Mere perched near the window, making tiny origami animals from scraps of discarded ribbon. This morning, she'd whispered, "what happens if I go witchy by accident?"
I'd promised her that everything would be fine as long as she kept her bracelet on and didn't try to set the napkins on fire.
Yeah. Super convincing.
Earlier, just after we finished eating, Xavier had swung by, coat half-zipped, cheeks red from the cold under his policeman's hat. He'd dropped off a wrapped box for each kid, lightly punched Chance on the shoulder, and ducked back out. He was working today.
Beth and Gerty started arguing over whether it was "too early for pie."
I think my left eyelid started to twitch as I walked into the kitchen to check on Fifi, who'd bounced out of the living area. She'd been going since six AM, powered by pure adrenaline, and the odds of hermaking it through a full day without a meltdown hovered somewhere between zero and negative one hundred.
The dining room smelled like lemon bars and roasted ham, leftovers arranged in a tasty fashion on the dining table. Beth's kids played on the floor, and Oliver's new race cars rolled underfoot as he pushed them.
Fifi tried to play it cool. She announced, "Bathroom." Nobody blinked. The kids were too busy with their toys.
Except me. My heart hammered so hard I could taste it.
I followed, fake-casual, through the hall and into the kitchen, leaving the din behind.
In the kitchen, it couldn't have been more obvious. Something was wrong.
Fifi hovered by the counter, hands pressed flat on the marble. Her whole body shook, not big tremors, the kind that usually signaled an anxiety attack.
I closed the door behind us, trying to sound calm. "You okay?" I kept my tone light.
She didn't answer right away. Her chest rose and fell in short, frantic bursts, and there was a blush under her skin. Not red, not pink, but gold. An actual glow,pulsing out from her cheekbones straight down to her fingertips.
"Oh, honey." I tried to steady her. "What's happening? Are you hurting?"
Fifi stared at her hands in a mix of frustration and fear. Her left thumb was already shifting, nail stretching into something hard and metallic. By the second, copper claw edged out of pink skin, curling sharply at the tip. She clapped her hands together in panic, but the right side was already catching up. The transformation was tiny but relentless.
"I can't make it stop," she whispered.
I closed the distance and grabbed her shoulders. "Breathe with me. Just like Chance taught you. In, out, in, out. You can do this."
She squeezed her eyes shut, mouthing numbers under her breath, One, two, three, like a mantra in yoga class. Her claws popped another millimeter anyway.
I wanted to hug her, but she was too raw. Instead, I pressed her hands between mine, ignoring the sting as her claws scraped my palm.
"Just focus. Count to ten. You're safe. It's just us."
Fifi gasped, then shuddered. For a heartbeat, it froze there. Her, me, the magic, hanging in the air like a coin spin.
Then a tiny voice sliced through our bubble. "Whoa."
Oliver.
Beth's youngest. The one who still called every reptile "dinosaur" and who'd just this morning tried to write inside his mouth with a glitter pen, stood in the doorway, goggle-eyed. He looked at Fifi's hands with the worship of someone who'd just seen their favorite cartoon come to life.
I nearly fainted.
Fifi locked on me, panic in her gaze, but there was no hiding now. Oliver darted across the tile, skidded to a halt, and gawked.
"Can you show me how?" he blurted.
I froze. Fifi froze harder.
Oliver didn't wait for permission. He splayed his hands in front of his face and stared at them, wiggling each finger, willing them to change.
