The Avramovs and the Thorns did not, historically, get along. The Avramovs were a little too Sturm und Drang, practitioners of a darker shade of magic than the nature-and light-working Thorns were comfortable contemplating, though even the Avramov clan kept well away from the truly dangerous shit like hexes.
At least, as far as I was aware—though with Avramovs, who ever knew for sure.
“Not a new age, exactly,” Talia said thoughtfully, cocking her head. “Although that would be cool. But the circle of witches scorned by Gareth Blackmoore is hereby complete.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Talia?” I demanded. “I mean, yeah, you and I have both had unfortunate relations with Gareth, but Lin doesn’t even . . .”
My voice trailed off as I considered the chill in Linden’s recent communication, her withdrawn demeanor in person, the faint pall of sadness hanging over her.
“Linden Sharee Thorn,” I said, a surge of raw pain welling up my throat. “Have you, likewise, had unfortunate relations with Gareth Blackmoore?”
Linden hid her face behind her hands, sighing so gustily I could actually hear it through her fingers. When she finally lowered them, she looked so sad and plaintively guilty that I almost felt bad for her.
Key word, almost.
“I’m sorry, Em, I really am,” she mumbled, chewing on the inside of her cheek and avoiding my eyes. “It’s not like I planned it! We’d been spending a lot of time together, trying to hammer out a deal for the Blackmoores to carry Honeycake cherry wine and brandy at Camelot. And it just kind of . . . happened, I guess?”
Camelot was the Blackmoore family’s most lucrative holding, a massive indoor-outdoor Renn Faire housed in a full-blown castle on their property, where tourists could enjoy immersive theater, medieval jousting, a Cirque du Soleil–esque show that stealthily incorporated the Blackmoores’ flashy magic, and several themed restaurants and bars.
It was also, in my opinion, the very soul of tackiness.
“And you’d been gone so long,” Linden added, shoulders hunching, hopefully at the utter feebleness of this excuse. “I didn’t think it would even matter to you that much if he and I wound up together.”
“And you seriously believed that you might get a happy ever after with him, Lin?” I demanded, struggling to believe that even my relentless optimist of a best friend could be so astoundingly na?ve. Or that she would do something like this to me. “Gareth Blackmoore, of all people? After the way he treated me?”
“He was a dumb asshole of a kid, yeah,” she said, sucking her lower lip through her teeth. “And he hurt you horribly, I know that. But he’s an adult now, and okay, maybe it’s still a weird and screwed-up thing for me to believe, but for a while it felt like we had a real connection. And I swear I didn’t think you’d be that upset about it, not after all this time. If you ever even came back at all.”
She was partly right; I had written Thistle Grove off as definitively as I could, had even begun resigning myself to the prospect of an eventual, inevitable drifting away from Linden herself. I didn’t have any legitimate right to feel betrayed by her choice, not after the ones I’d made.
But it hurt anyway, with the visceral intensity of a full-fledged betrayal.
“We both thought it would be a good idea to keep it quiet, at least for a while,” she continued. “Just give ourselves some space. You know how the families like to talk.”
“And that way he could also continue fucking me on the side,” Talia chimed in, very helpfully. Linden fisted a hand against her belly at the phrasing, her face scrunching up. “We were keeping our thing under wraps, too, since it was mostly casual. So you can see how this was all working out swimmingly for him—until my sister saw him with Lin, on a cozy dinner date in Carbondale. Bastard’s lucky I managed to talk Isidora down, or he’d still have baby spiders hatching out of his ears.”
“Gareth Blackmoore, two-timing my best friend and Talia Avramov,” I murmured, pinching the bridge of my nose hard as I tried to wrap my head around the span of this mental abomination. “Wow, wow, wow.”
“I don’t know that I’d call it two-timing per se,” Talia said, tapping a finger to her chin.
“I would,” Linden said grimly.
“Of course you would, sunshine,” Talia replied, giving Linden’s arm a brisk rub. “He hurt you much worse than he hurt me. He and I were just having fun—though, yes, I was under the distinct impression that it was exclusive fun. Whereas you were in full-throttle love with the shithead.”