Sarah carried Grace into the kitchen where Olivia stood over the stainless steel stove, stirring the chili in a black pot.
“You look like a witch stirring your concoction,” Sarah said.
“I am a witch.” Olivia winked at Sarah, then pointed at the empty fireplace. “Too bad you removed the cauldron. I could have brewed a concoction or two in there.”
“You are one of the most powerful witches.”
Olivia swatted her hand in the air, sweeping the idea away. “Nonsense. Every witch is as powerful as she wishes to be, no more and no less.”
“Another Oliviaism,” Sarah said.
“A what?”
“An Oliviaism. I’m keeping track of all of your wise sayings, and I’m going to compile them into a book called Oliviaisms.”
“Oliviaisms. I like it.” She tasted the chili in the pot. “Are you hungry?”
Sarah nodded. S
