Mary Katherine Blackwood

“...man.” “Take some hot milk; it will make you warm.” “You’re not Dorothy. You’re my niece Constance.” “Drink.” “Good morning, Constance.” “Good morning, Uncle Julian.” I decided that I would choose three powerful words, words of strong protection, and so long as these great words were never spoken aloud no change would come. I wrote the first word—melody—in the apricot jam on my toast with the handle of a spoon and...”

“...darkness. Constance made shadows up and down the hall when she went to the window to look down on Uncle Julian and outside the new leaves moved quickly in the sunlight. Charles had only gotten in because the magic was broken; if I could reseal the protection around Constance and shut Charles out he would have to leave the house. Every touch he made on the house must be erased. “Charles is a ghost,” I said, and Constance...”