Page 32 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

“We’re both going to try the same dish and rate it on a scale of one to ten. Then we’re going to compare our ratings with other people who’ve ordered the same dish and see who’s closest to the majority.”

I stared at him. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t even make sense, and it certainly wouldn’t prove who has better taste.”

His smile turned mischievous. “Maybe I’m just making excuses to get you on a date.”

My stomach flipped at the way he waggled his brows. No one had ever flirted with me before, and even if it was an act, I was having fun. I’d been dreading this day ever since we’d planned it, but it was going better than I could’ve imagined. “We’re already on a date,” I pointed out.

“A proper date.” He leaned in as we passed a patch of my snapping flowers, who were snoring, drool dripping from their wide, spindle-toothed mouths. “One where we dress up and eat together over candlelight.”

Eyes peeked out of cottage windows, mouths agape as townspeople watched us.

“I think if we go on a proper date, your entire city might very well collapse.” I nodded toward one of the windows, giving a wave, and the woman abruptly closed the curtain.

Nevan’s nose wrinkled like he was just now noticing all the stares we were getting. He leaned over and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Well, then let’s really give them something to talk about.”

He reached down and threaded his fingers through mine, his hand warm, his skin calloused and rough. We spent the rest of the afternoon walking hand in hand.

CHAPTER 13

Nevan

Aknock on the door woke me the next morning, and I lifted my head, a page sticking to my cheek from the book I’d fallen asleep reading.

I peeled the paper from my skin, frowning down at the table in front of me. I needed to stop drifting off in my lab. I’d been up most of the night reading a book on the theory of plants and alchemy.

Walking through the bog with Enid yesterday as she pointed out plants and their properties had made me curious about how I could use some of these species in potions.

Surprisingly, I’d had a good time with her yesterday. I hadn’t expected to actually like fake dating Enid, and now I found myself looking forward to our next date, to seeing her again and hearing her talk more about her plants. She was so passionate about them, and I’d liked seeing that side of her. Almost like an excited little schoolgirl getting to chatter nonstop about her obsessions.

The knocking intensified.

Bleary-eyed and groggy, I rubbed my eyes as I padded to the door and opened it to see the blacksmith standing there, scowling at me.

“Mr. Porter, what are you doing⁠—”

He held up his hand, sharp spindles sticking from his palm. “One of her damn plants got me, and do you know what she did when I complained? She laughed at me.” Red, inflamed skin surrounded the spindles.

He didn’t have to say Enid’s name for me to know who he was referring to. “What?” I gestured for him to come in and sit on the patient chair against the wall. “Tell me exactly what happened.” I sat on my healer stool next to his chair.

Mr. Porter ran a hand over his bald head, then winced when he remembered the spindles. His round face scrunched in displeasure. “Not much to tell. I was minding my own business, forging a sword when I noticed some new plant sticking out of the ground right between my shop and her cottage. The damn thing was covered in all these sharp, pointy things. I said it was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen, and it went and shot these at me. If I hadn’t shielded my face, these would be sticking out of my nose right now.”

I pressed my lips together to keep myself from laughing. It wasn’t funny, exactly, but it seemed like maybe Mr. Porter had gotten what he deserved.

I slid on gloves, then grabbed tweezers from a little stand of tools that sat next to my stool.

Mr. Porter eyed me. “What are you doing with those?”

“I’m going to pluck out the spindles, put on a salve, and bandage you up.”

“What about her?” he asked. “Is she going to be punished for this?”

Anger flared in my chest, bright, hot . . . and surprising. “Why would she be punished?” I asked evenly, yanking out the first spindle, maybe a little harder than necessary.

Mr. Porter sucked in a sharp breath, round face turning red. “Because she’s a menace. Her plants are a menace. Witch. That’s what we call her, you know.”

I winced at the insinuation that Enid was taking the godwitches magic and twisting it like the brotherhood did. Using it for dark purposes. She was nothing like the brotherhood.

Mr. Porter waved his hands in the air. “And how can she make this whole sentient bog answer to her?”