Murphy has been walking around with a book on her head for days. I make no comments on the fact that she drops it less now. I don’t think she realizes that she’s learning to tap into that certain stream of consciousness. Today I watched her skip down the stairs, trip on her skirt and catch herself, all with the book remaining firmly on her head.

The fact that she seems unaware of her magic amuses me, bewilders me, and frightens me all at the same time. As she sweeps through my study, on her way to the library, I stop her.

“Murphy, come here, love,” I beckon. She approaches with her usual curiosity.

“Yes, Master Gray?”

“Nicholas,” I correct. Murphy rolls her eyes and I continue, “Now, fetch me that book off the table over there.”

She raises an eyebrow and takes a step towards the table.

“Ah, ah, ah. No hands,” I grin as her face drops.

“Master Gray, I—”

I raise my chin in a “no objections” type manner. Murphy turns and focuses very hard on the book.

“I can’t.”

“Relax.”

And slowly, the book floats.