I imagine myself in the back room of the perfumery, infusing magic into the dried flowers and herbs that make up our scents, small spells for calm, joy, excitement, confidence, assertiveness, all things our magic can summon and the mainlanders will pay for. I see myself hunched over the worn wooden island gathering lavender and sandalwood oil, lilac and wisteria. Magic swirls in my belly and rises, but I don’t let it go yet. I need more.
I go through the routine over and over, acting as if it’s just another day at the shop, as if I’m making the perfumes and candles I love, working as hard as I can to reach as much magic as possible. Magic has always felt like a natural extension of myself, something I don’t need to work at the way most others do, and I’m counting on that innate ability to help me.
The air around me vibrates with the energy the witches left here earlier, their excess magic agitating the sea, forming stronger currents that pick up speed. I widen my stance to keep my balance and take a deep breath.
This can work.
It’s going to work.
Water rises around me, sloshing in every direction, strong and cold and full of the power I so desperately need. When the water reaches my chin and I taste the salt on my lips, I begin my rush. I shoot my arms straight up to the sky and roar into the silent night, calling forth every ounce of magic I can.
My eyes are squeezed shut and my muscles are tense, magic pouring out of me like wine from a bottle. It rushes into the sea and joins the building currents, swirling around my shaking body. I give myself over to it, awed and terrified by the way it feels to have this much power moving through me.
Then all at once, it stops.
It’s so abrupt I sink into the water, as if my magic was the only thing propping me up. I thrash around and force myself to stand, choking on the salt water I swallowed. I find my footing again, then reach my arms toward the sky and start over.
I frantically call up images of being in the perfumery, reaching for the way it feels to pour magic over bright florals and the spicy scent of the earth, but it’s no use.
The currents release my body and begin to dance farther out into the sea, taking the power I need with them. The air around me stills, and the shore is unbearably calm.
I beg my magic to come back, but I can summon only a small amount, enough to make one batch of perfume, maybe two.
I can’t reach the rest of it. I’m not strong enough.
I scream into the night sky and punch my fists into the water, angrier at the sea than I was the day I nearly drowned. Tears stream down my face, and I try one more time, a futile attempt to draw more magic from my core.
But nothing comes.
It’s over.
I don’t know how long I stand in the water. Dawn is beginning to break by the time I force myself from the sea.
I’m dripping wet as I walk up the beach, and I take the long way home, wandering through open fields and wooded trails, breathing in the scents of the island I love so much.
Taking advantage of the energy left at the shoreline to produce my own rush was my only idea, and now I’m at a total loss. I don’t know what to do, if there even is anything to do. I wonder how my parents will react when they find out, what Ivy will say, if Landon will want to see me one last time.
I think it would be nice to see him again.
My house comes into view, and I take the exterior spiral staircase all the way up to our rooftop patio. I don’t bother to change out of my rushing gown. I just sink onto the couch and wrap myself in a thick wool blanket. Now seems like a good time to watch a sunrise. I have only nine more chances to watch one, after all.
The dawn is chased away by vibrant oranges and soft pinks, the rays of the sun bursting over the horizon and drenching the ocean in golden light. If this were any other day, I’d be waking now, excited to use my magic after the long night.
And suddenly, I’m angry. This magic I’ve had my whole life, that I’ve risen with the sun for each and every day, has let me down. It’s eating me from the inside, and soon it will kill me.
The ultimate betrayal.
Once the entire sky is painted blue, I go inside and peel off my damp clothing. My parents are still asleep, and I grab the sea glass from my night table and crawl into bed.
My eyelids finally get heavy, and my hands still.
Then the boy from the field comes to mind, and I sit up.
Wolfe Hawthorne. If the old coven really does exist and he really is a member, he knows dark magic. I remember the way he called the wind as if it were nothing, the way he held the moonflower with ease.
He can help me.
He has to help me. This is his fault, and though the thought of seeing him again fills me with fury, I refuse to die because of him. If dark magic can summon the wind and heal the sick, it must be able to help me rush my magic.
But as soon as I think it, I reprimand myself. That magic is forbidden, and more than that, I’m terrified of it. It goes against everything my coven stands for and everything my ancestors worked so hard to protect.
I’ve heard stories of what a life infected by dark magic looks like, the ways in which it poisons a person. When the new witches gave up that kind of magic for good, our bodies forgot how to wield it, instead acclimating to the gentle magic we practice today. Illnesses ran rampant in the old covens, and witches went mad with power. Those things all but stopped when we switched to the new order, and it was only then that our ancestors realized they never should have been practicing dark magic to begin with.
It’s pure evil, rotten the whole way through.
I can’t do it. If anyone ever found out, I’d be banished from my coven for life.
But I wouldn’t be dead.
The thought invades my mind, startling me. I shove it aside. Asking for help from Wolfe Hawthorne, a boy I don’t know and certainly don’t trust, would be an affront to every witch who sacrificed a part of themself in hopes of creating a better future.
But as I lie back down and let my eyelids close, I see the boy from the field extending his hand, offering me a moonflower that didn’t hurt to touch.
nine
When I wake up, the fresh pain of remembering the night before pierces my chest and takes my breath away. I sit up in bed and pull my knees to my body, hugging them close. My parents are downstairs, and I don’t know how to face them.
They’ll see it in my eyes, hear it in my voice. They’ll know something’s wrong.
The thought of their faces when I tell them I missed the rush is what makes the decision for me. I can’t put them through that, not unless I’ve exhausted every option to fix it.
I’m going to find Wolfe Hawthorne. And when I do, I will force him to help me.
I don’t know where to find him, but he said this was “our” island, so he must be close. I roll out of bed, get ready, and pack a bag.
When I get downstairs, my parents are both nursing cups of tea. They’re still in their pajamas, sitting on the couch together, sharing a wool blanket.
Dad yawns. “Want some tea, Tana?” he asks, moving the blanket from his lap.
“No thanks, I’m fine. Don’t get up,” I say. “I’m just going to eat a quick breakfast before heading out.”
“Where are you off to today? Everything’s closed.”
“Just for a walk,” I say. “It’s nice to have the island to myself without all the tourists.” I try to keep my voice casual, but it sounds eager and loud.
My mother looks up at me. “You okay, hon? You should probably rest after last night. I don’t want you overdoing it.”
I fight to put a smile on my face. “I’m fine. I’ll take it easy; I promise.”
“I suppose it’s okay, then. Have fun and be back before dinner.”
“I will,” I say.
I grab some fruit from the kitchen and hurry out the door before they change their minds. There’s a bite in the air, and I wrap my arms around my chest as I skip down the stairs and head toward the western edge of the island. That seems like the best place to start.
The sky is overcast, a low blanket of gray covering the Witchery. I can barely make out the shore before the water is swallowed by the clouds, and if this were any other day, it would put me at ease not to see the mainland in the distance, to pretend it’s just us here, safe to practice magic however we want.