Free The Isadora Interviews by Katie Cross Page A

do something different.”
    Was he crazy? She would have to leave home, live in a school surrounded by strangers. There would be tests, classes, and lessons she didn’t understand. Even if she never did magic again, she’d rather stay at home, cooking for her brothers for the rest of her life.
    But then, she realized with a sinking feeling, that must be the point. That was why Papa was sending her. Michelle would stay here, taking care of the boys, and never leave. That would be all she’d ever do. A little corner of her heart whispered, It would be so fun to learn, to see something besides these walls. She turned the voice away in mute frustration.
    Ted waited for her response with a patience that reminded her of Mama. She’d been dead for years, since Mace was born, but so much of her lived here still.
    “I don’t want to go,” she said.
    “I know. But you’ll learn to love it.”
    Ted gave her a small, crooked smile, rose from his chair, pulled on a hat and disappeared into the inky night. Left in the quiet of the house, Michelle started collecting the dishes with a methodical movement and sinking them into the bucket, watching them bubble and submerge in the hot water until she felt as if she’d drown in it herself.
    •••
    White cotton puffs of fresh snow decorated the trees early the next morning, blown in by the overnight blizzard Michelle had stayed awake listening to. The sun was up, but a vague patch of gray and white covered the sky, sprinkling ice on the world. This morning, Letum Wood held a bitter chill.
    Several pieces of wood toppled out of her arms and into the snow when Michelle heard a voice behind her. She lumbered about, nearly tripping over her feet, to see an aged woman standing a few paces away.
    “Merry meet,” the stranger called.
    The old woman’s breath frosted out in a fog when she spoke. Michelle put a hand to her chest to stop her heart from beating right out of her ribcage.
    “Merry meet,” she mumbled. “Can I help you?”
    “Yes, you can,” the old woman said. “We can go inside and finish this interview so I can get back home in time for tea. I don’t really like the snow.”
    Michelle’s eyes widened.
    “The Watcher?” she asked in a breathless gasp.
    “Yes. Let’s go.”
    Isadora turned around and headed for the poor shanty, whose door opened to admit her before she arrived. Michelle stood, rooted to the spot.
    I’m not ready for this!
    She’d woken up hoping the entire conversation over dinner had been a dream, a vague nightmare. No one had spoken over breakfast, not a word, so Michelle had tucked the fear away. A dream, yes. That was all.
    “Are you coming?” Isadora asked, turning to look for her. Michelle scrambled to gather up the sticks, but her nervous, fumbling hands managed to corral only about half of them. She abandoned the rest and joined Isadora.
    “Very nice,” Isadora said, looking around the trim house. The shabby, worn shanty smelled sweet, like burning pine. A hand-sewn quilt was draped over a rocking chair near the fire, and cast iron skillets hung from the wall. The table, though wobbly, was large and sturdy, the centerpiece of the home. The bedrooms hid upstairs, with Michelle’s little room separated from the rest. “You take very good care of this house for a girl so young.”
    Michelle averted her eyes.
    “Thank you,” she said, kneeling at the fireplace to stack the logs. A chilly draft blew in, and Michelle realized that she’d left the door open. Flustered under Isadora’s watchful gaze, Michelle headed back towards the door with the logs still in hand, but they tumbled and fell to the ground in the middle of the dirt floor.
    “S-s-sorry,” she mumbled, pausing again, unsure as to whether she should shut the door or regather the firewood first. “One moment, please.”
    Isadora moved towards the fire, her curved back looking like the S-shape of a snake as she shuffled forward.
    “No rush. The fire is nice.”
    Michelle