“How could this be dangerous? Isn’t this the most natural expression of magic—working with the Earth instead of harming it?”
Ivy’s hand drifts to her mouth, and she takes a step away from me. Her eyes are wild, and she stares at the fern before her. “You used dark magic.” The words are so quiet, and she says them as if they’re a terminal diagnosis, as if she’s preparing herself to lose me. It was one thing when she thought Wolfe had used dark magic to save me; it’s another thing entirely to know that I’ve used it, too.
I take a step closer to her. “Don’t you see? There’s nothing evil about it. Even the way I reach him is beautiful: I say his name at midnight, and if he hears it, he comes.”
“That isn’t the point, Tana. Of course there’s nothing evil about bringing another fern into existence or saying a name at midnight. But the magic that created that fern and enables you to contact Wolfe is the same magic that heals what should not be healed and summons spirits and plays the role of God.” Her voice shakes, red-hot fury pouring from her. “It is evil, and our ancestors realized that as soon as they gave it up. It poisons you from the inside out. Why do you think we’ve been able to sustain the new order for so long? It’s because we know now that dark magic is rotten. If you think it won’t eat you alive, you’re a fool.” Ivy practically spits the words. “This is the same magic that got our ancestors killed, Tana. If you need a reminder, I’m happy to walk you down to the docks right now so you can stare at the charred planks until you remember that the kind of magic you just displayed almost eradicated us entirely. How have you lost sight of that?”
She glares at me, and I don’t know what to say. She’s right, but I can’t make myself believe it the way I used to. It’s heartbreaking to realize I’m doubting things I’ve never before doubted. I want to believe in our magic. And I do.
But I also believe in the magic I practiced with Wolfe.
I feel as if I’m on my knees, crying out to God about the beauty of the devil.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
“It’s him,” she says. “Wolfe.”
I look at the ground, at the fern that just appeared. I want to hate it, to tear it from the earth and toss it far away. I want to be appalled by what I just did, to repent and do better.
I want to be better.
“Tana,” Ivy says, my name catching on a sob. I look up and see my best friend’s eyes filled with tears for me. “Is he really worth it?”
I want to yell, scream at her that it isn’t about him. It’s about magic, about what we’re giving up to live this life. It’s about being told a flower is deadly only to realize it’s just a flower, the same as all the others. But even as I think it, Ivy’s words settle deep inside me, and I know she’s right.
He isn’t worth it.
His magic isn’t worth it.
I love my life. I love my parents and Ivy and the Witchery. I know my marriage to Landon will be fulfilling in ways I can’t even imagine. But Wolfe blew into my life like a tornado, uprooting everything. Destructive and dangerous.
I see that now.
My face falls and my eyes fill with tears. I look down at the white petals in my hand and shove them back into my pocket.
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m so sorry.”
She watches me for several breaths, and then all the anger melts away and she pulls me into her arms. I hug her back fiercely, so tight, telling myself that this is why the witches before me sacrificed so much. This is why we adhere to the new order and practice low magic.
Ivy is everything to me. I would marry Landon and move across the Passage even if it only protected her, not this entire coven, this whole island.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, pulling away and wiping my eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You wanted something that was yours,” she says simply.
I nod. Maybe that is all it was—wanting something solely my own before I bind myself to my coven and marry the man my parents chose for me.
When she puts it like that, it sounds understandable. Reasonable, even.
We walk inside and back up the stairs, and I close my bedroom door behind us. We finish the popcorn and laugh and talk, and I marvel at how easily we fall back into this. Nothing, not even dark magic, can pull us apart.
But while Ivy sleeps soundly beside me, my mind races. It cannot find a place of rest.
“Mortana?”
I lift my head. It sounds like someone is whispering my name. I listen intently, but all I hear is Ivy’s even breathing.