The packages were seriously tempting, but she took another cookie and opened the envelope. A bus ticket, a hundred dollars, and a letter. She got up and quickly tucked the money in her tampon box, the one totally safe hiding place in her life. Then she opened the letter.
Dear Sierra,
If you’re like my daughters, you’re halfway through the plate of cookies, and you’ve opened the other packages already. No big deal—but it might all make more sense once you read this.
We have a job for you, working for WitchNet. That’s a Realm-related project you probably haven’t heard of yet, but it involves lots of spellcoding and working with other witches. We have a couple ideas of things you can help with, but we can talk about that more when you get here. There’s lots of work to be done, and my brother Jamie will appreciate the help.
My good friend Lauren is a real estate agent (and a witch). She’s found you a nice one-bedroom apartment about four blocks from the beach. You can stay with us until that’s ready for you in a few days. It’s a bit crazy here, but there’s lots of company and lots of food. You don’t need to move to the apartment at all if you don’t want to, but the choice is there if you want it. We thought you might enjoy your own space. Your salary at WitchNet should be enough to pay rent and live comfortably on your own.
There’s a second letter attached with an official job offer. I sent a copy to your caseworker, so hopefully that will take care of the paperwork. Let me know if we need to do anything else to bust you loose—one of the presents in the box will make contacting us easier :-).
You should also have couple of tickets in this envelope—for tomorrow, just like you asked. Take the bus to Eugene and then the train to San Francisco. Someone will pick you up at the train station. If you pack up your things and leave them by the side of your bed tonight, my teleporting witchling will grab those for you so you don’t need to lug them on the train. The money is to keep you fed until you get here.
I hope I haven’t forgotten anything important. We’re really looking forward to your arrival—there are a lot of people waiting to say hello.
See you tomorrow,
Nell
Sierra stared hard at the letter for a final moment, and then danced crazily around the room. Very quietly, so no one came to find out what all the noise was about. She kissed the tickets and tried to figure out where to put them—they were too big for her tampon box. Hmm.
But wait—there were more presents too. She dove for the box on the bed, yanking lime-green paper off the first package. Holy cats. She touched the iPhone with reverence. No freaking way. Foster-parent budgets had never extended to a cell phone, and this was the coolest phone ever.
The next package was a little bigger and contained a small photo album. Sierra opened it, puzzled, and found a picture of three identical girls, with a note written in purple, glittery pen. Dear Sierra—here are pictures of some of the people you’ll meet in Berkeley. You don’t have to remember who we all are, but we just wanted to say hi! Love Mia, Ginia, and Shay. She flipped the pages slowly. More than twenty pictures, and each had a little handwritten note saying hello.
Swallowing a lump, she turned to the last two packages. The first held a pair of beautiful wool gloves, knit in intricate patterns of blue and green. Sierra slipped her fingers into their cozy warmth. She didn’t know why, but they felt like the ocean. She opened the piece of paper sitting under the gloves and squinted, trying to decipher the crooked handwriting. Lovely Sierra—I hear that, like me, you’re a water witch, and I know my hands are always a bit chilled in the winter. I hope these will keep you warm. Much love from Nova Scotia, Moira. It was hard for her to take the gloves off to open the last package. Her hands were always cold.
The last package was small and light and smelled faintly of herbs. When Sierra took the lid off the small box inside, she found an ugly orange plastic frog hanging from a beautiful silver chain. Weird. She looked around for a note that might