Page 81 of Truly Madly Magically

“The rules are that your coven gets to choose who answers,” Elizabeth tells me. “Just because Carol directed her question at Emerson doesn’t mean she is required to answer. It should be you, who cannot lie. That sends a message.”

I blink once, taken aback. Then, without thinking it through, my gaze darts to Zander. He’s still holding on to Emerson. He looks at me and nods. A nonverbal go ahead.

But...

I should answer it. I can’t believe I actually put that out there to my coven. Public speaking isn’t my thing for a lot of reasons, but Emerson certainly can’t get up there and defend herself. It can’t be her sister or her cousin or her best friend. It can’t be her fiancé. All of those relationships that in my mind undercut any accusations anyone might throw at her are what the Joywood will use to make her look suspicious.

Elizabeth is right. It should be me.

I should answer, I say more firmly this time. Everyone in this audience knows I can’t lie. Besides, Carol wants Emerson to answer, and I think we can all agree that we don’t want to give Carol what she wants.

Everyone looks at one another. Then slowly, every single member of my coven gives me a nod.

So I have no choice but to stand and watch the Joywood’s expressions harden when I do. Ever so slightly, but they all do it. You’d have to know where to look, maybe—at Maeve’s pinched lips, or Carol’s clenched fist, or the deep line across Felicia Ipswitch’s forehead.

Point one for me and Elizabeth.

I face the crowd, because that’s who these answers are for. The people who are going to choose who leads come Samhain, not the ruling coven who have hated me since before my birth. My hands threaten to shake, but like every time I was forced to give a speech in high school, I find my mother in the crowd. Her gaze meets mine.

I can never disappoint my mother, no matter what I do. Her violet gaze is all love, and I know this is what has gotten me this far. Knowing she loves me, and she will think I’m amazing no matter what I do.

I vow then and there to be that for my daughter.

In order to do that, I need to survive. That means I have to play this game.

“I’ve heard what some of you like to say about Emerson,” I begin, and my voice is strong. Because this is about what’s right, and there’s nothing hard about speaking this truth. “In whispers and behind hidden hands. Loudly and proudly when she’s in earshot, but not to her face, right? You fancy yourselves so polite, almost friendly, keeping it behind her back.”

There are some uncomfortable shifts in chairs in the audience. I don’t smirk, though I want to.

“Emerson Wilde has been a champion for all of you,” I continue. “All of you sitting here—including the Joywood, who stripped her of her magical memories improperly ten years ago—have watched Emerson dedicate her entire life to this town and the people in it, magic or no. Maybe the world doesn’t know that, but St. Cyprian does. Maybe you don’t like the fact that she’s confident, that she isn’t afraid to call people out, that she has a plan and sees it through.” I’m warming to this now. I let my voice ring out like its own bell. “Maybe that’s a little confronting for those of you who’d rather hide behind your hands and tear down things rather than build them up. Maybe it’s a bit confusing for those of you who have been taught that in order for a woman to be powerful, she has to be demure and accommodating. That a woman can’t be too much, heaven forbid. Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe you were taught that confidence in a woman is all wrong, and you never thought to ask who that benefits. I’ll tell you—not women.”

I don’t dare glance back at Emerson. This is way more honest than I want to be with anyone alone, much less in front of a crowd. But the truth is the truth.

Emerson doesn’t deserve the hate she gets around here. She never did.

“Emerson Wilde loves this town, and she will fight harder than anyone for who and what she loves,” I continue, letting my gaze drift from one familiar face to another in the crowd, noting who looks away and who doesn’t. “She proved it every day she tried to improve this town without the magic that was her right and her due. She proved it when she dove into the confluence and beat back a flood with the magic she was told she didn’t have.”

I let that settle, then go in for the kill. “No one will ever like their leader one hundred percent of the time. A leader’s function isn’t to be liked. It’s to be honest, and honorable, and true. Dedicated to the best possible outcome for all of us, and that is Emerson Wilde in a nutshell. So, Carol, that is how we justify being part of Emerson’s coven, and thanks to her, this bid for ascension.” I look at the Undine. “Thank you.”

Her eyes glow back at me, terrifying to behold. I can’t look away. “The next question is yours.” I try to move back to my seat, but I’m held in place. “You must ask the next question. Now.”

Now? Like there’s some kind of time limit? What should I ask?

There are too many competing voices in my head, drowned out by the Undine’s loud countdown. Five, four, three—

“Have any of you engaged in black magic?” I blurt out. Because we know they do. Why not ask them here, where they have to tell us?

Felix Sewell, the Joywood’s Healer, stands immediately. His voice booms out, almost shaking with sincerity. But my mother has always sniffed dismissively when his name is mentioned and made sure we saw other Healers for our witchy needs.

“I can honestly and with conviction say, I have never in all my life partaken of any magic I knew to be anything but good and pure, not black.” He nearly sputters, such is the force of his indignation. “The temerity of these upstarts to accuse us of such a thing is despicable.”

He said I. So he just means him, Rebekah says.

Jacob sounds pissed, a new sound from our calm, steady Healer. They’re evading the question.

Should we point that out? Emerson asks.

“No,” Elizabeth says. Like she can hear our coven’s inner workings, although that shouldn’t be possible. When I give her a quizzical look, she shrugs. “Blood is a funny thing.”

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