I tried to talk Cass out of it, but we were careful. We'll make sure everything is safe when we leave. Anyway, we figured that we'd be studying hard for exams soon, so we wanted to call you while we could."

Miranda nodded. "Very well, Caroline. I trust you. Both of you. I am just concerned."

"We know. But we're both fine, and our teachers are great, and we're gonna see you soon. Oh my God, that will be so cool. When's the last time you were here, anyway? I bet it will look just the same. It's so great. Our professors are the best. And the new one, Professor McGonagall, is the Headmistress's niece. She's brilliant. So is Professor Granger. I'm gonna miss Hogwarts so much. Well, gotta go. Love you!"

Looking at the now-silent phone in consternation, Miranda placed it in front of her on the table gently. Her daughters were graduating in two months. What they intended to do afterward was uncertain. Their grades were top-notch, and they had many options available to them. She knew they felt torn between remaining abroad and rejoining Miranda in New York. Miranda did not want to make their choice harder, so she remained supportive but did not inject her own opinions. Whatever they decided, she would adjust accordingly. If they chose to remain where they were, she would move near them.

Not that she had said as much. Perhaps she should. If they returned to the States to be near her while wishing otherwise, they might come to resent her. She could not bear it.

Rubbing her forehead with her hand, Miranda mused that it all came back to family. She had left her own family for love and turned her back on the wizarding world only to be rejected by Harold when he had found out about her magical abilities. He had broken her heart, and even to this day she found it hard to remain in the same room with him, always reminded of what she had left and how she had lost everything in the process.

Except her girls. She had her girls, and she would do anything for them. She would willingly move to London, leaving New York and Runway without a backward glance. And the fact that Andrea, her Andrea was there now—it made the prospect much more appealing.

After Harold and she had divorced, Miranda had remained in New York instead of returning to England. Perhaps she had acted like a coward. She had not wanted to return to her family's knowing looks and false comfort. Her parents had warned her, but she had taken the risk, jumping into love like a mindless fool while keeping secrets from him. She had realized too late that love could not survive on such a shaky foundation. And she had not wanted to see such knowledge in everyone's eyes upon her return to London.

The girls, then five, had been attending the best private schools, learning quickly. In addition, Miranda had revealed their heritage in that simplistic form needed for children, explaining just enough so they could understand. Time passed, and Miranda rebuilt her life. She funneled all her energy into fashion. Then Stephen had come along, and she had made the same mistakes. She did not let him in enough, did not trust him completely. With such a faulty foundation, their relationship was doomed from the start. And he had never even learned who she truly was—how powerful she could be outside the boardroom.

It was during that painful break-up over seven years ago when Miranda had realized that she would never be able to sustain a healthy romantic relationship while trying to hide who she truly was. She also had realized that Andrea, that silly girl with the doe eyes, had slipped under her defenses. Just when Miranda had begun to really trust her, though, Andrea had left.

Out of sight was not out of mind, however. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

Miranda felt uneasy no longer having the tenuous connection of newspaper bylines and industry functions to reassure her of Andrea's continued existence. If she were truthful, she must admit that it bothered her immensely, having no knowledge of how the woman was.

Which led her to her current inability to focus for more than ten minutes on anything else. Miranda jumped up, thoroughly disgusted with herself. Her relaxing morning officially ruined, Miranda decided to dress. Her circular thoughts were getting her nowhere fast. She was a woman of action. She needed to act.

As she walked toward the stairway, the front door rang. She was tempted to ignore the summons, not expecting any company. Her feet stopped in front of the door, though, so she pulled her robe around her tightly and opened the door to find a messenger. On a Sunday? Signing for the delivery, Miranda stared at it curiously. It was from overseas. From my daughters?

Opening the letter, she felt a buzz of energy flow through her. A male voice filled the air.

Dear Madam Priestly,

Distractedly, Miranda lowered the missive as she wondered how the wizarding world knew of her changed name. Then again, how did they know how to find her? The girls! A rush of adrenalin shot through her, fear for their safety once more surging to the forefront of her mind. She had tried to be so careful.A loud clearing of the throat reminded her of what she held in her hand. She raised the parchment once more.

I hope this missive finds you well. I realize you chose long ago to live life as a Muggle. However, circumstances have evolved in such a way that I must ask you to return. The safety of not only the wizarding community but also of Muggles worldwide is in jeopardy. Your expertise is desperately needed.

In the envelope is a portkey to transfer you to the Ministry of Magic. Please come posthaste.

