“What are we doing out here, Tana?” Ivy asks. Her voice is wary, but I know I can make her understand.
My hands are in my pockets, and when I pull them out, several petals from the moonflower I forgot about are in my palm, remnants from when I gave Wolfe the memory keeper. “See these?” I say, holding them out to Ivy. “These are petals from a moonflower, but I’m able to touch them. They aren’t hurting me; why aren’t they hurting?” I walk over to a fern and brush my fingers against the rough leaves, close my eyes until the magic inside me recognizes the energy of the plant. It flows to me freely, and I gently take it and tuck it in the dirt close by, whispering the words I used with Wolfe on the beach. Another fern sprouts.
“How could this be dangerous? Isn’t this the most natural expression of magic—working with the Earth instead of harming it?”
Ivy’s hand drifts to her mouth, and she takes a step away from me. Her eyes are wild, and she stares at the fern before her. “You used dark magic.” The words are so quiet, and she says them as if they’re a terminal diagnosis, as if she’s preparing herself to lose me. It was one thing when she thought Wolfe had used dark magic to save me; it’s another thing entirely to know that I’ve used it, too.
I take a step closer to her. “Don’t you see? There’s nothing evil about it. Even the way I reach him is beautiful: I say his name at midnight, and if he hears it, he comes.”
“That isn’t the point, Tana. Of course there’s nothing evil about bringing another fern into existence or saying a name at midnight. But the magic that created that fern and enables you to contact Wolfe is the same magic that heals what should not be healed and summons spirits and plays the role of God.” Her voice shakes, red-hot fury pouring from her. “It is evil, and our ancestors realized that as soon as they gave it up. It poisons you from the inside out. Why do you think we’ve been able to sustain the new order for so long? It’s because we know now that dark magic is rotten. If you think it won’t eat you alive, you’re a fool.” Ivy practically spits the words. “This is the same magic that got our ancestors killed, Tana. If you need a reminder, I’m happy to walk you down to the docks right now so you can stare at the charred planks until you remember that the kind of magic you just displayed almost eradicated us entirely. How have you lost sight of that?”
She glares at me, and I don’t know what to say. She’s right, but I can’t make myself believe it the way I used to. It’s heartbreaking to realize I’m doubting things I’ve never before doubted. I want to believe in our magic. And I do.
But I also believe in the magic I practiced with Wolfe.
I feel as if I’m on my knees, crying out to God about the beauty of the devil.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
“It’s him,” she says. “Wolfe.”
I look at the ground, at the fern that just appeared. I want to hate it, to tear it from the earth and toss it far away. I want to be appalled by what I just did, to repent and do better.
I want to be better.
“Tana,” Ivy says, my name catching on a sob. I look up and see my best friend’s eyes filled with tears for me. “Is he really worth it?”
I want to yell, scream at her that it isn’t about him. It’s about magic, about what we’re giving up to live this life. It’s about being told a flower is deadly only to realize it’s just a flower, the same as all the others. But even as I think it, Ivy’s words settle deep inside me, and I know she’s right.
He isn’t worth it.
His magic isn’t worth it.
I love my life. I love my parents and Ivy and the Witchery. I know my marriage to Landon will be fulfilling in ways I can’t even imagine. But Wolfe blew into my life like a tornado, uprooting everything. Destructive and dangerous.
I see that now.
My face falls and my eyes fill with tears. I look down at the white petals in my hand and shove them back into my pocket.
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m so sorry.”
She watches me for several breaths, and then all the anger melts away and she pulls me into her arms. I hug her back fiercely, so tight, telling myself that this is why the witches before me sacrificed so much. This is why we adhere to the new order and practice low magic.
Ivy is everything to me. I would marry Landon and move across the Passage even if it only protected her, not this entire coven, this whole island.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, pulling away and wiping my eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You wanted something that was yours,” she says simply.
I nod. Maybe that is all it was—wanting something solely my own before I bind myself to my coven and marry the man my parents chose for me.
When she puts it like that, it sounds understandable. Reasonable, even.
We walk inside and back up the stairs, and I close my bedroom door behind us. We finish the popcorn and laugh and talk, and I marvel at how easily we fall back into this. Nothing, not even dark magic, can pull us apart.
But while Ivy sleeps soundly beside me, my mind races. It cannot find a place of rest.
“Mortana?”
I lift my head. It sounds like someone is whispering my name. I listen intently, but all I hear is Ivy’s even breathing.
I lie back down and close my eyes.
“Mortana?”
My eyes snap open, and I squint into the darkness. There is only one person who uses my full name. When I hear it a third time, I understand what’s happening: Wolfe is using his magic, inviting me to the beach.
I lay my head down and force my eyes shut, but even as I do, hot anger blooms in my chest and rises up my neck. My eyes burn, and it hurts to swallow.
He isn’t worth it, and I hate that he has put me in this situation, made me question all the things I love.
He says my name one last time before giving up.
Good. I hope he never says my name again.
As soon as I think it, a tear slips down my cheek and drops onto my pillow. I wipe it away, take a deep breath, and try to find sleep.
nineteen
Seven nights. For seven nights, Wolfe tries to reach me, whispering my name on the wind at midnight, beckoning me to the western shore. And every whisper kindles the fire of anger inside me, spreading it through my chest and into my arms, up my neck and over my skin.
All-consuming.
When he says my name tonight, I’m ready. I sneak out of the house and down the empty street, dodging the golden glow of the lanterns above me. I don’t stop running until I reach the edge of the island, where Wolfe’s back is bathed in moonlight.
It’s almost a full moon again.
“What do you want?” I say the words before he even turns around, letting my anger sharpen them.
He twists to face me.
“I want you to stop telling your friends about me.”
I stop walking. “Excuse me?”
“There are wind chimes at my home, and their only purpose is to sound when we’re in danger of being found out. They went off last week for the first time in years.”
“You’re spying on us?” My anger flares as I take a step toward him. I can’t believe I let myself get mixed up with someone like him.
“We can’t hear conversations. The wind chimes are magicked, and when certain words or phrases are used, they sound. We can only hear the chimes, not what was said. Regardless, they haven’t gone off in years, which leads me to believe you’re what set them off. So, once again, stop talking about me.”
Embarrassment mixes with anger, which is a terrible combination. I combust.
“I will tell every single witch on this island that you exist if you don’t leave me alone.”
“I wouldn’t have called to you if the chimes hadn’t gone off. If you want me to leave you alone, stop talking about me. Stop thinking about me. Stop making me gifts and using my magic as if it’s your destiny.”
Heat infiltrates my head and clouds my mind, making it hard to think. “I have a destiny, and it has nothing to do with your magic.”