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Blenheim left with her perfectly straight nose held high in the air, trailing bitter premonitions of disaster like wriggling serpents in her wake.
    Agatha’s second step was to teach herself magic, using the books in her father’s library as her guides.
    The first time Agatha entered the library to find an introductory text, her father looked up at her with vague approval from his customary seat by the fireplace. When Sir Jasper’s eyes focused on the book she took from the shelves, though, his normally mild face darkened into anger.
    “Do take great care with that work, my dear. There are no fewer than five different points of contention in his arguments, and three outright fallacies. I should hate to see you taken in by such folly.”
    “I’ll take care, Papa,” Agatha promised. She came down off the wooden stepladder, brushing dust from her fingers. “I shan’t believe anything without proper evidence.”
    “I’m very glad of it. But, I say . . .” Sir Jasper blinked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but are you permitted to be in here at all? I thought that creature Blaggish—Blagmire—”
    “Miss Blenheim?” Agatha waited for his nod. “I sent her packing this morning. I’m old enough to look after myself now.”
    “What a relief. I never could abide that woman.” He began to subside back into his chair, but an expression of sudden surprise halted him mid-movement. “Good Lord, I am hungry. Have I missed luncheon, by any chance?”
    “You’ve been in here for two days, Papa.” Agatha sighed. “I’ve ordered a hot supper for you. The servants should bring it shortly.”
    “Oh, good. I was afraid I might have to leave.”
    Her father settled happily back into his book. Agatha pulled up a second armchair beside him. Carelessly crushing her skirts beneath her, she set her booted feet upon the footstool in front of the fire and began to read with a feeling of vast contentment.
    The Tremain land was set fifteen miles out of town and nearly three miles from their closest neighbors. As a young girl, left to the sole care of Miss Blenheim and her malevolent admirer, the butler Horwick, Agatha had frequently regretted the distance. Keen-eyed adults might have been salvation to her then.
    As she grew into her own, however, free of Miss Blenheim and able at last to cow Horwick into a sullen form of near submission, she realized that isolation had its benefits. With no irritating supervision, or near neighbors to gossip, Agatha was free to forget all the oppressive rules of dress and proper maidenly demeanor. After all, what were such fripperies to her?
    As Miss Blenheim had explained hundreds of times over the years, Agatha’s unfortunate nose, unnaturally red hair, and general lack of grace meant she would certainly never be capable of winning any man’s heart. Only her dowry could ever appeal to a potential husband . . . and Agatha refused to ever marry any man who took her on such terms.
    She understood only too well what it was to live with one who scorned everything about her; she would never repeat the experience.
    With no prying eyes upon the spacious lawns of Tremain House, Agatha was free to practice her spells in perfect ease, ignoring the irrational social law that deemed the practice of magic unladylike. The only people ever to be alarmed by her experiments were a few of the weaker-spirited maidservants, and by the time that they finally fled the house, Agatha was nearly seventeen. She had learned by then to summon and control her own helping spirits, who filled their places to a nicety.
    Moreover, the sight of the dark spirits moving about the house, eerily silent and obedient, miraculously transformed Horwick’s complaints from snarls of contempt to mere unintelligible muttering underneath his breath, which suited Agatha far better.
    By the time Agatha turned eighteen, she had become so accustomed to her freedom that she no longer feared to lose it. So when an imperious knock sounded on the