6
A Witch's Tongue
The summons arrived in the form of a paper butterfly.
I found it fluttering against my bedroom window when I woke, its wings made of pale lavender paper inscribed with shimmering silver ink. When I opened the latch, it drifted inside and landed on my outstretched palm, unfolding itself into a neat square of parchment.
Darling Lizzie,
Meet me in the greenhouse after breakfast. Wear something you don't mind getting dirty. It's time for your first magic lesson.
— S
P.S. The boys won't disturb us. I've made sure of it.
My heart did a strange little flip. Selene had mentioned teaching me magic before—had seemed genuinely enthusiastic about it—but I'd assumed it was one of those things people said without meaning. Like "we should get coffee sometime" or "Ipromise I won't knot you and run away." (Okay, that last one was specific to Lucien, but the principle stood.)
I dressed carefully: a soft cotton dress that fell to my knees, easy to move in, with nothing underneath except my skin. The greenhouse was warm, Selene had said, and I didn't want to overheat. That was the only reason. Definitely not because the thought of being alone with the witch in a secluded, humid, plant-filled sanctuary made my pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with magic.
The greenhouse was attached to the manor's south wing, a sprawling glass structure that caught the morning light and scattered it into a thousand shimmering fragments. I pushed through the heavy wooden door and stepped into another world.
The air hit me first—warm and thick and alive, heavy with the scent of earth and flowers and something greener, something that tasted like growth and decay and endless cycles. Plants crowded every surface: ferns that unfurled in delicate spirals, flowers in colors I'd never seen before, vines that climbed the glass walls and draped themselves across the ceiling in lazy swags. A small tree with silver bark stood in one corner, its leaves chiming softly in a breeze I couldn't feel. Mushrooms glowed faintly blue in the shadows beneath a workbench. And everywhere, everywhere, there was the hum of magic—a low, constant thrum that vibrated in my bones.
Selene stood at the center of it all, surrounded by a circle of potted plants that seemed to lean toward her like sunflowers seeking light. She wore a simple white dress that made her dark hair and emerald eyes seem even more striking, and her feet were bare against the packed earth floor. When she saw me, her face lit up with a smile that was equal parts warmth and mischief.
"Lizzie, darling." She crossed the space between us and took my hands, her touch cool and grounding. "I'm so glad you came. I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind."
"About learning magic from a witch in a supernatural mafia manor?" I squeezed her fingers. "Never. I've been looking forward to this."
Her smile widened. "Good. Because I have a feeling you're going to be a natural."
She led me deeper into the greenhouse, past rows of herbs and flowers and things I couldn't name, until we reached a cleared space near the back. A wooden workbench dominated the area, its surface scattered with candles and crystals and small clay pots. Behind it, a wall of living vines created a backdrop of shifting green, their tendrils curling and uncurling in a rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
"First," Selene said, turning to face me, "we need to determine what kind of magic you're attuned to. Every witch has an affinity—an element or force that resonates with their soul. Fire, water, earth, air. Some are drawn to more obscure energies: shadows, storms, dreams." Her green eyes sparkled. "I suspect you're attuned to chaos."
"That feels like an insult."
"It's a compliment." She guided me to stand in the center of the cleared space, positioning my feet shoulder-width apart and my arms relaxed at my sides. "Chaos magic is wild and unpredictable and utterly delightful. It's the magic of possibility, of breaking rules and making new ones. It suits you."
I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or concerned. "What's your affinity?"
"Green magic. Living things." She gestured at the greenhouse around us. "Plants respond to me. They grow faster, stronger, more vibrant when I'm near. I can feel their roots inthe earth, their leaves reaching for the sun. It's a gentle magic, most of the time. Nurturing."
"Most of the time?"
Her smile sharpened. "Plants can be vicious when they want to be. Vines that strangle. Thorns that pierce. Flowers that poison. Gentleness is a choice, not a limitation."
I filed that information away for later examination. "So how do we figure out my affinity?"
"We experiment." She picked up a small clay pot from the workbench and placed it in my hands. Inside, a tiny seedling pushed through the dark soil, its leaves pale green and trembling. "This is a starflower seedling. Very sensitive to magical energy. I want you to hold it, close your eyes, and focus on your breathing. Don't try to do anything. Just... be."
I did as she asked. The pot was warm in my hands, the seedling fragile and impossibly alive. I closed my eyes and breathed, feeling the humid air fill my lungs, hearing the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chime of the silver tree. My mind wandered—to Lucien's amber eyes, to Azrael's phantom touches, to Darius's silk tie around my wrists. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading outward, and I felt the seedling in my handsrespond.
I opened my eyes. The starflower had grown—not much, just a centimeter or two, but its leaves were greener, stronger, reaching toward me like I was the sun.
Selene's eyebrows rose. "Interesting. You channeled your desire into growth. That's not chaos magic—that's something else entirely. Life magic, perhaps, or—" She broke off, her expression shifting to something I couldn't read. "Try again. This time, don't think about the men. Think about something that makes you angry."
I closed my eyes and searched for anger. It wasn't hard to find—there was plenty of it buried beneath the surface, old resentments and frustrations I'd never fully processed. Beingdismissed. Being underestimated. Being told I was too much, too loud, too chaotic,tooeverything. I let the anger rise, hot and sharp, and—
