Page 42 of Truly Madly Magically

My strength is wilting, though I fight for more. I hear Elizabeth say something about a group of special young people with an imperative message. Was that part of their script? Imperative again.

I can’t focus on that. I have to focus on staying upright instead. On keeping my connection to the two of them, and broadcasting them to the witches gathered here tonight. On doing what I can to protect my baby.

I’m going to beat you, you evil fuckers. I don’t care if I send that thought out into the Joywood’s consciousness. To the whole damn town.

I hope I do.

“Ellowyn.”

Zander’s voice cuts through the dark. I can feel his hand on the small of my back, like he’s holding me up. Maybe he is, but I’m not done. I shake my head at him, concentrating on the connection. Keeping my athame high above me. The pendant in my other hand pulses. Nothing else matters in this moment.

I’ve accepted that someday, I will be my coven’s downfall—but not yet.

Not tonight.

Not until I’ve given it everything I’ve got.

A few seconds later, I feel Jacob’s hand on my shoulder. There’s a little ribbon of respite. He’s trying to help.

I concentrate on that. On the small feeling of relief. On Zander holding me up.

Then on Elizabeth, because her face is hovering in front of mine.

“You’re special,” I hear Elizabeth whisper at me, and she’s the only thing I see at the moment, which feels like an epically bad sign. Then even she is fading. “Don’t forget it. You are special. It is imperative you don’t forget again, Ellowyn.”

Imperative. That damn word again.

Then, for a moment, there’s...nothing.

But I feel a kick, deep inside.

Like the baby is fighting too.

I don’t let the dark claim me. I don’t let it win.

I stand up straight, like I don’t need Jacob’s or Zander’s help at all, and I smile straight up at the Joywood like I’m giving them the middle finger. I can’t feel my hands, so maybe I am.

“Elizabeth Good and Zachariah Rivers have offered their sponsorship in the traditional fashion,” I say, letting my voice ring out so they can whisper that I’m a very confident bully too, and dressed so abominably besides. “I think we can all agree that they fit the requirements. Or do you need me to bring them back?”

I sheathe the athame, and then I fold my arms across my chest like I’ve never been healthier or felt better, and challenge the entire ruling coven to come at me.

If they dare.

12

AFTER THAT, everything is a bit of a blur. All my energy is going into staying upright. Into keeping that easy smile on my face. No one knows what’s going on inside of me—except my coven, who maintain their presence in that open channel in my head.

It’s more comforting than I want to admit.

Zander’s hand never leaves my back. Carol calls an end to the meeting—and I hope she’s furious that she didn’t manage to cut off our ascension bid at the pass. I hope Maeve Mather and her blind pigeon are incandescent with rage, but I don’t dare look any of them in the eye when it feels like my organs are boiling in acid.

We’re being surrounded in the still-overwarm community center room. People come to ask us questions, or maybe they’re just using that as an opportunity to give us quiet support. It’s not everyone. It’s not the muttering masses. It might not even be enough...but like Litha, when this town voted to let us live by a scant three votes, there’s enough. Just enough.

There’s a group of people who want change. Who want something right instead of all these years of a growing wrong too many of us have been pretending we don’t feel.

Emerson has been leading this charge since she got her memories back and refused to fade away into gratitude or whatever it is the Joywood wanted from her back then. But tonight there are people who want to compliment the job I did, and even if I was up to it, I wouldn’t know what to say to this outpouring of support.

I can barely manage a smile and a thank-you.

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