Sweet & Bitter Magic

by Adrienne Tooley

  Marlena looked rather dazed. Wren slowed her pace to give the girl some privacy to consider her future anew.

  “So?” Tamsin’s voice was anxious, her eyes again fixed on her sister.

  “Just give her time,” Wren said gently.

  Tamsin sighed heavily. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “I’ve got something that might cheer you up,” Wren said, though the thought of what came next gave her no joy. Her whole body ached. Her mind was tired. Her heart battered. Better to hand over the last relic of her old life when she already hurt. What was one more bruise when she was already black-and-blue?

  Tamsin looked at her curiously. “I don’t need anything from you.”

  “Actually, you do.” Resignation emboldening her, Wren pressed a finger to the ribbon around Tamsin’s neck. “We hunted the dark witch. We ended the plague. Our time together is nearly up. Now I have to give you my love.” She swallowed thickly.

  “Your love?” Tamsin looked at her with surprise. “You told me you didn’t want to love me.”

  Wren did not know whether to laugh or cry. The conversation in Tamsin’s stiflingly hot cottage felt like it had taken place years ago. So much had changed. She hesitated, chewing on her already raw lip until the metallic tang of blood spread across her tongue. Tamsin had given her an opening. To discuss her feelings freely and fully.

  For a moment Wren considered taking it. Tamsin’s face was not twisted in confusion. Instead she looked almost hopeful. But of course that was nonsense. Only hours ago, Tamsin had been standing so near it would have taken no effort at all to close the space between them. But the witch had hesitated. She did not want Wren. She could not want her.

  “My love for my father, I mean,” Wren clarified, tamping down the flutter in her chest. It might have been her imagination, but Tamsin looked disappointed. “Unless…” She trailed off, her boldness abandoning her as suddenly as it had appeared.

  “Unless what?” Tamsin prodded Wren.

  “Unless nothing,” Wren said quickly. It was too much. It was all too much. “Just take the love I promised you and be done with it.”

  “Oh.” Tamsin looked wounded.

  Wren sighed, a great melancholy sound. She hated herself for wasting their final hours together, for making Tamsin cringe. She hated herself for having spent so much time thinking about Tamsin when she should have been worrying about her father. She hated herself for always doing what she thought she ought to do instead of what she wanted. It got her nowhere, gained her nothing but sorrow.

  “You’re acting strange.” Tamsin’s voice was far away. “What’s wrong?”

  Love was a powerful and terrible creature. Wren refused to feed it. If she did not admit her feelings to herself, then she would not have to deny herself happiness.

  Again.

  Time after time Wren had kept herself from what she wanted based solely on what she thought others expected of her. She had sacrificed everything before anyone had asked, but even if that had helped them, it had destroyed her. Slowly but surely, Wren had become nothing but her sacrifices.

  “Wren.” Tamsin’s hand was on her shoulder.

  Wren stared at her desperately, wondering when she would finally allow herself to stop thinking and take what she wanted from the world.

  “I…” Wren reached for Tamsin’s hand, but the witch took a careful step back.

  “I can’t do this,” Tamsin said, her eyes mournful.

  Wren had been wrong before—she could still hurt. Her heart snapped audibly in half, sending shivers through her body. Her stomach curdled, her blood ran cold.

  “Why not?” It was less a whisper than a plea.

  “I couldn’t do that to you.” Tamsin stepped forward, her hand caressing Wren’s cheek, her skin cool against Wren’s own. Cool, but not cold. Something was different.

  “Do what?” Wren whispered into Tamsin’s palm, her heart fluttering so fast she felt dizzy. She wanted to scream that Tamsin could do anything to her and she wouldn’t mind one bit.

  “I can’t take your love for your father,” Tamsin said, running her long fingers through Wren’s tangled hair, “because that would hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

  It wasn’t what Wren had expected. She had been certain Tamsin had seen the way she stared at her, hungrily, as though she would consume the witch. She had been certain Tamsin was going to rebuff her feelings, deny her, and leave her defeated. She had not expected the air around them to still. She had not dared to dream that Tamsin would look at her with such tenderness, such trepidation. “Why?”