With warmest regards,

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic

Once the letter had been announced by the minister's baritone voice, the letter sagged, its magical properties spent. Miranda stood in the hallway with her mouth opened in surprise for several moments before gathering herself. She looked inside the envelope and saw a small Hebridean Black dragon swishing its tail restlessly. She smiled grimly.

This was unprecedented. Even during the last battle against Voldemort, she had not been summoned. What could be so threatening that she would be called forth now? And what was she supposed to do? Drop everything?

My expertise.

Miranda hardly felt the thump as she slid to the ground. How could this be possible? Her skills were rusty at best. She hadn't practiced that type of magic in years—decades, even. It was true she had received numerous honors for her actions against Voldemort in the first Great Wizarding Battle. And of course she still used her magic. Yet, others surely had more expertise and more recent experience in dealing with whatever challenges the Ministry was currently facing.

Not to mention, her robes were terribly outdated.

How was it that her past was rushing in around her just now? The timing was so peculiar. Her daughters were there. Andrea was there. And now, it seemed she would be there. What forces were at work?

Change was in the air.

What good would it do to fight it? To hide, trembling like a child, afraid of the future while ignoring the past?

Pushing herself off the ground, Miranda tied her robe and lifted her chin defiantly. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Her parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings. She had kept in touch with many people within the wizarding community, particularly after her first failed marriage. Perhaps it was time to return to the fold. Her daughters were on the cusp of deciding which roads to travel. It was time they knew more of her past so they could make an informed decision.

It was time for Miranda to stop living as if she weren't a witch. An influential one, in fact, born into an impressive wizarding family. She was needed by the Ministry of Magic.

Ascending the stairs, Miranda's mind whirled with the myriad of details she would have to attend to in order to take a leave of absence and travel to London. London? Am I going to do this? Hop at the Ministry's summons?

Yes. Yes, I am. She grimaced as she realized she had no idea what they needed or how long she would be gone. It didn't matter. She had groomed several competent people over the years, Emily included, and she would have to let the pieces fall where they may.

She entered her closet and moved to a little-used section in the corner, pulling out several old garments. Her robes. Looking them over with a critical eye, she acknowledged that they weren't as bad as she had feared. The material was expensive, the cut flattering, and the magical qualities intact. Donning one, she turned this way and that, admiring how it flowed. It would do. She reached onto the top shelf and reverently lifted an ornately designed wooden box.

Opening it, Miranda removed her wand. The core was hippogriff hair, and the wand wood was fir. Miranda paused a moment to study it. The hippogriff hair symbolized the attributes of the magical beast: pride, loyalty, aggressiveness, affection, and protectiveness. Wands made of fir wood were called "survivors' wands" because those who owned such wands often survived unscathed from harrowing, death-threatening situations. That was certainly true for Miranda. Fir was known to be resilient and required the wand's owner to be strong-minded, to remain focused, to maintain strength of purpose, and even to adopt an intimidating demeanor when necessary. This wand reflected her well.

With a nod, Miranda carried the wand and several other robes to her bed and laid them down. Her mind created a check list of tasks she would need to complete over the next few days. It looked like she would be reunited with her daughters sooner than planned. Won't they be surprised.

They knew she was a witch, of course. When they had begun to show signs of magical abilities, it was she who had shown them how to conceal such uncontrolled magic from Muggles so that they would not be viewed with suspicion. That included hiding their magic from their father, a requirement they were unable to fulfill.

Being young and full of emotion, the girls had used their newfound abilities to their advantage, including retrieving toys that had been put away for the night, putting the light back on after they were tucked in bed against their wishes, and playing the stereo so they could sing along to their favorite songs. Unfortunately, their young minds could not grasp the seriousness of allowing the wrong person to see such actions. Miranda had explained why they could not do these things in front of their father, but they had not understood. They loved him, and they could not imagine him ever rejecting them.

Unfortunately, that is exactly what had occurred. Home early one evening, Harold had walked in to find the girls happily levitating their teddy bears above their beds. He had not reacted well. Not only had he feared his children, but when he had found out that Miranda was an established witch, he had rejected her, too. She had had no choice but to remove from his memories his knowledge of their magical abilities, and with a broken heart she had instituted divorce proceedings, claiming she no longer loved him.

For a long time, the twins had blamed themselves for the loss of their father within their home. Miranda had struggled to explain that the fault lay with her for failing to reveal her abilities to him before they married. They had not understood, and to this day they refused to believe that it was solely her fault. Their relationship with him had remained distant, and since they began Hogwarts seven years ago, they only had seen him for a few weeks each year.

Smiling involuntary, Miranda remembered fondly when their letters of acceptance had arrived while they were on holiday in London. Filius Flitwick had delivered them in person, taking the opportunity to convince her of the wisdom for allowing her daughters to attend Hogwarts. He had been correct. Over the years they had matured dramatically, and Miranda could not be prouder of the young women they had become.

