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Rowan Cartwright's magic was blocked when she was just two years and three months old, by her grandmother, Wilma Alfridson, the most powerful witch the Barrowlands had seen for generations...
There I was on Morgan Hill, staring at these two bitty flames on my palms, getting more and more irritated with my inability to reach the magic I knew was inside me somewhere, when, out the corner of my eye, I saw a strange figure striding down the hill towards me.
I judged him to be at least a head taller than me and I'm a touch over six feet. A tall conical hat set atop a mane of white hair made him look even taller. He had a black cloak and even although he was still twenty or thirty yards off, I could see his eyes glowing a bright red, like the coals in Dad's forge when he pumped the bellows.
A chill went down my spine. He held a mage staff in his left hand that was at least as tall as him. It had a glowing power orb fixed to the top. A large black cat seemed glued to his left boot and was the same height as the mage's worn, knee-high brown leather boots. They were making their way directly towards me. I quickly vanished the flames off my palms and rose to my feet. Mages with his level of power were truly dangerous and unpredictable.
He stopped about two strides short of me and stared at me with his eyes of fire. He had thick black eyelashes and I kind of wondered how he still had them. Those eyes looked like they could scorch the earth at twenty paces if he so chose. His cat stalked forward and sniffed at me with its pink nose and glowing yellow eyes. I'd heard of demon familiars, but I'd never seen one. Then the cat opened its mouth, showing white needle-sharp teeth and a pink tongue.
"She's the one," it said, speaking just as clearly as anyone I'd ever heard.
"Excellent," the mage said, letting his staff lean against his shoulder so that he could rub his hands together. "Well met, my dear. I am Artother Totoro, a mage, as you have doubtless divined. I have been on the road for the best part of a month. I bring you greetings from your grandmother."
Damn. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Of all the things I was expecting him to say, that was probably the furthest from my thoughts.
I stared, open-mouthed, at the strange mage. Yep, not a good look, probably, but I was having difficulty processing what he'd just said. I was still trying to figure out an appropriate answer when his familiar chirped up:
"Maybe I'm wrong," the cat said, sniffing me again. "I thought Wilma said the kid would be bright? This one's really slow."
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