Page 8 of Their Witch Bride

How can you be so sure when I’m not?

I force a bright smile onto my face. “Thank you.”

He means well. He’s the main person I turn to for advice or to vent to, but he’s never stepped foot into that ballroom. He’s never seen that look of pained disappointment on my mother’s face. And he surely hasn’t ever seen me fail as epically at magic as I do on a daily basis. When I’m in his shop, I am at my best.

The clock chimes in the clocktower and I stiffen.

He looks at me, lifting a brow. “Time to get ready?”

My hands curl into fists. “Time to get ready.”

FOUR

Tara

“I’ve got my lucky dress on, Wisp,” I say as I check myself out in the mirror. “So tonight’s going to go exactly as it’s supposed to.” I tug at the waist of my favorite blue dress and put on my black corset. My cozy, red, long-sleeved shirt peeks out on my arms and chest beneath the dress in a style that’s entirely mine.

“Lucky dress,” Wisp tells me.

“I hope so!”

There are a few other outfits I could have worn tonight, but they make me feel so stuffy and uncomfortable. I don’t want to feel on the outside what I’ll be feeling on the inside. Sacrificing my comfort to be some beauty on display isn’t my thing. If I can’t hide my true nature from my people, why not embrace it?

Plus, a lot of the pretty dresses show the scars on my back. The last thing I want on a day of celebration is for people to be talking about just how hard my mom had to discipline me, and just how little I still turned out to be. The focus should be on all the witches, not my whip marks.

“I feel pretty!” I do a little twirl in the mirror and smile as my dress ripples as I turn.

“Pretty.”

“Well thank you, Wisp. It’s a little manly though.” I have my favorite daggers attached to my belt. Witches don’t need weapons, but I like how they accent my outfits sometimes.

“Manly. Very manly.” Wisps says, dragging the words out.

“Not that manly.” I frown and put my hands on my hips and scan myself in the mirror again.

Is my mom going to be mad? A flash of cold fear rolls through me, and it’s hard to catch my breath. It’s fine. Not too much, and not too little.

Mom’s going to be mad about my magic, not the dress.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I practice taking slow, deep breaths, trying not to think about my mom. My hand goes to my pinky. Once, after embarrassing my mom at an event, she’d pulled the nail out. It’d bled something fierce. Mom usually didn’t bring the healers in after her discipline, but I guess she thought people would notice the missing fingernail, so she’d had it healed. Now, it looked the same, but it always felt different. Sometimes it hurt at random times, especially at times when I thought of my mother.

Which is silly. This is all in my head.

With my breathing calm once more, I curl my hands into fists, turn toward the bed, and check out my cache of weapons. I make swords for warriors, but I also make gorgeous pieces for myself too. I have a few smaller swords that told me they wanted to be mine to keep me safe and help me find my voice, etc. Who am I to argue with that?

“I haven’t seen Mom yet.” I sigh. The Crystal Ceremony is starting soon, and I was hoping to see her beforehand.

I don’t usually want to see my mom. I usually don’t breathe easily unless she’s gone to battle or is working with the other covens. It makes sense in some karmic way that the one time I want her here, she’s nowhere to be found.

Even just one minute of reassurance from her would make all the difference. Instead, it’ll be a surprise. Probably a bad one. Now, I have to tell myself that no matter what role I’m given in the coven, I can’t react to it. I’ll have to keep my face frozen, not showing any emotions one way or another.

“Don’t want to see mom,” Wisp says in a frightened voice, before disappearing from my left shoulder and appearing on my right shoulder.

I’m not frightened. You don’t know anything.

“Yes, I do,” I argue.

“Want to hide from mom,” Wisp whispers, in a tiny voice.

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