Page 17 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

She stared at me with an open mouth. “But I wanted to⁠—”

“Sorry!”

And with that, I was off, an idea brewing about how exactly I could win over Enid.

CHAPTER 7

Enid

Igrabbed the cloth sack off the floor and stuffed a black dress into it, along with stockings and an extra pair of boots. I didn’t own much, but I wouldn’t need a lot to survive in the Otherworld.

My hand went to the amulet around my neck, like it always did when I thought of the Otherworld, a place only those with magic could access. It had been the perfect escape for the godwitches, a way to ensure mortals couldn’t follow them unless they were invited, which was the only way a mortal could visit the Otherworld.

I often dreamed of the Otherworld the godwitches left for centuries ago, wondered what it would be like if I found one of the burial mounds that filled our world and slipped through to the other side. I dreamed of my mother’s face breaking into a smile when they saw me. Dreamed of all the godwitches and demi-godwitches running to me, hugging me, asking where I’d been all this time.

But then . . . then there were also the nightmares. The times I arrived in the Otherworld, only for no one to notice I was there. Or, worse, to be horrified by my presence, by my magic that no one had ever appreciated. That was what had stopped me from going all these years. The thought that maybe I’d been left on purpose. That it hadn’t been an accident that I’d woken up one morning completely alone.

Once I went, there would be no returning. The godwitches had ensured it was a one-way trip, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped in the Otherworld for eternity with those who hated me.

I swallowed thickly, looking out over the open wall and across my bog.

Vine grabbed the sack from my hands, tugging it across the floor of my loft and dumping it out in front of my bed.

“Vine! What has gotten into you?”

I snatched up the black dress that now lay on the floor, and Vine yanked it. Great. Now I was in a tug-of-war match with my python vine, both of us wrestling over the fabric.

“Stop it.” I pulled with all my might, and Vine finally relented, making me fly backward onto my bed. I sat up, dress clutched in my hands. “First you wanted me to actually consider Nevan’s proposal. Now you don’t want me to go to the Otherworld. You’ve been going on about how lonely I am lately, how irritable I am, so I’m solving the problem.”

Vine shook its head emphatically.

“This isn’t my first choice either.” I slid off the bed and stood, walking to the ledge of my loft and looking out over the shimmering channels and all my gardens. I loved that my little cottage had no back wall. That every day, I could wake up and the first thing I saw was the Cragh.

I’d miss it, but perhaps this was all a sign. Maybe Prince Cillian telling me I’d be exiled was the push I needed to finally join the godwitches in the Otherworld. To reunite with my mother and my siblings. And Vine would come with me, obviously. I’d never leave Vine behind.

My gaze bounced between all the patches of land spread out over the marsh, full of my creations. I’d have to abandon them, and my heart sank at the thought.

Vine shoved something into my hand. I stared at what it had just given me. A small red flower lay in the middle of my palm. I hadn’t seen this species in years. I ran a finger across the soft red petals of the marillian zaelus.

The petals curled around my fingers, gentle and soft, as if to say Hello, old friend.

They lifted to reveal sharp thorns that hid underneath and would jab anyone who tried to touch the flower.

I let out a laugh of delight at this little creation that I hadn’t seen in so long. “Where did you get this?” I asked, still in awe.

Vine slithered to a chest that sat at the end of my bed and opened it, then pulled out a leather book. I watched as it flipped open the book and realized I’d completely forgotten about this. Small burlap baggies were sewn to each page, each bag full of seeds. So many seeds I’d brought with me on my journey to find a new home centuries ago. One little baggie was labeled Marillian Zaelus.

“You planted the marillian seeds?” I held up the little flower. “Where?”

Vine pointed to a corner of the bog that I could barely see from here, a blur of cattails and reeds in the distance.

“You wanted to surprise me?”

Vine nodded, and my eyes welled with tears as I looked at the little flower.

I still remembered when I’d first made it at ten years old. I’d been in my mother’s famous gardens, the ones people came from far and wide to see. I’d wanted so badly to impress my mother, to make them notice me. All their other children had come into their magic earlier in life. I’d been the magicless one, the one Mother didn’t care for.

I’d been sitting among their daffodils when I stuck my finger in the soil and felt it for the first time: my magic. From the dirt sprouted this lovely creation. I’d been stunned, unable to believe I’d created a real, living thing.