IT WAS SEVEN DAYS before the full moon, and Gigi’s letter was following her everywhere. And she kept steadfastly ignoring it. She’d memorized it, anyway.
When she got back from a walk to the garden, it was waiting for her on the back steps. When she got out of the shower, it was there on the counter, its edges curled from the steam like a finger beckoning her. When she opened a drawer to pull out her favorite socks, the letter was underneath. She finally had enough when she opened the sugar cannister for her tea and the letter was curled, like a scroll, inside.
“Fine!” she said aloud to the empty kitchen.
She mixed her tea and sat at the kitchen table and took a deep breath, her rib cage aching. Her shoulders were tense, the knots behind her shoulder blades sharp points of pain, physical manifestations of her stress. She rolled her neck and unrolled the letter, placing her mug on the top corner to keep it from curling back up.
“Hi Peapod,” she started to read. And damn it all if her eyes didn’t start to sting. It didn’t make sense. The words were etched into her memory, but seeing them on the page, in Gigi’s handwriting again—it was too much. Certain parts meant different things to her now than they had even days ago.
“I know how mad you can get sometimes.”
Understatement.
“God knows Revelares are too good at holding grudges, and if there’s one thing I regret, it’s not letting go of them sooner.”
She thought of her mother.
“It’s always been so easy for you to forgive, except when it comes to the people you love the most.”
Jake. Seth. Florence.
And then she got to the words that had been echoing in her head on repeat since she first read them.
“If you sacrifice yourself, Seth will be safe. When you give up who you are, you become someone new. And that means all the old debts are forgiven, the dark magic nullified. You’re a new creation. It’s a baptism of sorts, that kind of sacrifice. Just make sure you’re prepared for it.”
She reread those lines. The first time she’d opened that letter, when the paper was crisp and new, she’d gotten caught on “If you sacrifice yourself, Seth will be safe.” But it was the words that followed that caught her attention now. “Give up who you are,” Gigi had written. But what did that mean? Who was she?
She climbed through the words again.
Become someone new.
She thought of who she’d become, the place she’d allowed herself to get to, the bitterness that curled its seductive fingers toward a living death where she made everyone as miserable as she was. And she longed to be someone new. To let go. To find joy even in the face of this utter heartbreak. But how? She wasn’t strong enough.
“Give up who you are,” she thought again, holding her head in her hands and exhaling through pursed lips. Gigi hadn’t meant for Sadie to sacrifice herself by giving up her life, but by surrendering who she was. And she was many things. Bitter? Yes. Grudge holder? Gigi had been on the money about Revelares holding on to things for far too long. But more than that. She was rigid and wild, fearful and brave—and, most of all, afraid of being left behind. Alone. Because of her curse. The curse of heartbreaks. Which she’d taken on to keep her magic. And that, she realized, was who she was.
She was magic.
And that was what she had to sacrifice.
She swallowed hard, wondering why the thought of taking her own life had been easier than thinking about giving up her magic.
She remembered the look on her mother’s face when she told her she wished she’d never come back. The way Seth kept trying to make up for leaving. Time and again they’d tried to prove that they weren’t leaving. She needed to listen. Magic couldn’t be her crutch anymore.
She would sacrifice her magic for her brother’s life. But first, there were a few things she needed to do before it was gone forever.
She started to pull down the ingredients for another batch of honey vanilla chrysanthemum scones. Jake deserved to know. She couldn’t tell him, but maybe she could get Bethany to.
She spotted a bag of pecans and remembered then that Jake had never had pecan pie. Not to mention the chrysanthemum had been a little risky, and if she ground up a little coltsfoot to mix with the pecans, neither of them would ever be the wiser. It had a different effect—justice shall be done to you—but the outcome, well, they could work that out for themselves.
As the pie was baking, she opened her text thread with Raquel and felt guilty about the ten unanswered messages her friend sent. Sadie swallowed around the tightness in her throat.
You were right, she texted her.
The typing bubbles popped up instantaneously.
Duh, she wrote back. What was I right about this time?
Gigi didn’t want me to sacrifice my life. She was telling me I had to sacrifice my magic.
Holy shit, Raquel’s answer zoomed back. Sadie could just see her fingers flying over the screen. You’re going to do it?
No, I’m going to let Seth die. Yes, obviously I’m going to do it!
Rock on with your bad self.
Just wanted to say I love you and I’m sorry.
I love you too. Don’t be sorry. We all have our dark days.
Sadie put her phone away with a smile and got out Gigi’s recipe book.
Hyacinth beans were poisonous. But boiling them in two changes of water made them edible. The blast of steam pinked her cheeks as she lifted the lid on the simmering pot. Sorrow. Forgiveness. Regret. After the second boiling started, she got to work chopping onions, letting her tears stream freely down her cheeks, where they left shimmering tracks that looked like stardust. While the onions were frying in the skillet, she cut potatoes, carrots, and tomatoes, and then added them to the onions with a dash of salt and thyme. When the beans were strained, she put everything in the slow cooker and turned it on low.
As it began to simmer, she looked through the window over the sink and watched Florence and Sage in the front yard. Sage was sitting quietly by the lemon tree, its blossoms barely open, playing with what looked like a folded-up piece of paper, and Florence was watching her the way Gigi used to watch Sadie and Seth.
She’d done so many things wrong. Pushed people away so many times. She wondered if it was too late. Even if it was for her, she refused to let it be for Jake. While the beans bubbled merrily in their pot, she took the chocolate pecan pie and walked over to Rock Creek House. The air smelled of moss and sunlight, and if Sadie felt the presence following her, she pretended not to. She thought of knocking but wasn’t ready to face either Jake or Bethany. Maybe that made her a coward. But a trail of hope followed her all the way home. It tasted bright and pure like the first piece of stocking candy on Christmas morning or the sleepy thoughts you have right before you fall asleep. It was hope for Jake to find the truth; for Bethany to love herself enough not to have to lie to keep someone; for Seth’s life; for a relationship with her mother. Hope was a dangerous thing. It was flighty and sharp and wicked in the way it made you dream. But it was also a wild force, a flicker in the dark that helped you face the endless night until the world turned right again. Even if it wasn’t right in the same way. It was new. And though new could be terrifying, it could be beautiful too.
Back in the kitchen, surrounded by cookbooks and the comforting smell of hyacinth beans, Sadie started the rice, adding three tablespoons of butter and a dash of salt. She was making the salad when Seth came in.
“You’re making dinner?” he asked in surprise.
“It’s an apology dinner,” she told him. “Think it’ll work?”
“I don’t know. You’ve kind of been a pain in the ass,” he mused.
“Tell me about it,” she said, laughing. “Help me set the table?”
“What brought all this about?” he asked, taking the silverware from her.
“I’ll tell you at dinner. When Florence is here.”