The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(99)

The panic turned tangible, and she coughed from the smell as the garden died off in front of her eyes. It was tied to her. She could feel it. But how?

“Sadie,” Florence called from the gate.

Sadie turned to look at her, her eyes wild. She tried to move but couldn’t.

“It won’t let me in,” Florence rattled the gate. “You need to breathe. Find your calm.”

“I can’t,” Sadie whispered raggedly. Her shirt was soaked with sweat and rain and sticking to her back, her breath coming in short pants. Her vision blurred.

“Let me try,” Sage said quietly, coming up behind her mother.

Her hand had barely touched the handle when it sprang open. As soon as she was through, it swung shut again.

The girl walked to Sadie and gently laid a hand on her forearm.

Sadie inhaled sharply at the contact.

“It’s okay,” Sage said softly.

Sadie could feel Sage’s calm trying to enter, but her body was fighting it.

“You have to let me in,” Sage whispered.

Fear curled in Sadie’s stomach. But there was no other alternative if she wanted to keep her garden and stop this madness. She’d spent her whole life pushing people away, and here she could feel the insistent knocking on her heart.

Let me in, let me in, it said.

And so, she did.

Before, she would have said there was no choice. But she knew now, there was always a choice. And the closer you get to desperation, the easier it is to accept what you’ve wanted all along, which makes the choice tangible, if not easier to make. After all, it was easy to let someone in when you were planning on pushing them right back out.

Her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes and focused on the calm. Let it soak into her marrow. Felt Sage’s small presence beside her and her mother’s at the gate. And without opening her eyes, she knew that Seth was there too. She grounded herself in that. And slowly, the numbness turned back to tingling, and then the tingling left altogether.

By the time she opened her eyes, the devastation had stopped. The tomatoes were decimated, all four varieties. The zucchinis were charred, and the rutabagas had just begun to wilt.

“It’s me,” Sadie whispered, the realization making her knees weak. “This is all my fault.” She sank to the ground, mud squelching. Her magic was the thing doing this. Not some incorporeal spirit or malicious ghost. Her. Every burned bush was a testament to her fear and grief. It reflected what was inside her, she realized. The chaos and doubt. She was controlling it.

She thought back on every time a patch of garden had died off and remembered the panic that had taken over just before. Sage had helped her control it this time. But the girl wouldn’t always be around.

“Let’s go back in the house,” Florence said, the gate having finally admitted her.

Sadie let herself be steered inside, and as her feet moved of their own accord, a startling thought occurred to her. If she was the one causing the garden to burn, what was the spirit doing? The one she’d seen a handful of times. Or more importantly, what did it want? She shivered and pushed the thoughts away.

The afternoon had turned so dark it looked like evening had come early. Sadie only wanted to bury her head under the covers and let the misery consume her.

But giving in to her grief, letting her fears consume her, was what was ruining her life. And she’d finally had enough.

The house was filled with creaks and groans as though it missed the noise and was trying to make some of its own. Sadie moved around those sounds, finding her place between one creak and the next, lost in the way time seemed to drip slowly and pool at her feet, begging to be stepped in. But she kept her feet dry and refused to listen to the ever more insistent chiming of the grandfather clock. It had stayed mostly silent since Gigi’s death but now every day grew bolder. From rooster crows for vigilance and magpie chatter for luck to a crow’s caw, which made Sadie shiver because it meant time was running out, and even the clock knew it.

She ignored the screen door as it creaked open, and ignored Florence as her mother took the chair next to her, pulling out a long, brown cigarette.

Like the one the ghost was holding, Sadie thought. Or the spirit. Or whatever it was.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Sadie said, and her voice was scratchy from disuse.

“Bad habit left over from the old days. I started because it reminded me of Mom. I don’t do it often, and only when Sage is asleep. But …” She shrugged and lit her cigarette. “How are you doing?” she asked on an exhale.

Sadie gave her own shrug and watched the plume of smoke curl and dissipate, leaving the smell of sweet clove and tobacco.

“Listen, is there anything I can do for you, honey? I hate to see you like this.”

Her mother’s voice grated. Sadie wanted silence. Ached for it. When she didn’t answer, her mother continued.

“I know you’re worried. But nothing is going to happen to your brother. We’re going to figure this out.”

“How?” Sadie demanded, finally speaking. “How exactly are we going to figure it out?” Panic was making her chest tight, her rage boil to the surface like a cauldron full of bubbling potion, thick and acrid and threatening to spill over.

“I don’t know yet,” Florence answered.

“You seem to have an answer for everything. And yet this is all your fault in the first place! If you hadn’t gotten together with Julian, none of this would have happened. Gigi wouldn’t have been forced to tie the darkness to herself, and she wouldn’t have gotten cancer, and she wouldn’t have died.”