Page 116 of Truly Madly Magically

“Do you hear me?” I demand, ignoring my coven. I feel bad about it, but I can’t think beyond getting Sadie out of here. Nothing else matters. “Switch us out. Mute me. I don’t care. I won’t let you hurt my sister.”

“Such dedication to a human,” Maeve murmurs slyly.

Making sure that said sly murmur echoes in all of our heads.

“My sister, you monster.” I look out at the crowd. “Just remember, they’re all monsters. I can call them that without a problem.”

That sends a kind of electricity through the audience.

Carol rolls her eyes and sighs deeply. “Honestly, Ellowyn, it’s painful that you’re so determined to continue with that self-serving fiction of yours.”

They’re trying to take away your ability to tell the truth, Emerson says.

I know. But it doesn’t matter. They’re already undermining it, and likely have convinced some of the audience we were off lifting a curse I’ve suffered under the weight of since I was fourteen—like it’d be that easy.

As long as it gets Sadie out of here, I don’t care what they say about me. What truths they take away. Besides, if I’m muted—what does it matter if I can tell the truth or not?

I look at Zander. His eyes glow silver, and pain radiates off him, easy to see for anyone who knows how and where to look. He doesn’t tell me not to do what I’m doing. He doesn’t shake his head.

He’s with me, whatever I choose.

“If you insist,” Carol continues merrily, because this is what she wanted. Me in the proverbial stocks. I feel their terrible magic slither over me, and just like that, Sadie is gone—gone and I don’t know where—and I’m in her place.

My ankles and wrists are bound, and I can feel the muting hex, deep and tight within me, constricting even the thought of words. Sadie is gone, and I can’t have that. I look out at the crowd until I find my mother, who looks predictably furious. I know she would storm the stage for me. I know she would run straight at Carol without a second thought.

But that’s not what I need.

I can’t speak to her, not even in our heads with the hex in place.

Yet Tanith nods at me. She knows. She disappears, off to make sure Sadie’s okay, home and safe.

Because Sadie means something to me, and I mean everything to Tanith.

I collect all these things, trussed up and rendered silent on this stage. These lessons.

My mother’s love for me, even though dealing with my father’s other family is the last thing she wants to do, ever. The way Ruth flies after my mother, an added protection to my family. The way Zachariah saved Zander, at great cost to himself, likely not knowing that we could send him back to recover. Elizabeth protecting my baby, tucked up around her inside of me.

Zelda’s necklace, Zack’s quiet presence.

Friendship and love, sacrifice and hope.

The Joywood have none of these things.

They have only their intimidation and hexes and black blood magic. There’s no love—Carol herself used her son as some sort of minion, and was happy enough to make us all forget him when she thought he was dead. They are selfish and self-absorbed, cruel and demeaning to all, no matter how they wrap it up and pretend otherwise. They have always been power-hungry, though tonight I think they seem desperate too.

I look out at the crowd. Some eyes are hot with anger and blame. Some people hate me, clearly. As they always have, but some other people’s expressions are full of concern. Of worry. I see my coven’s familiars, eyes glowing out beyond the crowd, waiting to help. To give what they can.

I have to take comfort in the fact that it’s Emerson’s turn now. I don’t let myself doubt. As I told Maeve not all that long ago, underestimating Emerson Wilde never ends well for anyone.

“The Joywood have taken away one of our voices. It’s what they do best, isn’t it?” Emerson is vibrant with rage, and does not hide it well, but maybe that’s a good thing. We’re not calcified into our cruelty, like they are. We care. For better or worse, we still care. “They’ve taken away most of your voices too. I have to ask myself, what are they so afraid of that they don’t want to let us speak?”

Almost immediately, a murmur goes through the crowd. Like Carol lifted the muting—but again, just for some. Because mouths move and no sounds come out, which makes people more agitated.

Until Gus Howe, an antiques dealer, obnoxious Praeceptor, and biggest Joywood supporter, gets a sentence out. “She’s right, Carol. This isn’t a good look. Let the girl talk. She might be half human, but she’s just a girl.”

If I could talk, I’d tell Gus to fuck right off, but Carol’s withering look his way does it for me. Because that’s the thing about Carol. She’s a powerful woman herself. The leader of the entire witching world—but she’ll say and do whatever she has to if it keeps a certain kind of man on her side.

The men who think any and all women are just girls.

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