The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(86)

“I can help you,” Sage said, her voice soft as merengue clouds, her spoon poised halfway to her mouth.

“Please do,” Sadie groaned. Out of the mouth of any other child she’d doubt such a claim, but something about Sage invited trust and calming. The girl walked over to Sadie and laid her hand on her sister’s arm.

“What—” Sadie started to ask, but then she felt it. The coil inside of her started to unwind. Peace threaded through her veins like liquid silver. Anger and frustration melted away. Even her sorrow felt diminished. “How …?” she asked, but before she could finish, the water boiled.

“I can make people feel certain things,” Sage explained, her clear, sweet voice a balm to Sadie’s bruised spirits. “I got it from my mom. But I’m better at it than her.” Her smile was sly as she said it. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“Clary Sage,” Sadie smiled.

“What does that mean?” the little girl asked, her eyebrows furrowing, unsure whether it was a compliment or insult.

“Clary sage is used for clarity, for emotional stability. And it can spark creativity and imagination. It calms the mind and spirit,” Sadie said, pulling Sage in to hug her. “I’ve never known a name more fitting for someone. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sage smiled again, the furrow disappearing. “It’ll only last for a little while. But I can do it again when you need me to. Mom says I shouldn’t, usually, because people need to work through things on their own. But …” She shrugged.

As Sadie got down a cannister for tea, the black cherry tin caught her eye and reminded her of the poisonous Jerusalem cherry. When she was younger she’d been obsessed with Hamlet and gotten the idea in her head to become a great playwright. In one of her many failed attempts, her heroine had used Jerusalem cherry tea to poison her lover’s disapproving father, so they could finally be together.

But if you sacrifice yourself, Seth will be safe.

Sacrifice myself, she thought. Could it be that easy? That hard? Her death would nullify the curse. But it didn’t make sense. Seth was right: Gigi would never tell her to kill herself, would she?

“What are you making?” Sage asked around a mouthful of cereal.

“It’s called Athena’s tea,” she said, shaking herself from the morbid thoughts. “She was the goddess of wisdom, and that’s what apples symbolize,” she said, measuring out two spoonsful of dried apples and a measure of white tea in a mug. “This is Rooibos,” she added as Sage’s eyes tracked her movements. “And then you add a cinnamon stick and vanilla pod. It’s used to connect your head and heart.”

“Sounds yummy,” Sage said.

“Let’s just hope it works.”




Thirteen days.

The thought of her sacrifice was a scratched record grating on every thought. She wasn’t sure which was scarier, the idea of actually doing it or the fact that if she knew it would work and there was no other solution, she’d sacrifice herself in a heartbeat. No matter that he’d left or that he’d hidden his relationship with Raquel. Because for every hundred annoyances and fights and tears there were a thousand more reasons to love him.

He had everything. His magic to learn, their mother returned, Raquel’s love and their future together. And what did she have? A handful of nothing. Broken dreams and empty promises and one more heartbreak.

She didn’t realize she was crying until the tears fell her into her tea, causing the steam to rise in spirals.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

Her mother’s voice startled her, and as she wiped her eyes, she realized Sage was nowhere to be seen.

“Or should I ask?”

“Everything,” Sadie heard herself answer.

“I spent so many years hating myself. Hating life. Or I should say, hating my life. I recognize the look on someone else.”

“I have nothing left. Literally, nothing,” Sadie was surprised to find herself telling her mother. She knew it was an exaggeration. She knew she had the town, her café, her family, but the thought of losing Seth made it all meaningless, and she was too heartbroken to care about being dramatic.

“You have everything,” Florence said, her finely arched brows furrowing in a way that made her even more beautiful.

“How?” Sadie laughed, and it turned her tea bitter.

“Listen sweetheart, I spent almost twenty-five years alone. A thirty-second phone call here, a one-line text message there. A few times—and I have no idea how she did it—but a few times Anne got a postcard to me. Once mom tried to send me a picture of you and your brother, but it had turned to ash inside the envelope. You two weren’t supposed to be born, and my curse made sure I knew it.”

For the first time Sadie thought of what it must have been like for her mother. She’d always been afraid of being abandoned, of her curse bringing about her worst fear, but Florence had been truly alone.

“How did you do it? How did you not go insane?”

“Who says I didn’t?” Florence laughed. “I spent a decade punishing myself. Living in that misery as my own form of penance. And it didn’t do a damn bit of good. It took me another decade to start forgiving myself. To accept that the stupid indiscretions of youth, despite their consequences, didn’t have to define me anymore. My misery served no purpose. It didn’t make me feel better. It didn’t bring me closer to you. And I knew that if I met you as I was, I’d be ashamed. So, I went on a quest to become someone you’d be proud to call your mother.”