Chapter 7
Enid
Igrabbed the cloth sack off the floor and stuffed a black dress into it, along with stockings and an extra pair of boots. I didn’t own much, but I wouldn’t need a lot to survive in the Otherworld.
My hand went to the amulet around my neck, like it always did when I thought of the Otherworld, a place only those with magic could access.
It had been the perfect escape for the godwitches, a way to ensure mortals couldn’t follow them unless they were invited, which was the only way a mortal could visit the Otherworld.
I often dreamed of the Otherworld the godwitches left for centuries ago, wondered what it would be like if I found one of the burial mounds that filled our world and slipped through to the other side.
I dreamed of my mother’s face breaking into a smile when they saw me.
Dreamed of all the godwitches and demi-godwitches running to me, hugging me, asking where I’d been all this time.
But then . . . then there were also the nightmares.
The times I arrived in the Otherworld, only for no one to notice I was there.
Or, worse, to be horrified by my presence, by my magic that no one had ever appreciated.
That was what had stopped me from going all these years.
The thought that maybe I’d been left on purpose.
That it hadn’t been an accident that I’d woken up one morning completely alone.
Once I went, there would be no returning. The godwitches had ensured it was a one-way trip, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped in the Otherworld for eternity with those who hated me.
I swallowed thickly, looking out over the open wall and across my bog.
Vine grabbed the sack from my hands, tugging it across the floor of my loft and dumping it out in front of my bed.
“Vine! What has gotten into you?”
I snatched up the black dress that now lay on the floor, and Vine yanked it. Great. Now I was in a tug-of-war match with my python vine, both of us wrestling over the fabric.
“Stop it.” I pulled with all my might, and Vine finally relented, making me fly backward onto my bed.
I sat up, dress clutched in my hands. “First you wanted me to actually consider Nevan’s proposal.
Now you don’t want me to go to the Otherworld.
You’ve been going on about how lonely I am lately, how irritable I am, so I’m solving the problem. ”
Vine shook its head emphatically.
“This isn’t my first choice either.” I slid off the bed and stood, walking to the ledge of my loft and looking out over the shimmering channels and all my gardens. I loved that my little cottage had no back wall. That every day, I could wake up and the first thing I saw was the Cragh.
I’d miss it, but perhaps this was all a sign. Maybe Prince Cillian telling me I’d be exiled was the push I needed to finally join the godwitches in the Otherworld. To reunite with my mother and my siblings. And Vine would come with me, obviously. I’d never leave Vine behind.
My gaze bounced between all the patches of land spread out over the marsh, full of my creations. I’d have to abandon them, and my heart sank at the thought.
Vine shoved something into my hand. I stared at what it had just given me. A small red flower lay in the middle of my palm. I hadn’t seen this species in years. I ran a finger across the soft red petals of the marillian zaelus.
The petals curled around my fingers, gentle and soft, as if to say Hello, old friend.
They lifted to reveal sharp thorns that hid underneath and would jab anyone who tried to touch the flower.
I let out a laugh of delight at this little creation that I hadn’t seen in so long. “Where did you get this?” I asked, still in awe.
Vine slithered to a chest that sat at the end of my bed and opened it, then pulled out a leather book.
I watched as it flipped open the book and realized I’d completely forgotten about this.
Small burlap baggies were sewn to each page, each bag full of seeds.
So many seeds I’d brought with me on my journey to find a new home centuries ago.
One little baggie was labeled Marillian Zaelus.
“You planted the marillian seeds?” I held up the little flower. “Where?”
Vine pointed to a corner of the bog that I could barely see from here, a blur of cattails and reeds in the distance.
“You wanted to surprise me?”
Vine nodded, and my eyes welled with tears as I looked at the little flower.
I still remembered when I’d first made it at ten years old.
I’d been in my mother’s famous gardens, the ones people came from far and wide to see.
I’d wanted so badly to impress my mother, to make them notice me.
All their other children had come into their magic earlier in life.
I’d been the magicless one, the one Mother didn’t care for.
I’d been sitting among their daffodils when I stuck my finger in the soil and felt it for the first time: my magic. From the dirt sprouted this lovely creation. I’d been stunned, unable to believe I’d created a real, living thing.
A cry had rung out from across the path. I’d turned to see my mother appear in a swirl of green and gold magic, and their eyes widened as they ran to me, their vine-like hair flowing behind them.
