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I FOUND GINGER IN THE bakery, and after convincing her that I had a good chance of hurling from the sweet smells if we didn’t leave immediately, she followed me down the hallway to the cafeteria. After claiming my double serving of egg salad sandwiches and deciding on nothing more to drink than a glass of fizzy water, I joined her at a table. I nibbled at the sandwich tentatively, waiting to see how my stomach reacted before fully diving in. Ginger sat back, her chair tipped and her feet resting on the other side of the table. I assumed she knew my grandmother had left, and that I had gone into hiding for a couple of days, but she gave me my time.
“So,” I finally said between bites, “I’m to save Christmas.”
Ginger continued to watch me without speaking.
“I don’t suppose you know how to run the Command Center?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Does anybody know how to run it?” I asked, trying to prompt her from her silence.
She tilted her head to the side as if trying to recall a name, but then shook her head.
“Great,” I said sarcastically. “You happen to know how I’m supposed to figure out the Naughty List?”
Ginger tipped herself forward, resting all four feet of the chair back on the ground. She leaned toward me, across the table. “It’s a witch’s intuition,” she whispered.
I blinked at her, long and slow. She was serious. “How do I figure out this witch’s intuition?” I asked too loudly for her liking, for she put her finger to her lips, shushing me.
She sat up, looking around the room. “It’s not fair to them,” she said. “They shouldn’t need to know that you are clueless about how to be a witch.”
I opened my mouth to tell her, I could figure out how to be a witch just fine, thank you very much, but I jammed my lips shut. “Where do you suppose I start?” I asked her instead.
“The Book of Spells, of course.”
“Ooooh, cool,” I squealed. I clapped my hands together and stood up, taking the last sip of my sparkling water like a shot of victory. I slammed the cup back onto the counter. “Let’s do this!” I got a few steps away before I realized Ginger didn’t follow me. I turned back to her and my face fell at her dark expression.
“Where is this book?” I groaned.
“Well,” she said, looking down at her hands, “it’s less of a book and more like a file.” I waited her out, expecting her to say more.
When she said nothing else, I prompted her with, “And this file is where?”
“Command Center,” she said, and when she looked back up at me, I could see a tear in her eye.