  “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  The absurdity hit her before the words were even out of the witch’s mouth. Wren’s tongue went sour and her stomach sloshed like the unsteady sea. “That isn’t funny, Tamsin.” The corners of her eyes burned, and she struggled to speak over the lump forming in her throat. “That isn’t funny in the slightest.” Tears soaked her cheeks, poured down her face, gliding down her chin and plummeting to the forest floor. Wren was an ugly crier, that she knew, but it didn’t matter—not now that Tamsin had decided to make a joke of her, a mockery of her very real feelings.

  Wren gasped through her fury. She had dared to hope, to think that she was different, that perhaps she could even break Tamsin’s curse the way true love always did in stories. But she’d had no right to believe herself special. She clearly hadn’t earned even a modicum of Tamsin’s respect. She wasn’t a heroine. She was a punch line. A fool.

  The journey they had taken together meant nothing. Had changed nothing. Tamsin was just as cruel as she had always been, just as cold and unfeeling. Wren wiped her eyes on her sleeve and caught an inadvertent glance at Tamsin’s face. The witch stood, stupefied.

  “What’s the matter?” Tamsin was watching with horror as Wren wept. “Did I do it… wrong?”

  “If your intention was to make me feel foolish, then you’ve certainly succeeded,” she snapped through a mouthful of salty tears.

  “What are you talking about?” Tamsin moved forward, but Wren recoiled until her back met the stiff bark of a tree.

  “You can’t love anyone. It isn’t kind to pretend you do, not when I…” She trailed off, tears still pouring down her face. She fished a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose indelicately.

  Tamsin twisted her cloak between her hands. “Look, I know how it sounds.” The witch took a step toward her. Wren pressed herself even more firmly into the bark of the tree trunk. “But I think I do, and I think…” Tamsin took a deep breath. “I think you love me, too.”

  Wren bit her already tender lip. “Do I?” She hated her cold, detached tone. This wasn’t how the moment was supposed to go. Feelings meant something. They were supposed to be expressed slowly, carefully. Tenderly. Yet Tamsin had simply plopped hers out in the open without a second thought. Reckless, as usual.

  Tamsin squinted at her. “I think you do.”

  Wren sniffed, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. “What makes you say that?”

  Tamsin glanced down at the forest floor. “Because when you’re near me, I smell lavender on your hair. When you smile, I catch a taste of honey. Your skin is warm against mine, and when you touch me, I feel more than magic.” She kicked at a pebble, her face flushing furiously. “None of that should be possible, not with my curse. I used to only be able to experience that kind of joy when I was drawing on stolen love. My reserves are empty, have been for ages, so I’m starting to wonder if, maybe, I’m drawing on yours”—Tamsin glanced up from the grass, her eyes boring hopefully into Wren’s—“because you love me.”

  Something loosened in Wren’s chest. “You feel?”

  Tamsin took a step toward her. “When I’m with you, I do.”

  Wren studied Tamsin’s eyes, the warmth that flickered in their depths. She was having difficulty breathing. Her heart hammered, louder even than the humming of the trees. But then she frowned.

  “Does that
mean you only love me because you feel love? That isn’t… I mean, I don’t want…” She trailed off, groaning with frustration at her inability to articulate. “I want you to love me because you do, not because you have to.”

  Tamsin’s eyes went wide. “That isn’t how it works. I can feel when I’ve taken the love of another, but that love has never forced me to return it. If that was how the curse worked, I’d be betrothed to half of Ladaugh by now. No.” She shook her head firmly. “I feel when I’m with you, but I love you because I do.”

  Wren swallowed thickly, the black ribbon around her neck straining against her unvoiced protests. “But I still owe you.” She pointed to her necklace. “If I don’t pay you, I’ll die.”

  Tamsin smiled hesitantly. “It’s possible that this pact isn’t very nuanced.” She laughed softly to herself. “All it required from you was love. I think you might already be paying your debt. If you love me, that is.” Her eyes suddenly went wide with horror. “Do you? Love me?” Tamsin tripped over her words, suddenly frazzled. It was the first time Wren had seen the witch anything less than composed. Her brittle shell had slipped, revealing someone hopeful and uncertain.

