“Oh, please,” Marlein sniffed. “It hasn’t been truly sacred since they built all that mixed-use development around it. Luxury condos cheek-to-jowl with the Grove Core. Everyone’s been cashing in.”
“Yes,aroundit,” Junee Keseberg pointed out. “And it’s been good for the city. Look at how much tax money poured in.”
“That’s not what I heard,” said Myrtle Dandridge in a conspiratorial tone. She leaned forward, lowering her voice, although everyone could still hear. “Word is the Land Trust’s up to their eyeballs in debt trying to patch up all the destabilization.And the money isn’t flowing like it used to. Remember that ridiculous crystal-spa complex they opened last year? Folded in two months. The city’s shifted. Maybe it’s time someone else stepped in to revitalize it.”
She pursed her lips. “Better Ashenvale than letting it rot on the vine. At least they’ve got deep pockets. Festivals don’t exactly pay the bills.”
“Money isn’t the point,” Ada shot back. “You don’t just hand over sacred land to some faceless venture firm with a glossy brochure and a soulless balance sheet.”
“There’ve been protests out in front of City Hall all week,” Junee said. “Big one planned the day before Beltane. I’ll be there. Maybe it won’t stop the sale, but I’d rather wave a sign than sit here while they pave over our traditions.”
“And what about the destabilization?” Lita pressed, her voice rising. “If the land’s already buckling, who in their right mind thinks it’s wise to sell?”
A murmur of reluctant agreement circled the room. Chairs scraped, knitting was stuffed into bags, and Lita’s crow gave a querulous croak as its witch finally stood. One by one, the coven filtered out, grumbling under their breath but subdued.
Goldie exhaled, sagging slightly as the noise ebbed. She reached for her purse, only to feel a presence at her side.
Tamsin bent down and pressed a cool kiss to both of Goldie’s cheeks, her perfume a whisper of citrus and clove, then held her lightly by the elbows.
“Blessings be,” Tamsin said warmly, a smile creasing her perfect face. “You look luminous, darling. How are things?”
Goldie smiled, dazzled despite herself. Tamsin wore elegance like a shawl. Her silvery hair was swept up in loose coils that never shifted, no matter how much she gestured. Her lipstick never smudged. Her voice could soothe a ghost or start a riot, depending on which the moment required.
She was also one of Bellwether’s key council members—the kind of person who could talk a bog spirit into community service and make it think the idea had been its own.
“I’m fabulous,” Goldie cooed, flicking her hand so her bangles clattered like applause.
Tamsin smiled. “Of course you are. You have that air about you; someone who lives her life to her own truth without worrying what others think. Many people attempt that, but you actuallyachieveit, darling.”
A laugh tinkled from Goldie’s throat, bright enough to hide her sudden surprise at the compliment. “Oh, Tamsin. You’re such a dear.”
“I merely speak the truth. By the way, I’m so pleased that you stepped up to take charge of our involvement in the Beltane bonfire this year.That’s exactly the spirit and leadership we need.”
“Give me a chance to wrangle an open flame, and I’m helpless to resist,” Goldie quipped, pressing a hand to her heart in mock solemnity.
Tamsin let a soft laugh tumble out, then her gaze sharpened. “Come with me for a moment to my study? I’d like to ask you a favor.”
She took Goldie’s elbow and began steering her toward a side corridor. She stopped in front of an oaken door, pushed it open, and ushered Goldie inside.
The study smelled of beeswax and orange peel, its honey-colored walls lined floor-to-ceiling with books. A massive mahogany desk dominated the center, every stack of parchment aligned as if a spirit-level had approved the spacing. Crystal paperweights, each shaped like a different phase of the moon, kept the tidy rows from drifting.
Above the desk perched Tamsin’s familiar: a downy phoenix no bigger than a dove, embers simmering at the tips of itsnew-grown feathers. It tilted its head, coal-bright eyes tracking Goldie with polite curiosity before puffing a single curl of perfumed smoke from its beak.
Tamsin crossed to the desk and lifted a slim folder sealed with a midnight-blue ribbon. She turned, holding it out between two manicured fingers like a talisman.
“Our Herald of the Solstice Flame bowed out unexpectedly,” she said. “We’re already elbows-deep in Beltane logistics and the Solstice celebration. The committee pressed me for a backup and, naturally, I thought of you.”
Goldie’s breath caught as she reached out to take the folder.Herald of the Solstice Flame.“Really?” she breathed.
“Really.” Tamsin lifted a slender wand etched with copper runes from the desk and extended it to Goldie. “You’re the perfect blend of theatrics and research. The previous Herald began the groundwork, but there’s much still to be done. Knowing your flair for both ceremony and tomes, you’ll step in seamlessly.”
Goldie’s fingertips tingled as she brushed the wand’s cool metal, etched with the lore of a thousand Solstices.
Tamsin’s eyes glinted. “And, selfishly, your job at the library is useful too. With this whole Green Holdings mess… having a Herald who can nudge open a few archive doors is icing on the cake, darling.”
She let the words settle, then added, her smile widening, “Your help with Beltane planning this year shows you’re ready for more. And Bellwether needs fresh vision at the council’s heart.”
Warmth bloomed in Goldie’s chest. “You’re serious?” she asked softly.
