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Because what I can never say out loud, can never think of again, is that it felt right, more natural to me than making any perfume or soap. It wrapped me up in its power and whisperedyou’re home, just like the depths of the ocean. It made me feel like I was worth something, like I was worth everything. Like all the questions I’ve ever asked about myself were finally answered.
And I don’t know how to come back from that.
That, more than anything else that has happened during this disastrous month, is what terrifies me the most. Because I will be forced to make a choice. I will be forced to look at the life I didn’t choose and weigh it against the life I dream about when the Witchery sleeps.
And if this past month has taught me anything, it’s that when it comes to Wolfe Hawthorne, I never make the right choice.
It isn’t until I’m in my bedroom changing for bed that I notice the long silver necklace Wolfe gave me still hanging from my neck, tucked beneath my dress, resting over my heart. I hold it up, rolling it around in my fingers.
And there, through the filigree, are the white petals of a moonflower.
twenty-six
My mother goes to Ivy’s house once we’ve all slept, but I’m forbidden from coming. Ivy doesn’t want to see me. I did everything I could to save her life, gave up everything, and I lost her anyway.
I’m waiting by the door when Mom walks back in. She hangs up her coat and slips off her cashmere gloves, giving me a sideways glance.
“She’s back to normal,” my mother says. “Whatever you did, it completely healed her.” She says it with no emotion, because it isn’t something to celebrate. Not to her.
“Will she ever want to see me again?”
I follow her into the kitchen, where Dad is pouring two glasses of wine. I sit at the kitchen island and wait for her to answer.
“I don’t know, Tana. She’s still torn up over it.” She takes a long pull of her wine, then gently sets the glass down. “The good news is that Ivy’s parents have agreed to keep this a secret, contingent upon several things. But before we get into that, I need to know exactly what happened last night.”
I shift in my seat, turning to face my mother. I tell her exactly what I told my dad, that the nighthawk flew up to the window almost like an offering and something in my gut took over. I wasn’t thinking, I was doing.
My dad reiterates what he said to me last night, his theory that the buildup of magic in my system could have contributed to my actions. My mom listens to him thoughtfully, her expression giving nothing away. She tilts her head to the side, looking between Dad and me.
“This can never happen again,” she says to me. “It should have never happened in the first place. New witches don’t just stumble upon dark magic, Tana. It must be learned.” She pauses, seemingly thinking of something else. “Why did you bring up the moonflower yesterday?”
Goose bumps rise along my skin, and for a moment, my mind goes blank. I don’t know what to say, so I repeat my words from the day before. “I saw a flower that looked like one,” I say. “I was just curious. Why?”
I watch her, Wolfe’s words sliding into my mind, unwelcome.I really wish your mother had told you the truth.
She shakes her head and says, “It’s nothing.”
And with those two words, I know that Wolfe was right. She knows. A sob threatens to escape my mouth, and I force it back down, fighting to keep my composure. Her expression never slips, not even a flinch, and it breaks my heart.
I don’t say anything.
“If there’s more to what happened, I’ll find out aboutit. You know I will. But for now, we need to talk about the consequences.”
I take a breath. “Tell me.”
“First, you are to take a hiatus from your magic. At the end of every day, you will pour your magic into the scraps at the shop so it doesn’t build up. You will not make any new perfumes or soaps. Your only displays of magic for the foreseeable future will be draining it at the end of every day and during the full moon.”
“Mom,” I say, her words strangling me, sucking all the air from my lungs. “Please. Please don’t take it away. My magic is everything.”
“No, sweetie, not anymore.” Her eyes are sad—at least, I think they are from what I can see through my tears.
“Second, you will remain under constant supervision by your father or me until the wedding.”
I stop breathing. “The wedding?”
“Which brings me to the third contingency. You will announce your engagement to Landon at the harvest celebration.”
“But that’s next weekend,” I say, my voice rising. “It’s too soon.”