  It was quite a bit of pressure, all things considered. Wren wanted her answer to be perfect. But she also wanted it to be true.

  “I think so. But what if it doesn’t last forever? What if someday I stop? Will I owe you again then?” She didn’t realize she was tugging on her braid until Tamsin patiently pulled her hands away and wrapped Wren’s fingers in her own.

  “I can’t ask you for anything other than what you feel now. But that’s enough. You, now, are enough.”

  Wren tried to look away, so intense was Tamsin’s gaze. It made her nervous. There was so much she could not promise, so much she could not control. She might stop loving Tamsin someday, or perhaps Tamsin would cease loving her. They could be torn apart by the Coven. They could be ridiculed by the world.

  Or Wren could finally allow herself to be happy, however impossible that might sound. She could give in rather than give up before she’d even begun.

  “Okay.” Wren wasn’t certain if she spoke or merely nodded, but it didn’t matter. Tamsin’s eyes were on hers; their fingers were intertwined, skin delighting in contact with skin. Every inch of Wren buzzed with anticipation as Tamsin moved closer still, until there was no more space between them. Perhaps there never had been.

  It wasn’t the first time the two of them had kissed, but it was the first time they were both aware of what it was. The act itself wasn’t any different, still lips upon lips, chapped and wet and warm. But the intention was. This kiss was a question, an answer, fingers crossed, and a promise kept. It was hope. It was possibility. It was sparks across Wren’s skin and a flutter in her stomach. It was roving hands and soft touches and lingering heat. It was bark pressed against her back. It was tiny gasps, Tamsin’s mouth splitting into a smile that Wren matched with her own. Wren wanted to remember every second, wanted to be aware of every single sensation, but it was like trying to count the stars. Never before had she been so conscious of how many ways it was possible to feel. To want. To need.

  The second kiss was much of the same.

  The third was somehow even more.

  After that, Wren stopped counting.

  She focused instead on the way her skin shivered beneath the witch’s touch, how she had never before considered the neck to be a place particularly suited for kissing (oh, how foolish she had been), how tender a tongue could be. Kissing the witch gave Wren the same sensation magic did. Kissing Tamsin made Wren feel like magic too.

  “Called it.” Blue light flashed behind Wren’s closed eyelids.

  “What, Marlena?” Tamsin sounded genuinely irritated as she pulled away from Wren.

  “I thought you got lost.” Marlena pouted. “It wasn’t like I was going to keep walking to the academy myself. Now I see you were just… otherwise engaged.” She wrinkled her nose, a soft smile playing on her lips.

  “Shut up.” Tamsin sighed, running a hand through her hair. She glanced sheepishly at Wren, who was having trouble containing her gigantic grin. “Better get a move on.”

  Wren’s stomach flipped, this time for an entirely different reason. She didn’t want to reenter that echoing hall, didn’t want to stand before the Coven. She didn’t want to stay Within, especially when Tamsin couldn’t.

  Her fingers went limp. Tamsin shot Wren a curious look, but Wren plastered on a smile and forced herself to hold her hand tighter. She had given in to a want, and already she was facing the possibility it would be taken away.

  Such was the way of the world.

  “Wait.” Tamsin slowed, pulling Wren back. “Let me just…” She flicked a finger, and the ribbon around Wren’s neck floated softly to the ground. Wren bent to grab it, but it dissolved into nothingness before she could reach it. Wren glanced curiously up at Tamsin, who shrugged. “Now you don’t have to wonder. You’re free.”

  Wren opened her mouth, then clamped her lips shut, forcing them into a smile. “What about yours?”

  Tamsin touched the necklace and shrugged. “I guess I’ve grown rather fond of it.” She looked at Wren as she spoke. Wren shivered with a curious pleasure, twining her fingers through Tamsin’s again.

  The witch’s skin was warm against Wren’s own.

  TWENTY-FIVE TAMSIN

  They made it to the Wandering Woes just as the sun rose for the first time in days. All three of them were beaten, battered, and bruised—both inside and out. Hazel’s inn was the only place they felt safe enough to stop with Marlena in tow.

