‘There’s a new position at the council,’ said Martha. ‘They need a typist.’
‘Dottie’s hands,’ said Archie.
‘She’ll be fine.’ Patrick waved his fork dismissively. ‘She needs a nice normal job.’
‘I don’t want to be a typist,’ said Dot. ‘I’ll sort it out on my own.’
Willard scoffed. ‘That would be a first.’
A small silence fell.
Dot looked at her brother. She straightened. ‘What did you say to me?’
‘I said thatyou,Dottie, expect everything handed to you.’
‘Willard,’ said Archie, but his grandson ignored him.
‘You went to Alliaster and spent all your money and now you’re back and think you can live off our hard work like a little leech?’
‘I am not a leech,’ said Dot. She glanced about at them, at each of their faces, her anger quickening. ‘You have no idea what happened to me in Alliaster. None of you do, save for Grandad, who was there, and Celia, who bothered to ask. Actually,’ she skewered potatoes with her fork and laughed, ‘not a single one of you has taken a genuine interest in me since I’ve been back. I’ve worn this glove every day. How come none of you have asked why?’
‘Grandad told us already,’ said Willard. ‘You had an accident. It happens all the time at the cannery.’
‘This wasn’t an accident,’ said Dot, and she pulled off her glove and spread her monstrous hand wide. ‘It was magic.’
Florence yanked Polly away from the table. Patrick’s eyes bulged. Martha covered her face with her hands. Celia’s mouth opened in awe.
‘That flood in the capital?’ said Dot. ‘That was me.’
‘You’ve been using magic.’ Her father’s voice was soft and terrible. He glared at Archie, who shrugged.
‘Weren’t my doing, though she has a talent for it.’
‘Dorothy,’ said Martha. ‘Magic is illegal. Is that – is that a punishment?’
‘No,’ said Dot. ‘Of course it isn’t. And Iknowmagic is illegal. Do you even remember what I studied at university?’ Dot glared around the room again. ‘Oh, it doesn’t bloody matter. It was magic that did this. Magic and run-ins with bad witches and a few other things,and I’ve been here three weeks and I am sick of pretending to be like all of you.’
‘Whatever foul thing has happened to your hand,’ said Willard, ‘it’s not magic.’
Dot balanced the dual streams of warmth and cold within her, and she pictured the rune forlevitateand shot the spell at his chair. It sprang up, and Willard, now airborne, yelled and clutched at the wood.
‘Oh!’ cried Celia. ‘Amazing.’
‘It is not amazing,’ said Martha.
‘You taught her this,’ repeated Patrick at his father.
Archie raised his hands in surrender. ‘I don’t have a clue how to cast spells.’
‘Willard,’ cried Florence, grabbing at the legs of his chair. Polly, in her other arm, began to cry.
‘Set me down,’ shouted Willard, his head bobbing at the ceiling.
‘No,’ said Dot. ‘If I am such a liar, then there is no magic here. Step down from your chair, Willard. Go on.’
His face turned red. He made to climb down but the spindly chair jerked and bucked.
‘Dot,’ Willard said, ‘I swear I will—’
