Page 83 of Truly Madly Magically

I know the signs.

Carol looks absolutely incandescent with rage, but she isn’t the one who speaks. Surprise, surprise, it’s Maeve again.

“You don’t expect people to trust the man who’s impregnated a human,” she asks, pretending to mutter beneath her breath, but each word carries. Enough that a shocked murmur goes through the crowd.

Just in case people weren’t staring at me before.

“Enough.” The Undine’s scolding tones ring out so loud even the Joywood wince. Maeve’s wretched pigeon ducks back into her panda purse. “You have asked your three questions, Joywood coven. You may not ask another. Riverwood, your last question.”

It has to be Zander. His gaze cuts to mine. He looks fierce and beautiful, and I feel the force of his fury even though I know he’s not directing it at me. I want to reach out to him, but something holds me perfectly still on my seat.

Zander’s gaze turns to the Joywood. “You speak of safety and concern. You belittle us. Question us. You tear us down. You try to change the course of our lives, and you end others. What have you built? For St. Cyprian? For the witching world? What have you done for us?”

There’s a whole lot of huffing and puffing from the Joywood contingent. It’s Festus who rises to speak in response, glaring at his fellow Guardian as if Zander took a swing at him. “We have kept the witching world on the right course by making sure we are safe from the likes of immortals and half witches and weakling—”

He’s cut off, and I get the sense it’s from Carol, who’s frowning deeply and disapprovingly. Because Festus’s outburst looks a little desperate. It almost, almost proves Zander’s point.

Is it enough?

“The questions have been asked,” the Undine tolls. “The answers have been given. All who wish to may know what was said here, truths only, and let it inform their decision come Samhain. You are released, witches. Until the next trial.”

Once again, she is nothing but a statue. In the back of the crowd, the bewildered-looking tourists clap.

The witches in the crowd begin to drift off. Mom makes a production of standing, then marching over to us along with a few other people we already know support us. A handful of people trudge over to the Joywood too.

It looks like the same lines we drew at Litha.

Still, I notice Susan Martingale, famous for confronting Emerson about the state of the flower boxes along Main Street every spring, look over at us with a question in her eyes. It makes me wonder if we might have started to turn the tide.

Emerson’s wide grin tells me she thinks so.

Mom squeezes my arm as I climb down off the dais. Then she does the same to Zander. We both look at her like she’s lost her mind.

“Good job, kids,” she whispers.

I look back at the Undine. The light’s still out. She’s nothing but stone as the clouds roll in above us. I want to feel a sense of victory, but I can’t.

Emerson, on the other hand, sees this as a win. She claps her hands together as she jumps down to stand with us. “You guys. You did so good.”

“I think you’re supposed to hate us and be mad you didn’t get the spotlight to yourself, evil narcissist that you are,” Zander returns lazily.

Emerson laughs and pulls us into a swaying hug before quickly releasing us. “That was amazing. Now, back to work, Riverwood. We’ll celebrate over dinner.”

Then she’s marching off toward town and the bookstore and the last day of her Apple Extravaganza. Jacob trails after her. Georgie, I see, has found that boyfriend of hers I keep forgetting about.

“Do we think that Sage is good enough—” I begin in an undertone.

“No,” Tanith replies at once, before I finish the question.

Then, before I can sidestep it, think to stop it, do literally anything, Zander drops a kiss to my mouth. Quick and casual. In front of everyone.

“See you later,” he says as if that’s the most normal thing in the world.

Then he walks off toward the ferry again, Frost with him, while Coronis, Nicholas’s ancient raven familiar, and Storm fly in lazy circles above.

I stand, frozen in what I would love to tell you is pure fury, all-consuming rage, call it what you want. But it’s none of those things.

Not even when he looks over his shoulder and smirks at me, which he knows I hate.

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