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He would find the girl, the little bruja . Even in a city as large as Los Angeles, it was only a matter of
time before they found her.
It's called magic, Elizabet said, pouring -another cup of tea. And you have enough for three, child.
More than anyone I've ever met, to be honest.
Kayla yawned again, and glanced at the kitchen clock. SixA.M. I wonder if this lady ever goes to
sleep? I don't believe in magic, Kayla said stubbornly. It was the third time she'd said that in the last
five minutes, and she wasn't really certain whether she believed it anymore. Especially after what had
happened tonight.
You keep saying that, but the evidence is -before your eyes. You healed the man in the jail cell . . . yes,
I could tell that just by looking at him, she said in response to Kayla's wide-eyed look. I expect you
healed your hurt friend who was mentioned in the police report, though it seems you didn't do a complete
healing on him, since he's in the hospital right now.
I'm not a healer. I don't believe in magic, Kayla repeated, rubbing her eyes.
:How can you keep saying that, Kayla, when you know it isn't true?:
Stop that! Kayla shouted, furious. I hate it when you do that!
Elizabet put her hand over her mouth, and a -moment later Kayla realized why: she was stifling her
laughter.
Don't laugh at me! Kayla yelled. And stop saying things without opening your mouth. It isn't natural,
she concluded.
Who's to say what's natural and what isn't? Elizabet leaned forward across the table. I -believe
everyone has a touch of it, a little magic. But only a very few people ever develop it into anything useful
and predictable. And I've never met anyone like you before.
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I'm nothing special, Kayla said, looking down at her hands. The same hands that had held that weird
light . . .
No. At the moment, I'd call you remarkably dangerous, not special.
Dangerous?
That man in the cell you could've killed him, if you'd wanted to. Did you want to? Elizabet was
looking at her intently.
Kayla shook her head. No. If I wanted him to die, I could've just let him bleed to death in the store. I
just wanted him to let go of me. I don't . . . I don't want to kill anybody. Ever.
I'm glad to hear that. Elizabet folded her hands on the table, looking down. To Kayla, she looked
suddenly nervous, which was very different from the impression she'd given all evening of a tough,
self-confident lady. I'm not quite certain how to say this, Kayla . . . but I want you to consider staying
here. As my student.
What? Kayla wasn't certain she'd heard her correctly.
Oh, I'm sure I can find a foster home for you in this area. The local schools are fairly good, and I can
arrange tutoring for you in academic subjects, if you need to make up for lost time. But what I'd like to
do is teach you about magic. You're the first person I've met that has the potential to learn magic . . . no,
more than just the potential to learn magic. You have the potential to easily surpass me and become
someone who could make a major difference in this world, for many people.
You're kidding, right?
I've never been more serious about anything in my life. You need to learn how to use this magic.
Because it's not going to go away, not now that you've used it once. And until you learn how to control it,
your magic is incredibly dangerous, to you and everyone around you. -Believe me, it's true. You have to
learn to control the magic, not let the magic control you. Elizabet looked up at the kitchen clock. My,
look at the time. I forget that not everyone is used to working the night shift. We'll talk more about this
after you've slept. I'll set you up in the guest bedroom.
Okay. Getting some sleep did sound like a great idea. Maybe all of this would make more sense in the
morning . . . or maybe she'd be lucky and it would all turn out to be an awful dream. That would be
great, waking up in Suite 230 next to Billy and Liane; they'd all laugh about her weird dream and then go
scrounge some breakfast on the street.
She was so tired, she didn't resist when Elizabet tucked her into bed after she'd changed into a granny
nightgown that was four sizes too big for her. The bed was warm and soft, much nicer than sleeping on a
pile of carpet padding in a drafty -office building. She was asleep a few seconds after Elizabet switched
off the bedroom light.
Elizabet Winters walked quietly back to the kitchen and poured herself another cup of tea. This child
isn't quite what I expected in a student, she thought wryly.
Her grandmother had been her own teacher, -after Elizabet had discovered her odd gifts. Gram, who'd
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been born only a few years before the end of the Civil War, a wrinkled old woman with a talent for
making sure that her grandchildren never suffered from any illness for more than a day. One day she'd
been ill with the influenza and seen Gram use that magic to help her. From that day onward, she'd learned
everything she could from her grandmother.
After Gram had passed away when Elizabet was twenty years old, she'd continued studying on her own.
Reading, researching, trying to learn everything she could. But never revealing her talents, no. -Because
Gram had warned her about that above all else . . . that even if she could prove that her abilities were
real, it was too dangerous to show them to the world. So she'd studied alone, always hoping to find
others who understood.
And she'd hoped to find a student someday. Elizabet had watched her nieces and nephews closely,
looking for any sign of the family gift. Eventually, she'd decided, one of the children would show the
talent, and Elizabet would pass on the learning to a student the same way Gram had taught her.
She'd never dreamed that her student would be a scrawny, underfed, unwashed runaway white girl.
Well, she could live with it. Everything but the girl's ethnic background could be cured with good meals,
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