* electric sky !

prologue

Donovan Mueller had been a mailman for twenty-six years. In his tenure, he'd witnessed both acceptances and denials to universities, letters to loved ones announcing a birth or a death, and, once, delivered a box that seemed to squeak that he later discovered contained six ferrets. He had once accidentally dressed himself for church in his delivery uniform, he was so used to putting it on. Donovan regarded himself as something of an equalizing element in the town-- from the wealthiest miser to the house with a laundry basket for a mailbox, he visited everyone. He suspected he'd deliver mail until the day he met his maker, and that was fine and dandy by him.

Donovan had known Tella and George McKenzie since they were mere sweethearts. He memorized the back roads to their home once they'd moved in together, so he could avoid the main roads that often became muddy.. Through delivering their mail, he'd seen a montage of their lives together-- from shy love letters in their high school days to the delivery of George's grandmother's wedding ring he proposed to Tella with to their accumulation of unopened packages while on their honeymoon to the announcement that they were expecting a baby. Even Donovan was invited to the baby shower. There, always one for dramatics, Tella announced in her sweet-tea Southern accent that she believed she'd be having twins.

And twins she had. On an icy winter midnight, Tella had two perfect daughters; twins with different birthdays. The elder came into the world late in the night on January 20th, and the younger just minutes into January 21st. Tella was in perfect health, George was the proudest father on the planet, and their two girls were loved beyond belief.

Donovan watched them grow up in a series of family letters and toy packages and fabric orders. The elder twin, called Edeline, was always chattering, even before she knew words. She was social and clever and outgoing, and she walked long before she was expected to. Though identical in appearance to her sister, the younger twin, Tess, was never quite up to speed with her. Where Edeline smiled at strangers, Tess cowered. Where Edeline dove headfirst, Tess hesitated. They were night and day, and it was never difficult to tell them apart-- not just because their mother dressed them in different colors.

Two years after the twins, the McKenzies had a son. They christened him Quinn, after George's grandfather. Quinn, like his eldest sister, was talkative and fearless, often finding himself in trouble due to his curiosity. It seemed the two would both be quite the handful, but their sister was another challenge entirely.

She was quiet but observant, often attempting what she'd seen others do with varying levels of success. She knew exactly when the moment was right to slip away from a boring or scary situation and seemingly evaporate into thin air, only found again when she desired to be.

The one field in which Tess seemed to truly flourish was in the peach orchards behind her grandmother's house. It would be hours after Edeline had retired inside to the lemonade and cool air provided by her nana, and Tess would still be out in the fields, filling baskets with perfect peaches and playing pretend and dancing amongst the heavy-limbed trees. As the twins grew older, it became clear that Tess simply marched to a different drum. With Edeline guiding her, she could play the role of a normal, albeit shy, child, but her true nature was to enjoy plants more than people and make a habit of disappearing.

The weekend that the McKenzie twins turned thirteen, two regal-looking letters arrived in the mail. Just holding them, Donovan was intrigued. They were from someplace called Ilvermorny, with what looked like a school crest emblazoned on the seal. The letters were made out to Edeline and Tess, which was surprising. The girls were a bit young to be seeking higher education, but he did his duty as usual and delivered the mail.

No one seemed to be home, Donovan observed, as he repeatedly rang the McKenzies' doorbell. His hands were very cold in his fingerless gloves-- his wife made them for him, but he didn't understand their purpose. He was moments from leaving the mail at the doorstep when he saw the wintry sunlight illuminate, just for a moment, red hair.

He knew, immediately, that it was Tess within. Her parents and sister must have gone out. Donovan was no longer annoyed at the delay it took for the door to be answered-- in all his years visiting the McKenzies, he could count on one hand the number of words he'd heard from the younger daughter, and they'd usually been coaxed out of her by her parents or sister. She was an odd, yet endearing, child, and she wasn't purposely making him wait. He suspected she was gathering the courage to answer the door.

Instead of ringing the bell again and risking scaring her off, Donovan rapped lightly on the door and called, "Miss Tess?" Through the window beside the door, he saw a shadow cross the music room doorway. She was listening. "I have a letter for you. One for your sister, too. Now, I'd just leave them out here, but I think there's another freeze coming in tonight, and I'd hate for them to get ruined."

Now, the white winter light from the window illuminated her completely, looking out at him. She seemed to be assessing him with her ice-blue eyes, blinking up at him, from his gray mustache to his winter jacket to his work boots. He studied her right back, her freckled cheeks, the front bits of her flame-red hair tied out of her face with green ribbons. Her gaze wandered to the letters in his hand.

Donovan decided to make her a deal. "All right. If you open the door for me and take these mysterious letters, I'll help your father install a mail slot, so you don't have to open the door to get your letters anymore. You can just find your mail inside the door all the time."

Tess' eyes lit up. Donovan had never seen her express even that much emotion. She moved away from the window, and the next thing Donovan knew, the door was opening.

She watched him intently, but not with fear. Tess was as small as she seemed through the window, with small, delicate fingers she drummed on the edge of the door. It almost looked like she was playing piano. Tess seemed more curious than afraid, baited by the letters Donovan held. He knew she'd never once received a package addressed to her, specifically-- he would've noticed it. Donovan nodded his head in thanks at the opened door, extended the letters to her, and watched with amusement as she took them eagerly.

He smiled warmly at her. She was a funny thing, after all. "I'll talk to your father about that mail slot," he promised, turning away and leaving her studying her letter in the doorway.

"It's okay."

Halfway down the porch steps, Donovan nearly fell on his backside from turning around so fast. He almost thought he'd heard Tess speak. His heavy brows drew together in confusion. "What was that, little lady?"

Tess looked up from her letter. From this distance, Donovan noticed the dirt and dust staining the hem of her dress. What had she been up to all morning? She turned her letter over in her hands absently. "You don't have to do a mail slot. You're nice."

Donovan laughed shortly to himself. It was a red-letter day, indeed. "Well, thank you, Miss Tess. You're very nice too, and a bit funny."

She returned the smile and nodded once at him. And with that, she turned around and went back inside.

Donovan, pleasantly surprised, turned away from the McKenzie house and got back to his rounds, wondering what kind of magic was in those letters.