Page 120 of Big Little Spells

We have so much on our side.

All they have is spite.

“Look at what you’ve done,” I retort as I stand. “We all heard the truth. Nicholas gave up his immortality to thwart yours. That’s powerful magic.”

“I think we can all agree that what happened here today is a problem,” Carol says, her tone much more neutral. Even if I can see the hate in her eyes. “No matter what accusations questionable immortals lay at our feet, we would never do something without thinking of the good of the whole. It’s why we have Ascension rituals after all.”

“Excellent point, Carol,” I say. Interrupting what is no doubt meant to be a diatribe that ends in her manipulating us all into doing what she wants. But Carol’s talk of Ascension reminds me of Emerson’s plans. There’s no time like the present to put them in action. “Let’s have a vote.”

“Ascension is in the fall, dear, is in the fall,” Carol all but coos at me, but she’s made the mistake of amping up her volume and drawing the attention of the crowd. Like I knew she would. “You must have gotten a little addled tonight.”

I turn to the bulk of the townsfolk, all here in the audience tonight. And I match Carol’s volume. “You’re all witnesses here tonight. You all saw what Emerson and I can do and you can decide whether we’re a danger to witchkind or not. You new graduates have been with us, in class and at events, for the past two months. And most of the rest of you have known us all our lives.” I turn back to Carol and Felicia and the rest of the nasty little Joyworms and smile. “Let’s put our pubertatum to a vote.”

“These...high school children can’t vote,” Felicia screeches. Earning a reproving look from Carol that makes me smile even wider.

That and Nicholas getting to his feet, already regaining his color.

“They’re either adult witches after passing their pubertatums or they’re not,” Ellowyn says with a smirk. “And if they’re not, why have a pubertatum at all?”

Carol looks like she’d very much like to separate Ellowyn’s head from her body. “Our job as the ruling coven is to protect witchkind. And sometimes that requires difficult decisions not everyone agrees with. Pubertatums are not up for popular vote.”

There are murmurs in the crowd. Fear shudders through me, but I shove it aside. And I keep my hand on Nicholas’s heart. Because I like to feel it beat.

“But,” Carol continues, sounding like a benevolent ruler ready to offer the peasants a crust of bread, “if you all feel strongly, I would be happy to listen to the results of a vote.” This time, she aims her smile at me. “By those who’ve passed their pubertatum, as is only fair.”

Meaning Emerson and I can’t vote. Because Carol Simon is nothing if not petty to the end.

“It will need to be anonymous,” Emerson says, sounding every inch the head of the chamber of commerce.

Before us, Carol’s mouth tightens ever so slightly. But she can’t argue. Not in front of everyone. Not after everything else that’s happened tonight. She’s trapped herself into being the democratic leader.

I think of all the students Emerson helped by leading study groups and encouraging them after failed practicums these past months. I think of the girls in bathrooms I taught little spells to so they could take a breather from the tedium of being poked at by teachers who couldn’t help them.

Even the business owners who Emerson has supported over the years. People love her. They’ll vote for her. And some will even vote for me. Because we have power, and it isn’t scary if you aren’t trying to wield it all yourself.

Something hums in me and I think, We can win this.

I say so, to Emerson.

We will win this, she replies at once.

“Very well,” Carol says, and though her voice is clearly bitter to me, I’m not sure anyone else hears it.

“We’ll need to use an impartial member to set up the voting,” Jacob says, clearly anticipating tampering. And possibly Emerson’s execution.

There’s some discussion on how to hold an impromptu vote, and I take the opportunity to turn to Nicholas.

He is holding himself very still, but it’s not his usual stillness. This is a stillness born of lingering pain. And perhaps not knowing quite how to be in a mortal body.

Nicholas takes his time meeting my gaze. “You saved my life. Against my wishes.” But he reaches up to touch the stone, wrapping his hand around mine.

I make myself smirk, though what I want to do is sob. “Did they not teach you how to say thank you in Byzantium?”

He inclines his head, something dancing in his expression. “It was the usual thing, as I recall. If you save a life, it is yours.”

“Pretty much forever, if I remember my history classes right.”

We both know he’s the only history class I’ve ever paid attention to, or ever will.

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