“I look forward to it,” I say, the words burning on the way out. I want to argue and yell and head back to the Witchery alone, but that is not my role. So instead, I smile, loop my arm through his, and walk up the boardwalk and onto the dock to wait for the ferry. I will teach Landon that magic is nothing to fear, and our children will know magic as one thing and one thing only: a gift.
My role may require me to bite my tongue and temper my tone, but there is power in it as well. And I intend to use it.
Landon points out something in the water, but my eye catches on a sign hanging above us. It’s large and colorful, proclaiming: EXPERIENCE THE WITCHERY! CALM YOUR NERVES! INCREASE YOUR HAPPINESS! DELIGHT YOUR LOVER! ALL THIS AND MORE FROM A MAGIC SO SUBTLE, YOU’LL HARDLY FEEL IT.
I stare up at the sign, at what our magic has been reduced to. I don’t feel proud that the mainland is advertising our island, I feel ill, filled with a thick, gross sludge that spreads out from my gut. My face heats and my palms sweat, and I close my eyes to stop the tears from running down my face.
“Ferry to the Witchery now boarding!” a man calls out.
“Ready for tonight?” Landon asks, a spark in his eye that wasn’t there before.
“I can’t wait.” I smile at him, but it feels forced and tight. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, and we walk onto the ferry side by side, heading to an island with a magic so subtle, we’ll hardly feel it.
Tragic.
thirty-five
Landon and I stand up on a wooden platform at the harvest celebration, holding hands, surrounded by dozens of candles flickering in the breeze and wisteria hanging from the pergola above us. Most of my coven is here to celebrate the season coming to a close, and at the end of the evening, Landon announces that we are to be wed.
It is as impactful as my mother said it would be. People cry and hug, the band breaks into a celebratory arrangement, and sparkling wine is passed around the festival in crystal goblets that reflect the moonlight.
People congratulate us over and over, and Landon holds my hand, kisses my temple, and plays the part of an enamored fiancé flawlessly.
But the twisting in my stomach has stayed with me since the ferry, and not even Ivy’s soothing tea is enough to calm it. The magic so subtle, I hardly feel it.
* * *
The next morning, Ivy is leaning against the stone wall of the perfumery when I arrive for my shift. She holds out a cup of tea and sips her own as I unlock the front door and turn on the lights.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it from her.
She nods in response, and it nags at me. Something feels off between us, but I don’t know what it is. It’s fuzzy, like I’m looking at it through clouded glass.
We head into the back room, and I set my tea down and take off my coat.
“How was dinner with the Yateses? We never got to talk about it with all the harvest celebration prep.”
“It was good,” I say, picking up my tea again. “Really good. I don’t think it could have gone any better.”
“Then why do you sound like the world has stopped turning?”
I shake my head and look down. “I don’t know.”
She watches me, and the same look of sadness I saw on my dad’s face after dinner passes across hers as well. I hate that I’m letting down the people I love most.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say, my voice too high. “I think I’m just nervous about the wedding. And Landon and I had an awkward exchange when I went to the mainland that I’m trying to untangle.”
“What about?”
I walk into the storefront and make sure everything is stocked appropriately. Then I lean against the counter and look down, remembering my conversation with Landon.
“He said he’s afraid of magic.”
“What?” Ivy asks, clearly surprised.
“He took me to a gallery with artwork of witches being tortured in a field of moonflowers, and he said everyone is afraid of the things they don’t understand.” I see my mother walking down Main Street, so I head into the back room with Ivy and shut the door. “The worst part is that I didn’t stand up for myself. For our island. I wanted to, Ivy, I really did, but I was terrified of making a scene or saying the wrong thing. Everyone knows him there. Everyone watches.”
Ivy looks thoughtful as she takes a long sip of tea. “You’re standing up for our island by marrying him,” she says, setting her cup down and reaching for my hand. “Don’t forget that.”
I nod and swallow the lump forming in my throat. Then she suddenly lets go of my hand and walks to the other side of the worktable as if something has upset her. A heavy silence settles between us. “Hey, are we okay?” I ask.