Legacy by Molly Cochran Page B

whispered.
    “From all accounts, Zenobia Ainsworth was an exceptionally talented witch,” Agnes said. “I imagine she hoped that, by infusing her magical blood into the Shaw line, she and her husband might produce children with at least a portion of her ability.”
    “It was she who embroidered the piece above the mantel in this house,” Gram said. “It is infused with knot magic.”
    “Unfortunately, the Shaws did not appreciate the treasure that was Zenobia Ainsworth. In the end, the cowen drove her away.”
    “Horrid people,” Gram agreed.
    “Some of the Shaws inherited Zenobia’s talent with knots. They became clothing designers, fabric manufacturers, artists who work with string and cloth. Some of them are quite famous today. But none of them live in Whitfield.”
    “So Peter does have magical blood,” I insisted.
And he’s also my relative
, I thought, if having a mutual ancestor 350 years ago counts. I decided it didn’t.
    Agnes sighed. “Actually, Peter is a special case,” she said. “His father, Prescott Shaw, left him and his brother Eric in Hattie’s care before his death. The Shaw family was shocked by Prescott’s decision. They tried all sorts of ploys to get Peter away from Hattie, but Prescott’s will was airtight.”
    “So they disinherited poor Peter,” Gram said. “He has no family except Hattie Scott now. And because he’s a male . . .” She shook her head.
    “What’s wrong with him being male?” I asked.
    “Well, the Shaw men have never exhibited much magical talent. They’re bankers, lawyers, financiers, that sort of thing.”
    “Also big game hunters, soldiers, aviators and, allegedly, clandestine arms dealers.”
    “Grandmother, we don’t know that.”
    “Über-cowen,” I ventured. Gram nodded.
    “So the possibility of Peter’s being magical is very remote,” Agnes continued, ignoring us. “Although not impossible. Hemay develop some skills in the next year or so. Hattie’s been tutoring him, and she’s the best there is.”
    “The strongest witch in Whitfield,” Gram said proudly.
    “And she can give him magic?” I asked.
    “Goodness, no. No one becomes a witch just because they want to. Some of us, like you, child, are born witches, with talents and abilities that manifest early. Others, with lesser gifts, learn to develop them through teaching and encouragement. But a person with no magical ability is destined to be cowen, even if he comes from one of the twenty-seven magical families.”
    “So what happens then? To Peter?”
    “I’m sure Hattie will succeed,” my great-grandmother said encouragingly.
    “But what if she doesn’t?”
    Agnes looked uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. “In that case, Peter will have to accept the life of cowen.”
    I blinked. “You mean he’ll be sent away?”
    “Cowen cannot be part of our lives,” Agnes said, gently but firmly. “We are too different from them. Those differences may not matter so much in youth, but later, they are nearly irreconcilable.”
    “But my mother did it,” I said. “She married a . . . my dad.”
    The two women gazed at me balefully. “And look what happened,” Gram said. “Zenobia also ended up with an unhappy life. Rather than infusing the Shaw line with magic, the opposite happened. The Shaws treated Zenobia like a pariah. She became known as a witch—the worst thing that can happen to us in cowen society. Her husband grew ashamed of her abilities, and left her. In time, her neighbors turned her in to the authorities. She would surely have been harmed, andmaybe even burned at the stake, if she hadn’t sought shelter in the Meadow.”
    “The Meadow?”
    “The fog,” she explained. “It’s a sanctuary. Cowen cannot penetrate it. When witches are inside the fog, we are on another plane. We are invisible to outsiders. That is why the fog appears on each of the eight Wiccan holidays. While we celebrate, we cannot be seen by the mass of men.”
    “Does Peter know all