  Wren and Marlena made for the inn’s front door, ready to collapse, but Tamsin could not pull her eyes away from the sky. It was flooded with colors: soft blues, baby pinks, and bright glowing oranges nearly the same shade as Wren’s hair. The sight brought Tamsin to tears. She told herself it was the exhaustion. Just because she was in love didn’t mean she was soft enough to weep at colors cascading across the sky.

  But she was. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. Tamsin used her cloak, which she had taken off and slung over an arm when she’d grown too warm, to dry her face. Beside her, Wren said nothing, merely gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

  They slept through the day and most of the night, but Tamsin felt no relief. The threat of the Coven hung like a dark cloud overhead. She was haunted by the idea of facing Vera. Of having to own up to the bond—of admitting that she was the witch responsible for it all.

  When they did depart, sent off with a package of honey, cheese, and bread from a wet-eyed Hazel, Tamsin grew teary too. Marlena, as usual, did not hold back—she cried frequently and frighteningly. But without the dark magic twisting her sister’s emotions, each day Tamsin recognized Marlena a little bit more.

  Once they reached the gilded doors of the academy, the sun planted firmly in the afternoon sky, Marlena hesitated. “I don’t want to do this.”

  Neither did Tamsin. She had done as Vera had asked, had stopped the dark magic and saved her sister. But if the Coven learned that the plague was just another side effect of her five-year-old spell, Tamsin feared what they would do to her.

  She was afraid of having to let go of Wren when whatever they had was only just beginning. Too much of her was tied to the world Within. Tamsin did not know how she was going to leave it behind again.

  She turned to her sister, whose eyes were fretful, her mouth downturned. Their imaginary mirror still had cracks. Some shards had shattered completely, broken into so many pieces that the damage would never be fully repaired. But as Tamsin looked into her sister’s eyes, she saw herself. She hoped that Marlena saw herself in Tamsin, too.

  “Come on,” Tamsin said, offering a hand to her sister. “We’ll go together.”

  She pushed the front doors open with a soft whoosh, the sunlight straining to illuminate the dark marble floor. The air was thick and silent and stale. They made their way through the labyrinth of hallways without meeting a single soul.

/>   Tamsin led the way up the familiar stairs to the High Councillor’s tower, holding so tightly to Marlena’s fingers that she feared her own would lose their feeling. Wren trailed behind, the worry on her face illuminated by the flickering blue flames of the torches lining the walls. Tamsin let them into the antechamber, pausing before the door to her mother’s office. There was light coming from the crack beneath the door.

  “Enter.” Vera’s voice was tense, calling them inside before they had even knocked. Tamsin pushed open the door, Marlena and Wren at her heels. Vera looked up from the paper she was examining. Her eyes widened as she took in the faces of her daughters, both very much alive.

  In her haste to reach them, Vera’s chair clattered to the floor. Then she was upon them, her arms pulling her daughters to her chest the way she had held them when they were little girls. Only now they were nearly as tall as their mother. Still, Vera’s touch sent something warm flooding through Tamsin’s chest. Her newly working heart felt the effects of her mother’s relief.

  “The bond?” Vera pulled away from them, her eyes darting back and forth between Tamsin’s and Marlena’s identical faces.

  “Is broken,” Tamsin affirmed. She glanced at Wren, who was hovering awkwardly in the doorway. “Thanks to the Coven’s newest source.”

  Wren gave Vera an awkward half wave. Stomach twisting anxiously, Tamsin watched her mother take Wren in. She hoped Vera’s appraisal was positive.

  “And what of the plague?” Vera’s eyes had moved back to Marlena, distrust pushing its way to the forefront.

  “Not Marlena,” Tamsin interjected quickly, taking a step forward to shield her sister from her mother’s scrutiny. “It was another side effect of my spell.” She twisted the hem of her cloak nervously. “If you are to punish anyone, punish me.”

  Vera’s eyes lingered on Tamsin for a moment, and then she sighed heavily. “You always were a bit of a martyr, dear,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind Tamsin’s ear.

  Behind her, Marlena snorted. “A bit?”