When her friend Marcy had mentioned there was a little waif asking around for odd jobs, Ama Zabini had made it abundantly clear that she'd be delighted to give her some work. Who better, after all, to give out the oddest of jobs than the local eccentric?

Being a divorcee who lived alone, Ama's Bartonburg house was a modest thing, but also charming. In recent years she had come to embrace her vibrant tastes, and so the door was pale blue, and the steps up to it etched with wavy designs, and off to the side was a great plantpot holding a young tree with pink blossoms.

Ama herself was also in pink today, her long linen dress swooshing around her ankles to reveal a pair of hardy boots as she headed for the door. The butler had answered, but before he could say anything, Ama thanked him, sidled past him, and joined the young girl outside. She was a little thing with rusty hair, and a boyish look that was really not in vogue at her age. Ama appreciated that.

"You must be Billie! I do hope you brought a paintbrush."