Chapter 42
Enid
Istood on a lily pad, moving toward a small figure hunched over my perolias and talking animatedly in the distance.
“You’re such a good little flower.” Fiona patted the perolias’s head, and my pulse spiked.
“Fiona!” I yelled. “Get away from there.”
If the perolias opened their petals and let someone see the eye hidden underneath, it would turn that person to stone. It was only temporary, but I’d never forgive myself if one of my creations hurt Fiona.
“Why?” she asked, looking up at me.
I hadn’t seen her since the day I’d yelled at her in my cottage and she’d run away crying, and I absolutely hated admitting this, but I missed the little girl. I missed her annoying questions and her nonstop chatter and the way she hummed to herself when she was reading beside me.
“Because I don’t want it to turn you to stone,” I said, exasperated.
The lily pad bumped against the piece of land, and I stepped off, boots sinking into the wet ground.
Fiona wrinkled her nose. “It’s not going to turn me to stone.” She paused. “Though it did turn my teacher to stone when she tried to chase after me one day and make me come back to school.” Fiona giggled in delight. “That was funny.” She spoke in a baby voice, ticking the perolias. “Wasn’t it?”
I dropped down beside her, mouth agape. “You’re telling me the perolias was trying to save you from your teacher?”
Fiona ran a finger over one of its petals. “Of course. We’re friends. I’m friends with most of the plants in the bog. I don’t know why everyone thinks they’re so scary. If you’re nice to them, they’ll be nice back.” She shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world.
Could that have been true? I thought back to all the instances of my creations hurting others, and almost every one I could think of was about saving me.
Nevan had said Vine loved me, and I had to have taught it that.
Maybe I’d taught all my creations to love.
To be able to love anyone who treated them the way they deserved.
“Fiona.” I cleared my throat, thinking about Harriet’s words the other day. “I’m sorry about yelling at you and hurting your feelings. I was frustrated and took it out on you. Unfairly.”
She smiled. “I know. Besides, I’m not skipping school anymore.”
“You’re not?” I asked.
She shook her head, smile growing wider, one of her front teeth missing. That was new. “I overheard you in the library at that book club meeting where you talked about how unfair the book was. Then Niamh told Aunt Harriet what you’d said at that family dinner. How you stood up for Nevan.”
I was not following. “What does any of that have to do with you going to school?”
“You were right. I’ve been avoiding school.
I hate math, and I have trouble understanding it.
These boys were making fun of me every single day, and I guess I just wanted to run away.
” She looked down at her hands in her lap.
“But you stood up for what you believed in, so I decided I could stand up to those boys.”
“What did you do?” I asked, not sure I’d ever been prouder.
“I told them it hurt my feelings when they made fun of my poor math skills. They said sorry, that they were just teasing.”
“Really?” I could feel my eyes widen. “They apologized just like that?”
She shot me a mischievous smile. “Well, I also might have told them I’m best friends with a python vine and I’d sic it on them if they ever made fun of me again.”
I burst out laughing.
“What are you doing out here?” Fiona asked.
“I was coming to see if I could possibly use the petals of the perolias to make a stronger kind of bandage, something stiff that could support broken bones.”
“So are you going to be the new healer?” Fiona asked.
“No,” I said quickly. “I don’t—that’s not—I’m not sure anyone would want me healing them.”
“That’s not true! I would.”
I bopped her on the nose, which she wrinkled in response, and I realized I wanted to tell Fiona the truth.
After I’d told Nevan two days ago, I felt braver, more sure that if he could accept me, others could too.
I leaned forward. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Fiona’s eyes shone with excitement. “Yes,” she whispered.
“And you can’t tell anyone,” I warned.
She nodded eagerly.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m a godwitch? Well, a demi-godwitch.”
“Kaladenid,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I know that already. Tell me something new.”
My mouth dropped open. I closed it, but it dropped open again.
She cocked her head. “Why are you doing that with your mouth?”
“You knew? That I’m Kaladenid, the demi-godwitch of poisonous plants.”
“Yeah, I saw your picture in a book! I asked Morton about the book, and he told me the title: Famous Demi-Godwitches. I knew you had to be magical with the way you command this bog.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought everyone knew. And that’s why you’re green!”
I laughed, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of this all. I’d tried so hard to keep my identity a secret from everyone, and a seven-year-old had figured it out—and didn’t care.
“You’re my favorite, you know,” Fiona said.
I raised a brow. “Your favorite what?”
“Godwitch!”
My heart squeezed tight, tears springing to my eyes. “I am?” I tried—and failed—to keep my voice steady.
Fiona didn’t even notice my flood of emotions, still petting the perolias. “Yeah. Your magic is unique. Different. And you were alone. Kind of like me after my parents died. Ever since we came to your bog, I’ve felt less alone, though.”
I swallowed, my throat thickening with tears. “Oh,” I managed.
“I’m glad you stayed and didn’t go with the other godwitches. I think you belong here with us.”
I let out a quiet laugh, my heart feeling impossibly tender. “Me too, Fiona. Me too.”