Page 1 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

PROLOGUE

Enid

Isat in my favorite place in the bog, pruning purple germanias that could kill a person with their poison.

Wet soil surrounded my hands, and I dug a hole for the seedlings that would grow into new, beautiful flowers. The germanias might have been deadly, but they were gorgeous to look at.

A patch of fully grown purple germanias sat next to me, their petals a stark violet that I’d always loved. If one were to try to cut them from the stem, the petals would release a toxic gas that would make the victim lose consciousness. One poor soul had ventured into my bog to try to steal my flowers, only to find themselves unconscious seconds later.

Lucky for them, they hadn’t inhaled enough of the poisonous gas to die, but unlucky for them, they’d woken up to one of my vines dragging them out of the Cragh.

They’d never returned.

I arched my neck to do a quick sweep of the bog, my gaze roaming over the murky green channels that snaked and zigzagged through patches of marshy land. The sun had barely risen over the horizon and lit everything in a golden hue that slashed through the low-hanging fog.

Vine slithered beside me, the upper half of its body raising into the air. It opened its mouth as a fly flew by, chomping the little insect and swallowing it. Usually my python vine preferred larger prey like fish and crocodiles, but every once in a while, an insect would suffice as a very, very small snack.

“I’m just finishing planting these new seeds,” I said.

A fish jumped out of the water, and lightning fast, Vine jabbed forward, catching the creature in its mouth.

“You’re getting faster,” I said. “Only took you a thousand years to finally catch a fish mid-jump.”

Vine’s body constricted as the fish slid into it, and its mouth closed and formed back into a slit that was barely visible. That was the whole point. Vine looked like a, well, a vine. No one suspected how deadly it was until it was too late and Vine was wrapping around its prey, its mouth opening to devour it whole.

I loved all my creations, but Vine might have been my favorite.

Across the channel, Ambrose stumbled from my cottage onto the front porch, searching for me. Blue and gold shimmers swirled around him as he disappeared and reappeared in front of me.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

He tsked. “Not exactly my idea of pillow talk.”

I rolled my eyes as Vine coiled around one of Ambrose’s legs. The faery—one of the mythical Fair Folk—winced and kicked out his leg, making Vine hiss as it constricted.

“Will you get this thing off me?” Ambrose pointed at Vine.

Ambrose didn’t usually venture out to my gardens. He didn’t like my creations, and it was always easier for us to pretend that it didn’t matter in the dark of my bedroom, as we used each other’s bodies.

But in the light of the morning sun, this was a reminder of why we weren’t more than just lovers.

I considered letting Vine continue to wrap itself around the faery and teach him a lesson, but I reminded myself that Ambrose wasn’t my enemy—in fact, he was the only person who ever visited.

“Vine.” I snapped my fingers, and it released Ambrose’s leg.

The faery straightened his broad, muscled shoulders, and I took a moment to admire his chest, visible through the open top of his almost transparent golden shirt. “What are you doing out here so early in the morning?” He stretched and yawned.

I took a handful of soil and covered the seeds I’d planted, patting the mound flat. “Isn’t it rather obvious what I’m doing?”

Ambrose crouched and lay his hand over mine, his gold skin such a contrast to my moss-green skin. “So what does this little monster do?” He nodded toward my germania.

I winced at his use of the word monster, at the way he said it so casually, and looked toward the jagged green Kiln Mountains, far in the distance, where the Fair Folk lived. “It’s time to get back to your home, Ambrose.”

He sighed and shoved a hand through his thick blue hair. “I figured maybe we could . . . talk? Spend some time together outside of the bedroom?”

My head snapped up as I gaped at him, and he shot me one of his charming smiles.

“Can’t. I’m busy.” I continued planting my seeds, refusing to meet his gaze. “I’ll see you next month.”