If the Minister was contacting her for help, then it was possible her girls were in danger. That was unacceptable.

Straightening to her full height, Miranda pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin proudly. Glancing at the mirror, she took note of her iconic white hair, fashionable black robe, and sparkling blue eyes. She felt more alive now than she had in years. This challenge would be good. Upping the timetable for traveling to London by a few months would not hurt her, and maybe she would find a way to make peace with the past while planning for her future.

Hitting speed dial, she barked into the telephone, "Be in the office by ten. That's all."

Shucking her robe and underlying clothing, Miranda showered quickly while mentally listing what needed to happen today. Once dressed, she called Roy for the car and made it to the office with time to spare. Usually, she did not work on Sundays, but it was imperative to clear her desk and prepare Emily.

By the time Emily arrived—a half hour early, Miranda noticed with approval—Miranda had worked through her emails and attended to the most important items for the upcoming issue. Miranda ushered Emily into her office and took off her glasses.

"Emily, I am leaving tomorrow afternoon for London. I had mentioned to you my plans of traveling there in mid-June for my daughters' graduation, but something has happened, necessitating I move up the time table. In my absence, you will be the acting editor-in-chief. You have been my second-in-command long enough to know what to do. I have confidence in your abilities." Miranda paused, contemplating her next words as she gazed at Emily.

The woman had matured over the years. After Andrea had left, Emily had worked admirably and without complaint. As Runway's Executive Editor for the last three years, Emily had blossomed even more. She knew that Emily would not let her down. Not let the magazine down.

"Use your resources. You know who can do what. Delegating is key to getting everything done in a timely fashion. I will be available by phone and email, but only to a limited extent. At times I will be unable to answer immediately or even within the day, so make sure to plan ahead." Miranda leaned forward and stared into Emily's widened eyes, deciding to reveal more. "I have been grooming you to take over my position permanently. Use this opportunity to impress the board."

A loud silence filled the room once Miranda stopped talking. She allowed Emily time to digest her words, for once not minding the wait. She expected that Emily had many questions but would ask few, if any. Although she saw the confusion, the hesitation, even the fear on Emily's face, years of conditioning would stem Emily's curiosity.

"Are your daughters all right?" Emily asked. Miranda smiled, pleased that Emily began with such a question.

Nodding, Miranda said, "They are. In fact, they are unaware of my impending visit. Now, let's go over what needs to happen for the upcoming issue." They spent the afternoon reviewing all the details of Miranda's job. She knew that Emily was well-versed in all the facets of the magazine, but she also was aware that reviewing everything would help Emily to slip into the role more easily.

Before Emily left, she paused in front of the desk, her face a question mark as she struggled. Her uncertain look prompted Miranda to say, "Just spit it out, Emily."

"Does this have anything to do with Andy?"

Shocked, Miranda's eyes widened. "Not at all. I simply have no idea how you could conceive such an outlandish thought. I haven't spoken to that girl since she left Runway. Honestly, Emily, don't be ridiculous!"

"Right. Of course. I'm sorry, Miranda. Safe trip, then," Emily said.

Miranda watched as Emily quickly began backing out of the office, as if afraid I might smite her down if she isn't watching me, Miranda thought caustically. "Emily." Miranda watched Emily freeze in the doorway and waited for the younger woman to look at her, trepidation clearly etched on her English features. "If you or Nigel determine where she is, I hope you will forward the information to me. Since I will be there, anyway…" Miranda let the sentence fade as she tilted her head.

"Absolutely," Emily exhaled, nodding her head several times.

"That's all," Miranda said and turned her chair toward the bank of windows behind her without bothering to wait for a response. Her fingers played with the chunky necklace she wore while thinking about Emily's question. Obviously, her interest in Andrea's whereabouts had stirred up some curiosity. Pressing her lips together, Miranda admitted to herself that she could have handled the situation better. After all, it was a natural leap in logic.

With a sigh, Miranda turned her mind toward the impending trip. She would have Cara take care of her house and forward any personal correspondence. Santie always kept the Princhek household immaculate, but she would need to arrange for food to be delivered.

Once she returned home, she would pack, eat, and go to bed. She had a feeling she would need a good night's sleep. Tomorrow promised to be an interesting day. With a small smile, Miranda swung her chair back to face her desk. She wondered idly whether she would ever sit in this chair again. It surprised her to realize that the possibility of never returning to Runway no longer scared her. Instead, she felt a shiver of anticipation travel down her spine.

Oh, yes. Change was in the air.