I’m not sure why she’s bringing this up now, but I nod anyway. “I haven’t forgotten.”
The words hang in the air between us, illuminating the magic Ivy laced into her tea. She scoops the leaves into a ceramic pot, the sound impossibly loud, screaming Wolfe’s name. And suddenly I’m terrified of forgetting him.
I want to believe there are some things that are stronger than magic, that Ivy’s tea will be worthless, nothing compared to the bond I have with him. I want to believe I can drink Ivy’s tea and that Wolfe will still linger, hidden in the corners and alleys of my mind until I’m ready to remember.
I want to believe.
The kettle whistles and I jump. Ivy pours the boiling water over the tea leaves, and steam rises into the air. She sets a timer and lets the leaves steep, making sure every drop of magic makes it into the teacup.
Makes it into me.
Images of Wolfe flood my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate for them to leave. Desperate for them to stay.
What should scare you most about tonight isn’t that you’re about to use high magic, Mortana. What should scare you most is that you’re going to want to use it again.
My mother says something about our upcoming dinner, but I don’t hear the words. I barely notice Ivy in the kitchen or my dad watching me with sadness and concern. All I see is the life I fought so hard for slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, impossible to hold.
Do you want to see me again?
Yes.
The timer goes off, and Ivy strains the tea. My parents are quiet, and my stomach twists itself into knots, tighter and tighter, suffocating my insides.
I hate you. And I want you anyway.
I think of the memory keeper I made for Wolfe, how self-conscious I was when I gave it to him. But I’m so glad I did, so glad that memory will linger somewhere outside of my mind, somewhere it will be safe and cared for.
Speak it out loud. I want to hear you.
Ivy puts the teacup on a saucer and brings it over. It clatters against the marble counter when she sets it down in front of me. The liquid is deep amber, the color of the fire reflecting off the walls of his room.
There is a life for you here, a life where you can be everything you’re afraid of being.
I gently pick up the teacup and raise it to my mouth. It trembles in my hand. My parents and Ivy watch me, holding their breath, waiting. If this is the right thing, why does my dad look devastated and Ivy look unsure? Why does my chest feel like it’s being torn open?
I would set the world on fire just to see your face.
The tea smells earthy and floral. I breathe deeply and pick up subtle notes of woodsmoke and salt. My eyes fill with tears because it smells like him, just like him, and for a moment I don’t think I can do this.
It was easy to use you, and damn near impossible not to fall in love with you.
Maybe there’s an alternate universe where my coven isn’t depending on me for survival. Maybe there’s an alternate universe where my wild heart is free to take refuge in Wolfe, to love him as deeply as a person can love.
The thought almost makes me smile, this desperate hope that there’s a version of ourselves loving each other, loving and loving and loving to the ends of the Earth.
You saved my life.
I hold the cup to my lips and drink.
thirty
thirty-one
Wolfe
I say her name each night at midnight, but she never comes. I can’t take it anymore. I leave the manor and cut through the trees until I’m closer to Main Street and closer to her.
She was vulnerable and honest when she should have been distant and suspicious. She should have protected herself. But she opened herself up like one of my grimoires, and I read every page, every sentence, until she became my favorite book.
I don’t want to be angry, but I am. I was supposed to hate her, to feel nothing but disgust. I fell for her despite myself, and now she’s all I can think of. If either of us is weak, it’s me. Not her.
And it’s infuriating.
Mortana takes the long way home from the perfumery. She likes to hear the roar of the ocean and feel the wind on her face. And today, when she walks along the eastern shore, she’ll see me.
I shouldn’t be here.
I should let her go and move on, like my dad says. Let Mortana marry the governor’s son so we can finally have our meeting with the council and figure out a path forward that will save our island and calm the sea.
That’s the right thing.
But how can it be right when she’s not with me?
I’ve never put much stake in happiness. Happiness is erratic and fleeting, hardly a worthwhile thing to spend a life chasing. Living isn’t about happiness, and it never has been.