The Voice from Behind ONE MONTH EARLIER Every day starts the same now. I can’t wait to stand in front of my canvas. Even before coffee in the morning. My regular life wasn’t like this. I tried to paint whenever I could, but my schedule was packed full of assignments by my mentors, the elder witches in my coven. I’ve escaped! Okay, I haven’t exactly escaped. I had their blessing, but I still feel like a runaway at heart, and that at any moment, when I relax and enjoy myself too much, they’ll insist I come back. Now I’m here in this small town, a day’s commuter train ride from my brownstone in the city. I could be back in time for breakfast, but I haven’t returned for nine months. With each month that passes, I wonder if I’ll ever use that return ticket. Most days, I don’t think about my future. Most days, I lose myself in painting, like today. My boss called to say she was running late, and I told her I didn’t mind working a few more hours.
