When eating at the town's cafeteria, Pablo and Diane were sharing an early breakfast. Pablo had agreed to take care of Diane while Alyssa and Gabriel were gathering supplies and staying a few nights in one of the human cities on the east coast. He knew Alyssa would enjoy that, but watching Diane wasn't that much of a ch.o.r.e, as it reminded him of his own kids. A part of his history he never discussed that much to anyone, not even Gabriel.

"Are you alright?" Diane asked.

"I'm good," Pablo replied, "Just thinking about the past."

"Don't do it too much," Diane said with a smile, "The future is the other way."

"Well said," Pablo agreed, "I'll try to remain focused."

Without warning or invitation, something he was known for doing, Max came over to their table and sat down. "Pablo, I need something from you."

"Alright," Pablo said, eager to be helpful, "What's up?"

"One of my men is sick," Max reported, "And next to him, you're the best shot in town with a rifle. I'd like you to take his s.h.i.+ft on the wall."

Pablo paused for a moment. "I'm actually watching Diane for Alyssa."

"Well, she has school today." Max reminded him, "And I can get someone to watch her until your s.h.i.+ft is done."

Pablo paused for a second, then he turned to Diane. "Are you okay with hanging with someone else this afternoon?"

"I'll survive." Diane replied, "It's alright."

Max seemed genuinely happy. "Thank you very much!"

After he bolted off, Pablo and Diane slowly finished their breakfast before he walked the young lady off to school. Once she was inside, Pablo grabbed his personal rifle and too his duty seriously as he went to the wall to cover the s.h.i.+ft requested. Diane had a normal day at school, learning about human history, doing Shakespeare in English and even playing dodgeball in gym. It was a typical day, and when she left the school after the final bell, there was a lady out there waiting for her.

"h.e.l.lo Diane," the lady said, smiling to her. "I'll be watching you this afternoon."

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Goldman." Diane said, remembering the nice lady from the town's herb garden. Before she died, Diane's mother always took her to the garden to gather things to cook for the town.

"I can't believe how much you've grown," Mrs. Goldman gushed. "You look so much like your mother."

"Thank you," Diane said, taking it for the compliment that it clearly was.

Mrs. Goldman took Diane back to the garden, and they worked there together for a few hours before calling it a day. But rather than take Diane to the town's dining hall to eat, she invited the young girl back to her place. Mrs. Goldman started to work in the kitchen, making her own meal from scratch for the two of them. It wasn't everyday that Mrs. Goldman had company and she wanted to make it special. Diane was looking around the apartment, and all the old photos that were framed on the walls. Some looked very old, while some others looked more recent.

"It smells very nice," Diane said, trying to be polite.

"Thank you dear," Mrs. Goldman replied. She watched as Diane walked closer to one of the more recent picture frames. The young girl picked it up and looked at it for a moment. She looked back at her host with a confused look on her face.

"This picture here," Diane said, showing it to her. "Is that my mother?"

"It is," Mrs. Goldman answered.

"Who is that woman beside her?" Diane asked.

"That would be me," she answered.

"But you look so young in it," Diane said, but then she paused. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, dear." Mrs. Goldman said with a smile. "I am old, and it was no secret that your mother aged much better than the rest of us."

"How long did you know my mother?" Diane inquired.

"Longer than your father did," Mrs. Goldman answered. "We came to this town together, back when the wall was a lot shorter."

"I see," Diane said, pausing again. "Why is he hiding?"

"Who dear?" Mrs. Goldman asked.

"The cat," Diane replied, "The black one hiding underneath the couch. He's not very good at it."

"I suppose not," Mrs. Goldman said, giggling a little bit. "Oscar was never good at being subtle. He's like a bull in a china shop. His friends on the other hand are much better at it than he is."

"His friends?" Diane asked.

Mrs. Goldman clapped her hands, and not only did the black cat named Oscar come out from underneath the couch, but several other cats of different colors came out of their hiding place and lined up like soldiers that were standing at attention for a military superior.

"Wow," Diane said, rather impressed with their formation.

"Off ya go," Mrs. Goldman called out, snapping her finger at them. The cats scattered and ran off in different directions. Two cats however, Oscar and another gray colored cat, jumped in top of the couch, layed down, and snuggled in to lay around.

"Always the worry warts," The old woman called out with a huff.

Diane put the picture frame back onto the dresser it came from and slowly walked up to Mrs. Goldman. She was a little nervous but brave at the same time.

"Can I ask you something, Mrs. Goldman?" She asked.

"Anything love," the old lady replied.

"How long have you been a witch?" Diane asked.

Mrs. Goldman stopped what she was doing, but she didn't look upset. Instead she paused for a moment and then gave the young girl a warm smile.

"All my life, dear." She replied, "I was born a witch. My mom was a witch, like her mother before her and so forth."

"Is your Dad a witch?" She asked.

"No," Mrs. Goldman replied, "The magic doesn't flow through men. They have enough goodies in life, so this was nature trying to balance things out I suppose."

"How does someone get this kind of magic?" Diane asked, curious about it.

Mrs. Goldman was comfortable to speak about it, cause she could tell that Diane wasn't upset or fearful, and was being friendly despite knowing the old woman was a witch. "Some people can learn if they work hard enough, but most witches are born with the power as they inherit from their mother."

"That's so interesting," Diane said, as she took a seat to watch Mrs. Goldman cook while they talk. "Are there any other witches here?"

"There used to be," Mrs. Goldman said.

"What happened?" Diane asked.

"She was a good friend," Mrs. Goldman said, wiping a tear away. "But she died about six years after you were born."

"Wait a second," Diane said, thinking about the dates, and remembering the picture she just looked at. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Yes," Mrs. Goldman said, "Your mother was a witch."

"I had no idea." Diane said.

"She was keeping that to herself." Mrs. Goldman explained, "We both kept a lot of it to ourselves for obvious reasons. We used some magic but also our knowledge of potions to benefit the town, but never telling anyone what we were really up to. Do you remember that chicken soup your mother gave you when you were a very sick girl for almost a month when you were five?"

"I do," Diane said, vaguely recalling it.

"That wasn't just soup," the old lady told her, "I made a healing potion that brought you back from death's door. It was a unique concoction that uses a witches own aura to enhance the body's healing ability. If it were not for that potion, you would have met an early death little one."

"Hang on," Diane said, decrypting what she was just told. "If this potion actually worked on me and saved my life, does that mean..."

"Yes dear, it does." Mrs. Goldman said, "You're a witch, just like your mother."