Violet was startled out her thoughts by the sound of her mother's voice calling out that name--Sam! Violet harshly sucked in her breath. Her father's name. Violet wasn't sure what to make of it. As a little girl, she had been excited and amused by the forbidden letters she had received from her Muggle father, right under the noses of her grandfather and uncles. And when he had finally invited her to come with him to New York, it had seemed a glorious adventure. But the thirteen-year-old Violet had soon learned that what her father said was often not exactly in agreement with reality. She had eventually realized that Sam Hurst was nothing better than a petty con man, always trying to hit on the big scheme that would set him off for life, and what was worse, he seemed to expect that his daughter and her magic could make that happen for him. Which just goes to show how much Muggles knew about magic, because after only one year at Hogwarts, Violet couldn't have done much to help him even if she'd wanted to. Fortunately her governess, Miss Howard, had shown up before the year was out to rescue Violet and bring her home to her grandfather's house.

And the very worst thing about it all was that her father could not tell her where her mother was or what had become of her. And now here was that very same mother, looking very different from how Violet remembered her (but to be honest, Violet only vaguely remembered the mother she hadn't seen since she was a little girl). And she was calling out for that self-same no-good husband that Violet had been so disappointed in. Was she calling out for help? Accusing him? Or...or for love? Violet just had no idea, but every time her mother said anything remotely comprehensible she allowed to feel encouraged.