A part of her had been afraid—terrified, in fact—that she would not make it to this point. While the first two had come with ease, Evelyn’s third attempt had ended in tragedy. But no, this effort had borne fruit, and Evelyn was practically glowing as she beamed down at the newborn in her arms. Exhausted and filled with maternal devotion, the witch all but forgot about her elder children, for this baby girl was most certainly the finest thing she had ever accomplished.

The door creaked open softly to admit her husband.

“Come, she said serenely, “meet Araminta.”