The sea lion swirls in the water, roaring as it goes around and around and around. The sound is awful, tearing at my insides, sending bile up my throat. I run to the railing in case I get sick, and I swear the animal looks right at me. My eyes fill with tears, and I want to tell it I’m sorry, so sorry that the currents we caused are taking its life.
Ivy rushes over to where I’m standing, grabbing my hand as if she’s afraid I might dive in.
“There’s nothing we can do,” she says. I’m leaning over the edge, as far as I can go without falling over, and Ivy gently pulls me back. We watch as the animal turns in the water, wailing into the night.
Then it’s pulled under the surface and the sound abruptly stops.
Eerie silence.
Tears stream down my face, and I take a deep breath and try to regain my composure. The currents are getting worse, eroding our island and killing our sea creatures. Hurting the things we love.
My mother says they’re under control, that the coven leaders are taking care of things, but watching a sea lion be drowned by its home is not control.
It’s failure.
I think back to that night five years ago when I almost drowned, to my father’s angry voice as he blamed it on my mother. What will he say to her tonight in the safety of their room, in whispers that can’t get past the door? Will he blame this on her as well, or were his words unfounded, brought on by the terror of almost losing his only child?
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
The boat slows as it approaches the docks on the Witchery, and Ivy and I walk inside together. She leans against the wall of the ferry, and I rest my head on her shoulder and exhale.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I assure her.
“The currents are getting worse,” she says.
“I know.” I pause and lower my voice. “Ivy, what if that had been a person? A mainlander? It’s only a matter of time before that happens, and if Landon and I aren’t married when it does—”
My mother walks over, and I cut myself off, but I don’t miss the worry in Ivy’s eyes.
“Let’s get you girls home, hm?” she says. We walk toward the exit, and she wraps an arm around each of us. “Tonight was an incredible success. Well done.”
We follow my father off the ferry, over the rickety bridge and onto the dock. The clouds are getting heavier, concealing the moon and the stars. Everything is dark.
We stop at Ivy’s house first, and I give her a tight hug before she heads inside.
“Do you really think that’s a risk?” Ivy whispers as she hugs me back. “What you said about the currents drowning a mainlander?”
“I think we’ve got time before that happens,” I say, not wanting to make her worry more than I already have. “Mom says the council has it under control.” I squeeze Ivy tight, and she nods and heads inside.
My parents are walking slowly, their arms around each other, delighting in the memories of the night. I follow behind them, the lullaby still playing in my head, punctuated by the sounds of the sea lion slipping away.
I grip Landon’s sea glass tightly in my palm, its sharp edges digging into my skin.
When we get home, my mother walks to the kitchen and pours two glasses of wine while my father lights a fire.
“Would you like to join us, Tana?” she asks.
“I’m tired,” I say.
“Of course. Get some rest, sweetheart.”
I nod and head up the stairs, the sound of my parents’ happy laughter following me as I go.
I love that sound.
My room is dark, and I set the piece of sea glass on my dresser. I don’t bother turning on the light before I unzip my dress and fill my lungs for what feels like the first time tonight. I walk into my bathroom and wash my face, pull my hair up, and brush my teeth.
I’m about to crawl into bed when a dim light outside catches my attention. I pick up the sea glass and open the window, inviting the sound of the waves into my room. I sit on the window seat and roll the glass around in my hand, watching the world outside.
My head rests against the wall as I look out into the black night. The light gets brighter and brighter, coming from the lawn, a small brilliance against the darkness. I rise up on my knees and lean my head out the window, trying to focus on the light, and that’s when I see it.
A single moonflower, hanging contentedly over the perfectly trimmed grass.
A shiver crawls up my spine.
“No,” I whisper. It isn’t possible.
I blink and look again, but it sits there as sure as the clouds in the sky and the chill in the air. A flower so lethal that a single touch of its petals can kill. And it’s illuminated by a light source I can’t find.
If they should turn…
My grip on the sea glass tightens.
come after you…
The sharp edges cut into my skin as I stare at the flower in disbelief.
your weakness will ensure your doom.
It isn’t until a trail of blood runs down my wrist that I realize I’ve cut myself. I drop the sea glass and it clatters to the floor. I rush to the bathroom and run my hand under the faucet, and when I’m cleaned up, I go back to my window.
But the light and the flower are gone.
six
I know it’s time to tell my mother about the moonflowers, but when I get downstairs the next morning, she’s already gone. A child was born last night, and it’s tradition for the highest witch to welcome a newborn into the coven with ritual blessings.
Dad has made me a sprawling breakfast of fresh fruit, eggs, scones, and cinnamon rolls, and it’s almost enough to make me forget about the white flower.
“What’s all this for?” I ask, setting the table and steeping some of Ivy’s Awaken blend tea.
“Does there have to be a reason?”
I raise my eyebrow and Dad laughs. “I won’t always get to make you elaborate breakfasts, that’s all.”
The comment makes an ache start in my chest; we’re both realizing things are about to change, that soon breakfast with my dad will no longer be a given.
“A truly unfortunate part of adulthood,” I say.
We sit down at the table, and I take the largest cinnamon roll. “How did you make them this big?”
“Magic,” he says, winking at me.
I laugh. Dad usually refrains from using magic in the kitchen—he thinks he’ll lose his edge if he does. But every once in a while, he makes an exception.
“Good call,” I say.
“You and Landon looked great last night.” He says it casually, but I know he’s bringing it up to see how I’m doing. Dad understands the importance of the path I’m walking, and he supports it, but I think he feels guilty that I don’t have much of a choice.
When he met Mom, they fell in love quickly. He said it was as if he’d been living in black and white and meeting her turned his world to color. It was passionate and exciting and right, and I know he wishes I could experience the same thing.
I want to tell him I hope for those things, hope that one day I’ll see Landon and a vibration will take over my stomach. But I don’t want Dad to think I’m unhappy, so I shove the words aside.
“Landon’s a good man,” I say instead. “I’m glad we’ve gotten to spend some time together. He’ll treat me well.” They aren’t the exact words I want to say, but I’m confident they’re true, and letting them out eases something inside me.
Dad takes a sip of his tea. “He will,” he agrees.
“He gave me a piece of sea glass last night. He said it’s important to him that the things I love still have a place in my life after we’re married.” I smile at the thought, but the memory sours when I think about the sea glass lying bloodstained on my bedroom floor. My fingers find the cut on my palm, and I wince.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Dad says, clearing his throat.
“It was a really lovely gesture.”
He nods, and I realize he doesn’t trust himself to speak without getting emotional. I’m going to miss this so much when I move to the mainland, and I suddenly find that I don’t trust myself to speak, either.
We finish our breakfast, then put our dishes in the sink and clean the kitchen together, a rhythm we have down after many mornings like this one.
“Mind if I join you on your walk to the perfumery? I’d love some fresh air,” Dad says once I’ve put the last dish away.