Page 96 of Big Little Spells

Emerson sucks in a breath and studies me. And there’s nothing for me to do but wait.

All those years of recovery. All that pain and fear, stuffed down deep. So much work to get back to a place that, in the end, requires nothing of me but vulnerability. And patience.

Nothing and everything, then.

I don’t look into the pathways I can feel opening and closing around us, keeping time with whatever my sister is thinking through. I don’t look for clues on her face. I keep my gaze on her, and I wait. I have the power to do that now.

I have come here, to her. I have trusted her with all of me, without trying to pretend—about anything. I have hidden nothing. I have made no excuses.

There’s nothing more I can do in this moment, and there’s a peace in that. A peace I never found in vortexes or red canyons, though I tried. No psychedelic vision quest or trip to Black Rock City could manage it. Just this.

Honesty. Love. Hope.

But what happens next is up to Emerson.

She blows out a breath. When she moves, it’s to come closer. She arranges herself like we used to do when we were little, legs tangled together and heads close.

And she holds my gaze. “They want to split us apart. We can’t let them.”

It isn’t forgiveness or absolution in her words. It’s pure practicality. But she leans her forehead into mine.

And I realize... I don’t need her to absolve me, I need to absolve myself. I don’t need her forgiveness either. Because I’ve never lost her love.

“I love you, Em,” I say, because I didn’t say it out loud to my grandmother enough when she was here. I can say it in my head a hundred times and reach her; I know this now. But I don’t want to wait until we’re ancient spirits to say the same to my sister.

“I love you too. I always will. No matter what.”

And there’s another thing the Joywood could never understand. These are the kind of people who magic weasels into bullying sons. They don’t have feelings the way we do. That means they’re never going to understand the kind of loyalty that comes from love instead of blind obedience.

It’s a weakness and I doubt they even know it.

“I like to think that we’re learning how to work together, even if it is in actual high school classrooms,” Emerson is saying. “Not as those disappointing Wilde sisters, but as a team. As a—”

“Coven?” I finish for her. “Not just a coven, like anyone can throw together for a big spell or whatever, but a coven you think can take the Joywood’s place?”

Her eyes get bright then. And more, sure. “I know what we can be. So do you. We’ve already saved St. Cyprian, which is more than anyone else around here can say. All these games Carol and the rest of them are forcing us to play makes it clear that we’re better for witchkind than the Joywood. Not to mention, it’s only right and fair.”

Despite myself, I find I’m caught up in her vision of what we could be. The seven of us. If we’re honest with each other.

Today, I actually believe it’s possible.

“So, what’s your agenda for this meeting?” she asks, pulling back to sit a little straighter. I can tell she’s ready to adjust the bullet points she thinks I have in my head. Bless her.

“I’m going to apologize and explain. And I think if we all go through that night together, we can make sure we don’t make the same mistakes this time.”

Emerson nods. “I think you’re right.” Then she studies me carefully, as if she doesn’t know how to ask. “Is Nicholas invited to this meeting?”

I smile, thinking of immortal feelings and all the ways that beautiful man broods. “I think this one’s just us.”

Jacob comes in from the kitchen before Emerson can say anything to that. I realize that he must have been out there doing farm things this whole time. Maybe even before I knocked on the door. “Georgie and Ellowyn are outside,” he tells us, his gaze moving over his fiancée like he’s looking for marks. “With the familiars.”

Emerson gets up and waves a hand, magicking herself into clothes and brushed hair. She drains the rest of her coffee, then straightens her shoulders. Jacob opens the front door with his own hand wave. Georgie and Ellowyn come inside, Octavius following along lazily at Georgie’s heels. Ruth is perched on the porch railing, hooting under her breath. Zander’s eagle swoops in next to her, Zander appearing not more than a second later.

Smudge makes her own entrance, like the queen she is.

They all come inside. There’s none of the usual chatter, but there’s not really the awkwardness I was expecting either. Everyone arranges themselves in the living room, and Ellowyn mutters a little spell that makes teacups appear on the table.

She hands me one. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t speak in my head. But she hands me a cup full of tea, and that says enough. Why couldn’t I see this before? These people are my family. My friends. My heart. It never mattered what I did.

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