On a farm murder was a fact of life. Faith knew this. She'd known this since she turned three, and Mom and Dad slaughtered the chicken she raised all by herself. But Faith strongly believed in exceptions to rules.

"Mai's different, Dad. She's a different kind of cow." Hay stuck out of her hair, as usual, her tennis shoes heavy with mud and her overalls, the ones with the flowers Mom sewed down the right leg, were smeared and crusted with things even she couldn't identify. But none of that mattered as she sat in an empty wheelbarrow watching her dad repair a broken saddle.

"Cow's a cow, angel. You know that." He reached next to her and took a leather punch out from between the saddle soap and roll of bailing wire in his tool box.

"I know Daddy, but..."

"But nothing Faith. Remember the chicken you raised?" Dad asked, fighting the strap of leather in his hands.

"I was three Dad. I didn't know better." She picked hay from her braid.

"I'm eight now. I understand that meat comes from animals."

"And remember last year, when Smokey the hog was too perfectly black to eat?"

Faith felt rather like standing and running off. But she still hadn't gotten her point across. "It just seemed like a waste, with 4H contests and the fall fairs and all. I didn't want to keep him from becoming meat, just put it off until winter. Maybe he coulda won a prize."

Dad stopped his fiddling and looked her straight in the face. His mouth seemed a little turned up at the edges, less like he felt annoyed and more like the argument had simple become routine. "Well then, precious, why is Mai different from every other cow in our pastures, and Uncle Ron's, or Joe's fields?"

It sounded silly now. Surely a grown up wouldn't understand. "She's magic."

"She's magic." Dad buckled the repaired strap and hoisted the saddle back to its place on the top rack. "We have magic cows."

"No, one magic cow," Faith said quickly, so he wouldn't think she was trying to save the whole herd.

"One magic cow. Faith, honey, cows aren't magic. Cows are the least magic creatures I know. Fairies, and unicorns and people can be magic. But cows are about as magic as potatoes and hammers. I'd think the pig was magic before the cow was."

"But it's true, Daddy. Mai's magic. She could help us with the farm."

Nothing kept them from standing and staring at each other now. Faith felt quite intimidated and frustrated at her father's expressions. She felt made fun of.

"How could she help us sweety? Would she help make the other cows eat less? Poop less? Would she clean stalls or collect eggs?"

Faith turned red. "Of course not Daddy. Magic doesn't work like that. She could make us lucky. And make the crops grow better and the rain fall. She could keep the animals from getting sick or hurt."

"Faith sweety, she's a cow. This is a farm. She's dinner."

Faith flopped on her bed with as much fury as she could muster. No one ever listened to her. Someday, like today, she would have something important to say and no one would listen. Faith waited until the night that Dad slunk in, smelling of worse things than the barn. Then while Mom tried to clean blood from the clothes, she snuck out and saved Mai's doe-eyed black head from the incinerator.

"I'm sorry," Faith said, petting Mai's soft fur. "I tried."

Faith wrapped the head in one of her doll blankets and hid it under her bed.

Tuesday Mom served roast for dinner. Roast Mai. Faith poked her fork at the meat. The carrots and potatoes couldn't hide it. The chocolate milk and cherry pie for dessert didn't make it any better.

"Faith, eat your food," Mom said.

"No. It's not right."

"Faith Ashley!" Mom stood. Dad silently ate his meal. "You will eat your dinner, now."

"It's not right mom."

"That's right Mom," Dad said with a smile. "Mai is magic. Mmmm."

"That's mean!" Faith stood, her chair falling to the floor. "You never listen to me."

Dad opened his mouth to speak. Mom stood, towering over Faith and the table. "Young lady I have had enough of your talk. If you won't eat what we've provided for you then you won't eat. Tell her Ronald."

Dad looked sick. His mouth opened and nothing came out. Nothing went in either. No sound. No air. In his throat a chunk of meat climbed its way back up from his stomach and started a revolt in his throat. Dad gagged, but the pieces of Mai refused to come up or go down.

"Oh my god, Ronald!" Mom beat Dad's chest, hit his stomach, did everything she could. But Mai refused to be moved.

"I told you!" Faith yelled. "I told you Mai was magic."

"Magic how?" Mom asked. Dad hit the floor, his face two shades past blue.

"Voodoo."

Up the stairs and under a bed, something started to moo.