I was so proud. Until they knelt to touch the plant and let out a different cry.
One of pain. The vines that hung from Mother’s head had hissed at me, the moss and leaves covering their body rustling in displeasure.
Mother snatched their finger away, blood seeping from a cut on their flawless golden skin.
It had quickly healed itself, but it hadn’t healed the fracture that one event had caused between us.
An abomination.
That was what Mother called the marillian zaelus.
I wasn’t sure how someone could look at this and think it was anything but a miracle.
I’d been so ashamed at the time, thinking something was wrong with me. But I wished I could go back and tell ten-year-old me that I wasn’t the problem.
I chewed the inside of my cheek. If I went to the Otherworld, would anything truly be different?
Here I could create without worrying what people thought.
Maybe I no longer had my endless amount of magic, but I had seeds.
All my plants carried seeds, so their species wouldn’t die out.
If everyone shamed me like they had before, then what would it matter if I got all my magic back in the Otherworld?
Then again, I was surely going to be exiled from this place after that run-in with Nevan.
Vine closed my hand around the little flower, and I squeezed my eyes shut, reveling in the feel of the soft petals against my skin.
“Hi!” a voice chirped, and I jumped, eyes shooting open to see a little girl with short black braids standing in front of me, staring.
“Fiona.” I put a hand to my heart. “How many times have I told you that you can’t just enter someone’s house without knocking?”
She tugged on one of her braids. “But if I knocked, you wouldn’t answer.”
“Exactly.”
“I wanted to say hi!” She skipped forward and plopped onto my bed. “Also I have another theory about why your skin is green.”
She’d asked when we first met two years ago, and I’d told her it was none of her business. Since then, she’d come up with about a hundred different theories.
I raised a brow.
“You ate too much broccoli as a child.”
“Sure.”
She stuck out her bottom lip. “That’s what you say every time.”
“If you don’t leave, I’ll turn you into a cactus.”
She giggled like she always did when I threatened her, her chestnut brown cheeks aglow with pink. “You’re so funny. You can’t do that.”
I could, actually. But it would be a terrible waste of my magic.
Turning a human into a plant drained my magic much, much faster than growing something new.
I glanced down at my amulet once again, hating how much I seemed to be doing that these days.
Constantly checking to see if the liquid had drained any more.
“Why are you here?” I stuffed the black dress back into the sack, and this time Vine didn’t try to stop me. “I’m busy.”
Fiona hopped off the bed and trailed after me. “You’re always busy.”
Yet she never seemed to get the hint. Fiona was the only person in Fairwitch who didn’t hate me. It was a pity she likely wasn’t old enough to cast a vote in my favor.
“I just wanted to make sure you’d be here,” she said.
“Why?” I shot her a suspicious look.
She twined her hands behind her back, refusing to look at me. “Just because.”
Something was going on, but I couldn’t figure out what. “Fiona.” I approached the little girl, who backed up toward the wooden railing that overlooked the first level. She was looking anywhere except at me. “What did you mean by that? Why would I need to be here?”
“No reason.” She gave a very unconvincing shrug.
Vine wrapped around my wrist and whirled me around to face the ledge of the room. “Vine,” I whispered. “She’s up to something, and you just interrupted my interrogation.”
It jabbed at something in the distance.
“What?” I asked, annoyed by Vine and Fiona and all the other interruptions.
I stalked to edge of my room and squinted in the direction Vine was pointing.
Oh, godwitches be. Humans. I hadn’t had any humans crawling around these parts in years—and the last time humans came to my bog, they’d killed a bush that ate its victims. They’d set the poor thing on fire. I narrowed my gaze at them.
“I have to go, Fiona,” I said over my shoulder. “But we will finish this conversation later.”
“No, you can’t go!” She ran to me, grabbing the end of my black robe and pulling on it.
“Stop that,” I said, nodding at Vine, who gently pried Fiona’s hand from my robe.
“But I promised him I’d keep you here.”
That stopped me momentarily. “Promised who?”
Vine pushed me toward the ladder hanging from my bedroom, and I stumbled forward, swinging myself down onto it.
Fiona swallowed thickly.
“Like I said, we will finish this conversation later, and I will find out who put you up to this.”
For now, I had some pesky mortals to deal with.