The memory of the moonflower surges back to me, and I swallow hard.
“What are you thinking about?” Ivy asks, taking a deep breath. Her eyes are dry, and any trace of her anger is gone.
I sigh, then down the rest of my tea in one gulp. “That I need to be flawless tonight.”
“Then you better go,” she says. “You’ve got a lot of hair.”
four
The night is clear. I spent the entire ferry ride looking for signs of a moonflower, but there was nothing. My legs feel weak as I walk up the shore of the mainland, and I jump when an automobile rumbles down the road. We don’t have them on the Witchery, and I take a breath, letting the rhythmic lap of the waves calm my racing heart. The governor’s mansion towers in front of me, lit up from bottom to top, and the band’s festive music floats out into the night.
Several people are leaning against the balcony rails on the second and third floors, fancy drinks in crystal glasses in their hands, silk dresses and loose updos blowing in the breeze. I hug my arms to my chest.
My pale pink dress is wrapped tightly around my ribs, making sure my lungs and heart stay put. The bodice gives way to flowing layers of sheer fabric that brush the tops of my satin shoes, and short cap sleeves cover my shoulders. I wanted to wear something gray, reminiscent of the way the fog looks in the early mornings on the Witchery, but my mother overruled me, insisting the pink was more appropriate.
My makeup is subtle and my long hair is curled, falling halfway down my spine.
My parents begin their walk up the large stone steps, and I follow behind them, tugging at my white evening gloves.
“You’re going to do great,” Ivy says, falling in step beside me.
“I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”
Landon told me I was welcome to bring a friend if it would make me feel more comfortable, and I’m thankful for the gesture. Ivy is confident and sure of herself, effortlessly slipping into conversation with whomever she happens to be standing near. A daffodil-yellow dress hangs from her shoulders and stops short of the ground. Her lips are painted a soft pink, and three strands of pearls are wrapped around her neck.
I turn my head and take one more breath of cool, salty air before we step inside and breathe the hot air of hundreds of other bodies.
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” she says, “but if you dive into that water right now, I swear—”
“Relax, I’m just taking a breath.” I turn back to face her. “Shall we?”
She loops her arm through mine. “We shall.”
We walk through the open double doors, and the breath I took just moments ago drains from my lungs.
A large marble staircase rises from the center of the room and splits at the top, each side feeding a different wing of the house. A crystal chandelier catches the lights and shimmers overhead, casting rainbows around the room. Colorful flowers sit in dense arrangements on cocktail tables, and the walls are painted a soft mint green that’s as lively as the music.
Ornate woven rugs in bright colors with golden tassels lead us into the ballroom, where my parents have already disappeared into a sea of people. A string quartet is playing on a stage, and I immediately recognize them from the Witchery. No wonder everyone seems to be having the time of their lives—with each note the musicians play, they send waves of excitement and happiness into the room.
It makes me sad for a moment that the mainlanders think they need magic to ensure they have good time. But it’s the resentment I feel that startles me. Witches are forbidden from practicing any form of magic after the sun goes down, but the governor asked for an exception that my mother approved. She never would have approved it for anyone else.
And I can’t help but think what a waste it is to make an exception for this.
The stage backs up to the gardens, and I look longingly out the window.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ivy says. “You weren’t invited here so you could stand stoically in the garden.”
“But I’m so good at that.”
“I’m not disagreeing, but there will be plenty of time for that later. I’ll go get us some drinks before we make the rounds.”
Sometimes I think how much better things would be if Ivy could take my place. I’m a direct descendant of Harper Fairchild, the witch who formed our coven and created the boundaries of low magic. Because of that, my mother is the head of our coven, and forging a bond between the most powerful family of witches and the most powerful mainlanders is the strongest declaration we can make.