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“My god, Tana, where have you been?” my dad asks, hurrying over to me and pulling me into his arms. “We’ve been so worried.” He tucks my head under his chin even though I’m soaking wet, and I can’t help bursting into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, clutching my dad. “I couldn’t sleep. My mind was racing, and I thought it might help to take a walk.”
My mother hangs up the phone, and I catch her eye from against Dad’s chest. Then she sighs, heavy and loud, walks over, and wraps her arms around us, so tight. Too tight.
“What’s going on?” I ask, realizing something other than my absence woke them.
My parents exchange a look.
“It’s Ivy, honey,” my dad says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “She went out tonight to harvest and accidentally unearthed a hive. She was swarmed.”
“That sounds miserable,” I say. I’ve been stung only once; I can’t imagine how terrible she must be feeling. “We should take her some bath oils to help her rest. Can I go see her?”
“It isn’t that simple,” Dad says, and his eyes fill with tears. “Ivy is allergic to bees. She had never been stung before, so she didn’t know. It looks… it looks like she might not make it through the night.”
I step back. “What?”
“Her parents want me to be there. We should all go.” My mother’s voice is heavy, full of sadness and regret. But her face is composed, and her makeup is perfect.
“No.” I take another step back. “No. I just saw her. She’s fine,” I say, unwilling to believe what they’re telling me.
“Oh, honey, how I wish that were true.” Mom reaches out to me, but I won’t do this. I won’t grieve for my best friend, because she’s not going anywhere. She can’t. I can’t do this without her.
I inhale, steadying myself. “Take me to her.”
Ivy’s house smells like death. I don’t know how else to describe it. The air is thick and heavy and foul, as if preparing its inhabitants for what’s to come. Mrs. Eldon rushes to my mom, and they embrace.
“Oh, Rochelle,” my mom says into her hair.
Dr. Glass is standing in the corner, speaking in hushed tones to Ivy’s father. He looks over and nods at me, but they continue their conversation.
“Hi, Tana,” Mrs. Eldon says through tears. She holds a handkerchief up to her nose and wipes her face before giving me a gentle hug. “Why don’t you go see Ivy while we’re finishing up with Dr. Glass? He’s just about to leave.”
“What do you mean he’s leaving?” I ask, my voice rising. “You’re just giving up?” I yell at the doctor, not caring that I’m losing it in front of my parents and Ivy’s, not caring that I’m coming undone in this room.
“Tana,” my mother warns.
I look around, helpless. I want to scream, want to tell them that this isn’t normal, that they should be fighting harder. But I don’t say a word; I turn away and rush up the stairs. Ivy’s room is the first door on the right, and I knock even though I don’t expect an answer.
I push the door open. The air smells of sweat even though the window is open. It’s as if I can feel the heat radiating off her body from here.
I carefully walk to the bed and sit on the edge. Her chest rises and falls in shallow bursts, a high-pitched wheeze accompanying each breath. Her eyes are closed, and her arms are by her sides, hands open. Her brown skin is covered in welts, her face and neck swollen almost beyond recognition.
Oh, Ivy.
“I’m here,” I say, taking her hand. “I’m here.”
She doesn’t react to my touch or my voice. Her eyes stay closed, and her hand is limp in mine. She’s right in front of me, but I can’t accept what I’m seeing. She is my rock, my safe place, my refuge. She sees me when everyone else sees only my role. She hears my voice when everyone else hears only my name. How am I supposed to keep talking without her here?
I look around the room at the discarded medicines and healing tea by her bedside. But there is nothing we can do to truly heal her. The new order of magic forbids anything that would meaningfully change the course of someone’s life.
We can’t help her.
But the thought won’t settle in my mind long enough for me to accept it. Wecanhelp her; we’re choosing not to. If we hadn’t abandoned who we are, we would know how to save Ivy’s life with magic. But instead, we’re helpless, watching the life leave her with each shaking breath. Her body is on fire, and our coven is letting it burn.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” I say, guilt rolling through me like a flood. I should have said yes when she asked me to harvest with her, should have been there for her when the hive opened up. I imagine Ivy lying on the ground alone, her parents out for the evening, no one to help her. I imagine her terror and panic and pain, and I can’t accept this. I refuse to.
“No,” I say, my voice trembling. “I won’t let you go.”
