Page 120 of Truly Madly Magically

“Ancestors in the past. Descendants in the future. Revelare power deep inside, be with me, guide me, show them.”

Then I let what comes to me, come.

An image appears, and I project it out to every witch in St. Cyprian and beyond. A knowledge that must have been buried in me, passed down generation to generation, until the Revelares rose again. Until me.

The first image is dark. Oily. It’s the confluence, but it takes me a minute to figure that out because the river isn’t high this time like it was earlier this year. It’s nearly dry. Scraggly river birds poke at the bones of fish long dead. I can practically smell the decay. The confluence is a ribbon of black, no sparkles of gold.

But there is gold. Magic sparks up above the confluence, where a huge castle sits on the bluff. It’s the least Midwest thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s a stark contrast to the death and desertion below.

The image moves in close, and the Joywood are clearly visible through the window—sans Happy Ambrose—eating a giant feast beneath tapestries that show all manner of witch scenes and magical creatures.

“This,” Frost says coldly, though all I see is the spell, “is what immortality looks like.”

I can feel the heat in my eyes, and I can hear it in my voice when I speak. “The Joywood’s rule brings nothing but darkness to St. Cyprian.”

I know the Joywood are shouting and arguing then, but I’m in the spell. It’s like being rolled up in cotton. If I focus on the Joywood, I’ll lose what’s next: the Riverwood’s future, which is what I want to see anyway.

So I stay in the spell, and the picture begins to fade, morph. Then it shows the same scene, but it’s bright. A sunny day with the ferries running back and forth on a full river. I see Zander and Zack piloting, and a little girl on the ferry deck.

My heart nearly stops, and I find myself zooming in on her. This little girl with my eyes and Zander’s dark hair. But there’s more—Elizabeth’s nose, Zachariah’s ears.

Zelda’s necklace and my mother’s smile.

Our daughter.

For a moment, I’m so struck by the image that I don’t know what to do. It’s like I want to live right here, stuck between the moment we’re in and the moment I’m witnessing, forever—

Then Zander’s hand is on my back. His voice is in my head.

Breathe, baby, he says.

I can hear it in his voice. He sees her too. He knows her too, as well as I do.

I suck in that breath. I want to revel in her, but we have to get there first. All of us. This isn’t about me, it’s about St. Cyprian. It’s about the confluence—that’s the question Elspeth asked, and it’s a clever one.

St. Cyprian exists because of the three rivers that flow together here and give this place its power. The health of the confluence is the health of witchkind.

I pull back, zooming the image back as best I can so we can look down the river to the place where all three meet. I feel the sigh of the crowd, or maybe it’s just in me, that low sound of deep approval. Because the confluence is gold and bright, and the magic it makes is like a song, singing into the three great rivers and out into the world.

There’s nothing special about the scene except in contrast to the dark Joywood one. This could be any average day in St. Cyprian. Isn’t that what we all want?

Not castles. Not power.

Our lives, as happy as we can make them.

I know Elspeth didn’t ask, but I zoom out farther. So that the people can see a bustling Main Street. Emerson meeting with business leaders on the stage on the green. Humans and witches alike buzzing in and out of stores.

I can still feel the heat in me when I speak, but this time, I want to bask in it. “The Riverwood’s rule is community. Family. Love. Light.”

“She lies! Isn’t it obvious she lies?” It’s Maeve losing her shit over there, which kind of makes me smile.

Because it doesn’t matter what Maeve thinks. It doesn’t even matter what I think.

It matters that I know who we are. I know what we’ll do. Even if the Joywood win this, we’ll find a way to keep fighting.

No fate is set in stone.

“Look into your hearts, witchkind,” I say, not even pretending to give Maeve the time of day. “What do you believe to be true?”

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