Her silent spell, she thinks, though she wonders if that’s what it was at all, if she was even a mystic to begin with. She may have drawn those lines in her father’s palm and then Uncle Jimmy might have pushed him, and she may have willed that shadow away at her grandmother’s house, and she may have sensed that connection with Dr. Marks, but then when she really needed to make something happen, as a mystic, she had failed. She had not been able to will her father to turn around. She shuts her eyes again. Maggie, she thinks. But what about Maggie? What if, in speaking, she has jeopardized whatever powers she might have had? It was, after all, her silence that made Uncle Jimmy think she was a mystic to begin with. The thought makes her desperate.

“Knock knock.” She hears Uncle Jimmy outside her door. A triangle of light from the hallway falls onto her carpet as he pushes the door open and turns on her bedside light. “How you doing?” he says. “Let’s see.” Uncle Jimmy, claiming expertise gained during the war, has proudly taken the role of doctor, and to Isabelle’s surprise, he is very gentle, very kind.

Obediently, she turns her head toward him, lets him pry open her eyelids to check the pupils. “Still good,” he says. “Not too big. Let’s see the nose.” He lifts the ice pack. “Rudolph,” he says. He winks, and there is a glimmer in his eye that makes Isabelle grab his hand before he can turn away.

“Uncle Jimmy,” she says, because she has to know. “What can a mystic do?”

He looks down at her. “A mystic,” he says, “can only be.” He winks again. “Want me to reheat this dinner?” he says.

Isabelle shakes her head.

Jimmy returns to the kitchen, where Wilson and Ruth sit at the table, each of them looking as shell-shocked as they feel.

“She’ll be okay,” Jimmy says. “Pupils aren’t dilated. And she’s alert. Nose isn’t broken, either.”

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Ruth says. She swallows. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you were here to help.”

“Wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for the snow,” he says. He pulls out his chair. “I don’t expect the airports will be running smoothly tomorrow either.” He looks at his watch. “I’m going to take the first train I can. Want to get back for the girls.”

“Of course you do,” Ruth says.

Across the table, Wilson fiddles with a meatless lamb bone.

“Wilson,” she says.

He looks up.

“Let’s go to the country tomorrow. If the roads are clear enough.”

“Really?”

“Let’s get out of here. Let’s just go. There’ll be so much snow.”

“What about presents?”