Page 79 of Truly Madly Magically

You are special. I hear Elizabeth’s voice in my head. I remember how she told me that, and so fiercely. She believes it. And look, maybe the whole half-human thing worked out in my favor for once, because here I am, alive and well. I even get why Zander doesn’t want me going around thinking I’m weak when his mother couldn’t fight off the very same poison I’ve survived twice now.

It’s still just a kind of luck. Nothing to do with me.

I think better of saying this out loud, and not because I suspect I can’t. I’m sure I can.

I’m even more sure that Rebekah won’t like it.

In the tea shop, Rebekah sweeps over to a little corner table with her mug and book, the cupcake polished off and all remnants magicked into the trash can. I unlock my front door and do some accounting while waiting for the first customers to come in.

Because this is my life. My real life. I’m a business owner. I’ll be a mother in a few months. I’m the link that makes a blended family, with my sisters on one side and Tanith on the other, and they all need different kinds of attention from me. Maybe, if Emerson pulls off one of her patented miracles, I’ll even be the weak link in the most powerful coven in the world. That’s a full existence right there. I don’t need my past with Zander messing that up.

I swallow at the weird lump in my throat, because I can’t help thinking... If we’re really and truly adults—despite the vase I threw at his head today—and if there are important things we have to face and deal with, and we managed to do that, could we do the same with each other?

Could we really be different this time around?

That kind of thought has fangs, and I should know better.

Before I can face the fact that I’m offering my throat to the worst vampire of them all, hope, that horrible toll rings out. Inside me. Outside. Everywhere.

I slap my hands over my ears. Rebekah does the same as the store, the building, maybe the whole world, seem to shake around us.

“Come before me, Joywood and Riverwood,” commands the Undine. “The first trial commences.”

20

I CHECK MY hide-the-baby glamour as Rebekah and I hurry to get down to the riverfront, rather than feel that strange pulling sensation the Undine sent out last time.

“I hope this Undine is planning on paying me for time lost,” I mutter, locking my shop up as we step out onto the sidewalk.

“I didn’t expect middle of the day trials, that’s for sure,” Rebekah agrees as we start down Main at a good pace. “Aren’t we supposed to be witches? Whatever happened to blood rituals in dark forests beneath a sullen night sky? Or bubbling cauldrons and children getting eaten in gingerbread houses?”

“Disney,” I say.

We look at each other and laugh like we’re fifteen again.

Just for a breath or two.

After a few moments, we see Emerson and Jacob are walking down the street toward us, holding hands as Emerson inspects the Apple Extravaganza boughs on the streetlamps, no doubt already planning the upcoming switch over to Samhain/Halloween cornstalks. Georgie wanders along behind them as if distracted by voices in her head, shiny lights, or the book she’s clutching to her chest like a security blanket. The ghosts are with them.

Emerson’s smile is broad and bright, but that Confluence Warrior deep inside is a little on edge, I’d say. Maybe that’s why she’s allowing Jacob the uncharacteristic PDA when usually, she’s about as private as you can get without locking yourself away.

“Long time no see,” I murmur in Elizabeth’s direction when she wafts up next to me.

“You seemed occupied last night, child.”

I choose not to answer her, and if I’m not mistaken, her ghostly mouth curves.

By the time we make it to the grassy riverbank, no one is saying much of anything. Frost and Zander make their way up from the ferry dock, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees the way the crowd parts for them, muttering following along as they walk.

The crowd isn’t as big as it was the other night, but the Undine did say something about a broadcast. I guess no one needs to be here in person unless they’re us...or have a burning desire to watch the Joywood crush us in real time.

I assume that’s the reason most of the people I recognize are standing here near the statue today. It’s like a witch cage match.

Emerson marches right up to the dais, so we all follow. Zander falls into place beside me so easily, it almost feels choreographed.

Or just right.

Long time no see, he says in my head, as he slides his arm around my waist. He speaks where only I can hear him, and feel him, everywhere. He uses the same words I said to Elizabeth, but that feels less like synchronicity and more like weird ghost echoes.

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