I weave a veil of cold water and slow movements, of silence that stretches out in every direction like morning fog over the Passage. The veil forms in front of me, a physical thing I can see and touch. I weave in memories of being wrapped around Wolfe, our wet bodies pressed tightly together.
Then I take the veil and stretch it until it covers both of us.
The world around me vanishes, and I’m back in the water, in Wolfe’s arms, with nothing but the perfect silence of the sea.
Magic pours out of me, sustaining the veil, engaging all of my senses until I fully believe the image I’ve woven. I’m under the water, moving with the motion of the waves, weightless in Wolfe’s arms. We are quiet and still and content, holding each other in the belly of the sea.
I pull the veil away, and we’re back on the beach. I look at Wolfe and run my fingers through his hair, sure it will be soaked. But it isn’t.
“Did it work?” I ask. I know what I felt, but that doesn’t mean Wolfe felt it, too.
He nods. “You are much more powerful than you realize,” he says. “You could have changed the perception of every witch in this house.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why does this come so naturally to me?”
“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “I think it has to do with all the time you’ve spent in the water. You are so connected to this place; every time you’ve accidentally swallowed seawater, every time you’ve gathered flowers and herbs for the perfumery, all the hours you’ve spent wandering this island, you’ve invited this world in, and it has taken root inside you. I think that’s why.”
The words cause something inside me to break open. I’ve been scolded most of my life for getting too dirty, swimming too often, preferring trails in the woods to ballrooms and high teas. It is something I’ve been taught to apologize for, but in Wolfe’s world, it’s a gift. An extraordinary gift.
We practice more magic, weaving veils of different places and calling the wind from the sea. We create fire from dust and capture the light of the moon in our hands. We use more magic than I would ever expel during a rush, and instead of hurting the Earth, we’re delighting in it.
We walk onto the lawn, and I collapse on the grass, exhausted. Wolfe lies beside me, and we watch the stars. The rest of the witches have gone inside, and it feels as if we have the entire world to ourselves, as if the moon and stars are shining just for us.
“Do you know that I’ve never seen another moonflower on the island since the night we met?” I ask, rolling onto my side. “I’ve only ever seen them with you. It’s like we were fated for each other, like the flower’s only purpose was to bring us together.”
I lean down and kiss him. He’s hesitant at first, his movements slow and unsure. Then he opens his mouth and pulls me into him, weaving his fingers through my hair and kissing me as if he’ll never be able to kiss me again.
I move my hand beneath his shirt and trail my fingers over his skin. He inhales sharply, and I’m ravaged by the way he unravels. He breathes my name into my mouth and clutches me tighter, rolling me over so his body is on top of mine, the weight of him anchoring me in this perfect moment.
Then someone calls his name, and he quickly moves off me.
I’m mortified when I register his father’s voice, and we both sit up. I wipe my face and smooth my hair, as if that will do anything.
“Get up, you two,” Galen calls as he walks down the lawn to meet us.
Wolfe helps me to my feet, and I fidget with my clothing, hoping the darkness is enough to conceal the heat in my face.
“Lovely to see you again, Mortana,” Galen says when he reaches us. He sweeps a hand over both of us, and I feel my hair settle and my skin cool. He keeps his back to the manor, watching me, and goose bumps rise along my skin.
Something isn’t right.
“Hello, Ingrid.” His voice is even.
It feels as if my heart stops and all the blood rushes out of my body.
“Galen,” she says in response.
I follow the voice, and there at the top of the hill, with the manor in perfect silhouette behind her, is my mother.
twenty-eight
My mother walks down the hill, and all the air leaves my lungs. I reach out and take Wolfe’s hand, holding it tightly. Don’t let go, I want to say to him, but I can’t make the words come out.
I look at the manor, where witches stand at the windows, watching from behind thick curtains. Others tentatively step onto the balcony, and I realize everyone in this house knows exactly who my mother is.