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“My thing?”
“Of course. Everyone has their thing,” Rhi went on, as though this was common knowledge. “Some folks are fortunate—they figure out their thing when they’re five years old and get to spend their entire life doing it. Other people take longer—after all there are a lot of things out there—it can take a bit of luck to stumble onto yours.”
“What’s your thing?” I asked, although I thought the answer was very obvious.
“Cooking, of course,” Rhi said. “Specifically, baking. And I didn’t figure that out until I was nearly twenty years old. Isn’t there anything you enjoy?”
“Sure, but enjoying something and being good at it aren’t always the same thing,” I pointed out.
Rhi smiled. “Just answer the question.”
I hesitated. “Well… I like stage managing.”
Rhi narrowed her eyes. “I… don’t know what that is.”
I laughed. “It’s part of theater. I sort of… run the whole backstage.”
Rhi looked fascinated. “Go on.”
“Well, I wear this headset that connects me to the actors and the lighting designer and the other crew members. And I keep track of everything that’s supposed to happen during the show—the entrances, the exits, the lines, the set changes, the lighting cues, the sound cues—and make sure it all runs smoothly.”
Rhi looked impressed now. “Well, that sounds very complicated!”
“It is,” I admitted. “But it doesn’t take any kind of talent. In fact, I fell into it because I wasn’t talented enough to be in the show.” This wasn’t strictly true. It was possible I was a brilliant actress, but I’d never find out thanks to my crippling stage fright, so it might as well be true.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Rhi said between sips of coffee. “That’s a job that requires a very organized mind, much like baking. You can’t let your attention wander. You have to multi-task. You need to know everyone else’s job and keep track of it. Just because it’s not flashy doesn’t mean it’s not a talent.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, and so I didn’t say anything. I’d never thought of it that way before.
“The same is true of magic, Wren. You’ll likely have to explore it for a while before you find the medium that channels your power best. For some witches, it’s obvious. Flashy, like I said. For others, it can be subtler; it takes time and study and exploration. But don’t be fooled into thinking that subtle means less powerful. In fact, the opposite is often true.”
Something about the way she said this… with a hint of pride… made me think that her magic might be considered of the more subtle (and therefore more powerful) variety. I tucked this information away for when I knew her better and had the courage to ask what seemed to me like a personal question. So I decided to ask another question—one to which I thought I might be entitled to an answer.
“You really spoke to Asteria last night?”
Rhi’s face fell, and I almost regretted the change of subject—almost. “Yes, we did.”
“Did you… get the answers you needed?”
Rhi furrowed her brow. “In a way. It’s not… completely clear. But she did try to answer us before she… got distracted.”
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. It was me. I was the distraction who had prevented Asteria from telling her daughters what they needed to know. But I didn’t let that stop me from asking the next question.
“Did she… am I allowed to know what she said?”
Rhi bit her lip. “I think that’s up to your mother. She’s the one who… oh damn!” She dropped her coffee cup and hurried to the stove to remove the bacon from the smoking pan. “Sorry, I got distracted. I’m just going to finish this up, all right?”
“Sure,” I told her, though I felt a sinking feeling of disappointment that I’d have to wait for more answers. “Can I help at all?”
“There are some potholders right there, if you wouldn’t mind getting the Dutch Baby out of the oven for me.”
“Get the… I’m sorry, I thought you just said ‘baby.’”
Rhi laughed. “I did. A Dutch Baby is a kind of big pancake you bake in the oven.”
“Oh, right. Sorry,” I said, blushing as I reached for the potholders.
“We’re not those kind of witches,” Rhi said.
