Once in a while, people would ask Plum what the hell kind of an adolescence she'd had that she'd arrived at Brakebills so cocked, locked and ready to rock. She told them the truth, which was that she'd grown up on an island near Seattle, in comfortable surroundings, the daughter of a mixed marriage: one magician, one non.
She was an only child, and they'd had high standards for Plum, Daddy especially he was the magician of the couple. As the one basket they'd managed to weave, she had to hold all their eggs, so they'd homeschooled her, and once her talent for magic revealed itself they'd made damn sure she made good on it. Daddy sat with her and made her practice her languages and her exercises, and she'd made very good indeed. True, she'd never been to prom, or played a competitive sport that you couldn't play sitting down and in complete silence, but you don't make a magic omelet without breaking some magic eggs.
