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Evelyn had no words. “Um . . .”
The witch frowned, handing back the books to the awaiting vine. Without even looking, her magic enchanted the vine to place the books back on the shelves. Evelyn wasn’t just in the presence of a witch but a powerful one, with an earthly bronntanas tied to plants and vegetation.
Earth bronntanases were rare in Nua. During the Great Burnings, covens tied to the earth had an easier time blending in, manning farms, and raising livestock. Many of them stayed instead of fleeing to Sorin, thriving in Torren during peace.
A tinge of loss twisted in the pit of Evelyn’s stomach, witnessing a witch wield their bronntanas, the power deeper than their innate magic, with ease. Years ago, she had been so similar with her own bronntanas, her flame. Before family suppers, she’d ignite the candles from afar, burst the hearth into a roaring fire, even man the stoves as they cooked brisket. Fire, flame, heat. It had all been a part of her everyday life, being, and personality.
The witch scrunched her brows. A beat passed, and her eyes went wide. Evelyn couldn’t decide who to watch: the witch twirling through the shop in lime green rain boots or the vines awaiting further instruction.
She followed, captivated. It’d been some time since she’d been in the presence of another’s magic. Her magic danced in her blood, but her flame didn’t even flicker. A dormant reminder of why she kept her identity hidden. Evelyn’s chest tightened.
Spinning back and almost knocking Evelyn into a fig tree, the witch leaned in far too close. At her small height, her head came level with Evelyn’s chest, her neck craning fully back to glance up.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Saige,” Evelyn whispered.
“I’m Aster.”
“So . . . why books and plants?”
Aster shrugged. “Plants are the perfect company for books. Of course, they’re watching, but they keep their opinions to themselves.”
She tapped her chin and turned her attention to the shelves stacked with potted plants. Evelyn gaped as they turned toward the shop owner, leaves and flowers twisting. Her own magic danced in delight. She couldn’t deny being happy. Like called to like, the magic in her blood singing at the feel of another. Evelyn clamped her eyes shut and shook her head. She couldn’t get too excited or stay too long.
Another vine-like plant touched her arm in passing. Evelyn stopped to admire the round white flowers that glowed brighter as she stepped closer.
“Are you looking for something that’s easy maintenance or a little more exotic?” Aster asked.
“I’m not sure what I am looking for.” Evelyn clenched and flexed her fists. What she needed was to find something to buy and then to leave, but her magic warred within her. She’d missed being around other witches. The magic. The closeness. The bonds. Witches weren’t perfect. They were proud and gossiped. Yet, they were strong and loyal.
Evelyn worked a lump in her throat, ready to tell Aster she wanted a pathos, a plant she’d adored back home, nestling several onto her bookshelves, when she noticed those russet eyes studying her attire. From her boots to her cloak, they roamed over her.
“Wait,” Aster said. “You’re one of my aunt’s barmaids.”
“I—”
Aster gasped, jumping up and down. “You must be the one interested in the apartment! She came early this morning to tell me. Why didn’t you say that?”
Evelyn shook her head. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She waved her hands about. “I have a sense for things, like I have a sense you’re a witch.”
Evelyn balked, but she didn’t step back. Instead, she shifted into her indifferent scowl. “Again, you’re mistaken—”
Aster snatched her arm, inspecting her bracelet.
Icy panic shot through Evelyn, and she yanked her arm away. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her words came out like a bite, fierce and pitched.
Hurt flashed through Aster’s russet eyes, and regret replaced Evelyn’s panic. She didn’t detect any threat or malice, only pure curiosity from the fellow witch.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” Evelyn said.
Aster’s lips twitched into a small smile. “It’s okay. You’re scared. I sensed that, too.”
Evelyn teetered, eyeing Aster. Nothing felt like a threat. Nothing sat in the air. Nothing coming off the witch.
“How did you sense I was a witch?” she asked.
