The girl hesitated, then swung around unwillingly, and Norman got a good look at her face. He could not see Tansy—the closet door just cut her off—but he could see the fear come to the surface of the girl's face as she turned, see the sleep-creased cheek pale.
"Yes, mum?" she managed.
There was a considerable pause. He could tell from the way the girl shrank, hugging the damp clothes tight to her body, that Tansy had lifted her eyes and was looking at her.
Finally: "You know The Easy Way to Do Things? The Ways to Get and Guard?"
Norman could have sworn that the girl gave a guilty start at that second phrase. But she only shook her head quickly, and mumbled, "No, mum. I ... I don't know what you're talking about."
"You mean you have never learned How to Make Wishes Work? You don't conjure, or spell, or hex? You don't know the Art?"
This time the "No" was almost inaudible. The girl was trying to look away, but failing.
"I think you are lying."
You could put any construction on those toneless words. The girl twisted, hands tightly clutching her overlapping arms. He wanted to go out and stop it, but curiosity held him rigid.
The girl's resistance broke. "Please, mum. We're not supposed to tell."