Page 118 of Truly Madly Magically

She’s not following the Joywood’s plan at all.

I would hug her if my arms were free.

“We are supposed to be making clear the depth and breadth of our beliefs,” Emerson says, and she isn’t looking at or fighting with the Joywood. She’s addressing the assembled witches. The people who are going to decide.

Even the Joywood can’t change that.

“Our belief on this particular matter is simple. That poor, scared little girl didn’t kill anyone—certainly not a powerful Joywood witch. That would be unlikely even if Ellowyn helped her, which is not only forbidden by the rules of the Undine, but impossible. There’s no point debating it. Our covens’ differing beliefs on what the witching world and community should look like and be...now, that’s complicated. And it’s exactly what we need to discuss in order for witchkind to make an informed decision.”

Carol tries to speak, but nothing comes out. She must have been stopped by the Undine—the only being around who could stop her. Because the Riverwood has the floor now, so the Joywood get a little taste of their own muted medicine.

I can tell by their bulging eyes and red faces that they are not fans.

“We might have engaged in this ascension ritual for a chance to lead,” Emerson continues calmly, as if she’s noticed none of this. “But not to wield our power over you. That’s not leadership, as we understand it. Or as we have practiced it, together and separately, in all the years we have run businesses and farms here. You already know us. You know that to us, leadership is working together to form the best community we can, one that reaches and supports as many witches as possible. Not because we want to force our beliefs on witchkind, but because we want to work alongside you to flourish. Safely, honorably, and hopefully. Together.”

If my hands weren’t tied up, I think I’d applaud. I hear a smattering of clapping out in the crowd, but Emerson doesn’t stand there like she’s waiting to be adored. She nods, her statement delivered, and steps back into line with the rest of our coven.

The Undine turns to the other side of the dais. “Joywood, do you have a response?”

They do. Of course they do.

Carol looks like she’s sucking hard on a lemon, and I’m close enough to see the sheer fury in her gaze. “Emerson can speak of pie-in-the-sky honor all she wants, but everyone knows there is no honor in this group. They can’t protect themselves, and they won’t protect you. Emerson is an evil narcissist who’s never spent a second caring about anyone but her precious self. Her sister is a rootless, shiftless danger to all of our lives. Frost is a criminal—no matter how much they claim he’s reformed now that he’s not immortal. Round it out with a half-human Summoner with murderous tendencies, a subpar Healer who let too many witches die young, a brainless Guardian who let the confluence nearly kill us all, and a Historian so clueless she doesn’t even see the truth of her own past. They destroyed my son and killed our Historian. What more evidence do we need to conclude what some of us knew when they were all disappointing students? They are violent and dangerous.”

“Wait. I’m confused.” I look to my own coven to get around the Undine’s rules on who can speak and when. “Are we violent, dangerous, and a threat? Or brainless, clueless, and subpar?”

Half a life spent getting around truth curses has left me with a few tricks up my sleeve.

The debate goes back and forth like this. The Joywood issue accusations and go hard at each and every one of us. Emerson does not respond in kind. Instead, she builds worlds of what could be when we work together. She talks about hope and happiness, not personal failings and vague threats. Real joy, not the Joywood’s sick version of it.

Eventually the crowd gets restless. Maybe even confused. At a certain point, it’s all just talk, even with Happy Ambrose’s body on the ground.

Even when Emerson points out that no one liked it when there was a human girl trussed up before the crowd—so why do the Joywood want their supposed friend and coven mate to just...lie there like that? Forever?

Meanwhile, the clock is ticking down to midnight, to Samhain, to the decision that will be handed down once witchkind casts their choices. I know the Joywood have certainly backed themselves into an uncomfortable corner with some people—threats against children and pregnant women, insults against anyone with human blood, snide mentions of Zelda and the confluence that everyone knows almost drowned the town, when the Joywood helped with that not at all. All these things have undermined the power they’ve wielded for so long.

I know too well there is also a contingent here that doesn’t care what the Joywood do as long as it means nothing will change. For them. Just so long as the people who’ve promised them personal prosperity are in power, they’re good.

That means, though, that there’s a middle ground person we have to reach tonight. Emerson has been painting a picture of a future worth fighting for rather than a threat worth hiding from—but sometimes, people need specifics. The Joywood have made promises that we can’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t offer some options. When the Undine turns to us again, I speak in my coven’s heads.

My turn on this one, okay?

I can feel a little surprise from them, but Emerson nods.

I can’t move forward, what with still being tied up and all, so I have to send out my voice loudly. First, I drop the glamour that’s kept the truth from them.

There’s not just my tied-up pregnant belly to deal with, which I’m glad they’ve been able to see this whole time. Now I show them my eyes. Violet and sapphire.

A sign of a great power, whether they understand what it means or not—and a gasp goes through the crowd.

“The Joywood have tried to erase our pasts,” I tell them matter-of-factly. “They’ve poisoned Summoners, killed Zelda Rivers, and tried to kill part of the high school graduating class at Litha only a few months ago. Emerson, Warrior that she is, leader that she is, wants to focus on the positive, on what we can accomplish, rather than childish name-calling and middle school clique bullying. She’s right to do that, but I don’t mind telling a few hard truths.”

I let that settle in those who know I can’t lie and those who believe that we did a ritual to break that curse tonight, because either way, my eyes tell a story that’s far more compelling than my word against the Joywood’s.

I can feel those Revelare eyes shining as I continue. “This is what I know. They’ve tried to erase my kind—not just Goods, not just half witches or Summoners, but the ancient witch designation that came before Summoners and Diviners were separated. When we were one, wielding both the past and future. A Revelare.”

Something thunders in the distance, and I can swear I hear a distant crow sound. Like a sign from Elizabeth and Zachariah. That’s what I choose to believe it is.

I don’t let that sense of loss overwhelm me.

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