“Sorry.” I force myself to be present. When you have limited time left with someone, it becomes impossible to live in the moment and treasure the days left together. The brain thinks only inbefores andafters. Now that’s a curse.
“You make me sound like a spy, Marigold, and I don’t get paid enough for that.” Silas arranges his suit jacket on the back of his chair. New England blue today. “As I was saying, I’ve spoken with folks in town, and Mr. Knight still isn’t polling well, even among the cookie-bake parents. It’s as if they’ve entirely forgotten he hosted them without a single murder. If they were wary of him before, they’re wary of him still.”
There goes any good mood I was trying to build. “But—how can a town even hate someone they only half remember?” Silas and my mom aren’t struggling to remember him right now, and we’re well outside the Manor, the Warlock far from their sight. Strange.
“While there are a few outliers with differing opinions,” Silas continues, “namely Ms. Buchanan—our efforts to reduce fear and mistrust of the Warlock in town weren’t lucrative.”
I force down a sip of coffee. “Is this how you sound on your dates? No wonder they end with biscuit dodgeball. I feel like we’re on the campaign trail.”
He points a finger at me. “Weareon the campaign trail. To ensure your Warlock doesn’t get run out of town. Oris Webb would outlaw all magic in the Holler right now if he could.”
“The Kentucky fried coven could’ve told me that in half the time.”
“The what? Never mind, don’t tell me. Did you know more than half of the town council goes to his church now? He’ll break any tie.”
“And ever since Carolina’s mother retired, there hasn’t been a single Witch on the council, either,” my mom adds.
My gut pinches at the thought of what happens if enough incensed sheeple decide they’d rather be on Webb’s good side than the side of good. “And he’s notmyWarlock,” I mutter.
Silas rolls his eyes. “Well, heisyour employer and pays your salary, which is a much-needed infusion of cash for the medical bills here.”
My mom harrumphs. “If your good looks don’t win you my job, your bluntness will.”
He leans forward. “Ladies, we are so far past the time for Southern politeness, even Dolly Parton could not sugarcoat our situation.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” my mom sighs. “I hear Webb’s sermons are getting angrier by the week.”
“What’s his deal anyway?” I ask. “Why the urgency now? The Widow Witch has been around for ages. If Webb’s actually anti-magic, he’d focus his energy there. Not on a disgruntled gardener who doesn’t step off his front porch.”
“The Warlock is an unknown to Webb, and men are threatened by what they can’t control.” Mom looks to Silas. “No offense, dear.”
“None taken,” he says, raising his mug.
“You keep Webb at a distance, you hear? He’ll come after you when you’re the new mayor. He’ll think the changing of the guard is a good time to fight you for territory.”
“I’m no stranger to difficult men, Marigold.”
Andthat’swhen I realize why the room is so stuffy, why my clothes itch, why the coffee tastes like watery beef broth, why everything feelswrong wrong wrong. Something drastic has shifted in my mom’s attitude. A tectonic-plate-level shift.
I send a glare the Warlock would be proud of right at my mom. “You’re talking like you’re already dead.”
The accusation hums between us.
No, no, and no. I will not be the only person convinced there’s a cure. Because if my mom has given up on herself… that means she’salready given up on me. As her Farewitch. As her daughter. Slimy guilt slithers into my core. We’ve used all this visiting time together to talk aboutmyproblems. Maybe I am a terrible daughter.
Mom releases a ragged breath. “You shouldn’t have to deal with any of this nonsense. I was hoping I could give you another fifteen years before I became a cranky burden.”
“You can’t think like that. And you know me—great at multitasking. Stretching my bandwidth is my other magical talent.”
“I wanted a better life for you, Honey. Less stress. More joy.”
“I’ll take that on a sticker for my thermos,” Silas murmurs.
“But we’re Farewitches!” My pulse thrums with the beginnings of panic. This doesn’t sound like the mom I know at all.
“And now look at me. I tried to be mayor, something new. And it’s nearly killed me.”
“Honey’s right. You can’t think like that,” Silas says. “Fate is funny. You might’ve gotten sick just the same, mayor or not.”
