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Mom came in to check on me. She sat on the end of my bed and we talked a little. But there wasn’t really much to say. She was married to Val. And I couldn’t bear to be around him.
I knew that the stuff they teach you in school about magical hygiene and how all magicians are psychopaths is just grown-up nonsense like if you never kiss anyone you won’t get pregnant (you have to wonder about adults sometimes; it’s not the kissing that does it).
Anyone who reads fairy tales should know never to let a magician keep his wand . . .
She and Val looked at each other. It was like something in a cartoon. I swear I could see the hearts and flowers rushing back and forth between them like on a golden sunbeam. It was kind of cute. It was kind of icky.
. . . I cradled it, like I would a half-grown puppy at the shelter who doesn’t understand that its ghastly ex-owners dumped it on the street for the crime of being a puppy.
its name had originally been Witchhaven. They’d changed it to just Haven after they cut the magic gene out of everybody in Newworld – and _witch_ become a word you didn’t use in polite company. (If you had to say anything, you said _magician_.)