The next morning, Goldie awoke with a splitting headache to the sound of her phone buzzing like an angry bee on the bedside table. Bleary-eyed, she reached over and saw the caller ID: TAMSIN DONOVER. She hit the green button, switched to speaker, and sank back into the pillows, the phone heavy on her chest.
"Goldie," Tamsin's voice was gentle, but held the crisp edge of someone who had been up for hours dealing with a crisis. "I heard about what happened. My dear, I am so sorry. How are you holding up?"
Goldie let out a long, shaky breath. "I've been better," she admitted, the words flat and honest. "But I'm... okay. I think." Her fingers absently picked at the hem of her sleeve, then paused as she noticed the dirt caked under her nails.
“Do they have any leads yet?” she asked, the question a hollow formality. It had only been a handful of hours; of course they wouldn’t have any leads. Still, it was better than confessing that her veins felt overfull, that something was thrumming through her bones, making her restless, thirsty and unbearably alive.
“Not yet,” Tamsin replied, and the sigh that followed was heavy. “It’s still too early for any of that. But, Goldie… they’re postponing the Beltane celebration. I’ve already sent a note to the coven, but I thought I would call you directly. It’s truly unfortunate. I’m sorry. I know how hard you worked oneverything with the bonfire. I’m running interference at City Hall, but at the moment this leaves us with a lot of paperwork and half a dozen aldermen trying to leverage tragedy into personal gain.”
Goldie jerked upright, a wave of hangover and dread making the room tilt. “Oh, no. Really? Not Beltane? Isn’t that, like… sacrilege?”
“It certainly is, but the police have marked the Grove Core off as a crime scene,” Tamsin said, her tone shifting, becoming sharper, more pragmatic. “The whole area is off-limits, which means no bonfire, no vendors, and no ritual work until further notice. The council is scrambling to spin it as a postponement rather than a cancellation, but you and I both know how these things ripple. They’ll be making an official announcement this afternoon.”
As if summoned, her call screen exploded with a flood of notifications. Goldie glanced down, wincing at the deluge. All coven, all caps, all chaos. She groaned, swiping the messages away, and pressed her knuckles to her eyes.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“For now,” Tamsin replied, her voice sliding into that firm, practiced cadence, “we focus on what we can control. The planning committee’s meeting today—salvage what we can, pivot what we must, maybe roll pieces forward to Solstice.”
A pause. Then, gentler: “Are you able to attend? If you’re not feeling up to it, I understand.”
“No, I want to,” Goldie said quickly, grateful for the lifeline while already tallying how many hangover charms it would take to feel human. She swung her legs off the bed. “Honestly, I need to do something. Sitting around just makes me keep seeing…” Her voice faltered. “Well. You know.”
Or feeling Splice’s vines in my—nope. Not going there.
“I admire your grit, Goldie,” Tamsin said warmly. “Most people would crumble after what you’ve seen. But you… you get back up. Bellwether needs that right now.”
Goldie snorted softly. “Getting back up is mostly spite and hangover charms, but I’ll take the compliment.”
“Spite counts as grit in my book,” Tamsin replied, a smile audible in her voice.
“Thanks,” Goldie said softly.
They exchanged goodbyes and ended the call. This felt like progress. Something productive—doing more than just reliving the shock of death or the ache of desire she hadn’t had time to process.
The phone slipped into Goldie’s lap and buzzed again. She glanced down.
Nell Townsend-Samora
Hi babe. I’m going to work and you’d better not be. I know there’s something you’re not saying, but you don’t have to until you’re ready. Just know I love you and I’m worried, and not just because dead bodies are ick. I’ll try to get home early tonight. Let me know if you need some liquid courage, or just courage, or just me. Love you.
Goldie sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips.Of courseNell had seen straight through her carefully constructed sparkle. Trust Nell to be both blunt and gentle in the same breath.
Her gaze drifted to the balcony. Outside, a vine, vivid and red as garnet, had started creeping up the sill. It hadn't been there yesterday. She watched, breath catching, as a bloom at its tip unfurled slowly and deliberately, turning its petals toward her as if she were the sun.
Maeve, curled nearby in a sunbeam, let loose a low, guttural hiss.
Goldie stared for a long moment, the unsettling beauty of it sending a chill down her spine. Then, with a decisive snap, she pulled the curtain closed.
Bellwether Civic Hall loomed ahead,a monument to simmering tensions. The chaotic swarm of protestors had been pared down to a grim picket line corralled behind glowing police wards on the far side of the street.
Goldie took a long breath. The hangover charms she’d thrown together that morning dulled her headache but did nothing for the frantic edge jangling her nerves. She felt scraped raw, like her skin had been turned inside out. But she’d be damned if she let it show.
Today, her armor was a sleeveless emerald-green romper, paired with a dramatic black shawl embroidered with silver moons. The ensemble declared power and poise, even if her insides were still a tangle of wine-soaked regret, shame, and the echo of vines curling through her dreams.
She pushed through the heavy oak doors, leaving the muffled chants and police wards behind. Inside, Civic Hall breathed its own brand of order. The hush was thick and bureaucratic. Goldie smoothed her shawl, spine tall, and let the air of calm sink into her skin. Subdued was better. Subdued, she could manage. She followed the signs to the council chamber, took one final, steadying breath to plaster on a serene smile, and walked through the door.
Then, immediately regretted it.
