Page 35 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

My magic would buzz inside me, thrumming until it was itching to get out. I’d be in bed, thrashing, scratching, crying, and screaming for someone to cut it out of me until I couldn’t help it, and it would burst forth, some new monster born. My mother would just curl their lip and remind me that I’d never change, that no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t be anything other than what I was.

They were right.

I’d had a nice time with Nevan. I’d taken him up that dirt road, pointing out plants and their abilities, something I’d never done with anyone. He didn’t cringe or run away. He’d listened with intent, studied what I was showing him, asked questions. Someone was fascinated by my magic, even if he didn’t know it was mine.

Then I’d gone and ruined it by laughing at Mr. Porter’s stupid injury.

I slumped back in the couch, and Vine wrapped around my shoulders, giving me a tight squeeze. “It’s okay.” I patted it. “It was a farfetched plan anyway.”

Out my front window, Mr. Porter stomped down the road and toward his smithery, hand now bandaged. That meant Nevan knew, and this was officially over.

An emotion I couldn’t name settled like a stone in my gut, but I pushed it away, standing and heading toward the front porch. I needed to make sure Mr. Porter didn’t try and exact revenge on my legulia for its earlier behavior. I probably also needed to make sure it didn’t shoot spindles at him again. I was lucky they’d only lodged into his hand and not any other extremities.

When I emerged, Mr. Porter’s back was to me, and he was hunched over the legulia’s tall, flat leaves lined in black spindles. I took a step forward, ready to stop him from whatever he was doing when I heard him say, “I’m sorry I called you ugly, okay?” His words came out in a whisper, and he glanced at the road, then looked back at the legulia. “Can we just make a truce? You don’t shoot me with your spindles, and I don’t insult you.”

I blinked, unable to believe what I was hearing. Mr. Porter was actually apologizing to my legulia? I couldn’t imagine what brought this about. Maybe the spindles had poisoned him and he wasn’t in his right mind. I bit the inside of my cheek. If I attempted to check him for a fever, that would likely make things worse.

Before I could decide, Mr. Porter was shuffling toward his shop.

I wasn’t sure what to make of this, and I was about to go back inside my cottage when Fiona bounded up to me, braids bouncing.

“Not now.” I held up my hand. “I don’t have time for another one of your schemes.”

She didn’t even have the decency to look chastised. Last time I’d let Fiona into my cottage, I’d ended up in a fake relationship. A pinprick of regret hit me. A fake relationship that was now over.

“This isn’t a scheme.” She shot me a big, toothy grin. “I’m here to help.”

I arched a brow. “Help with what, Fiona?”

“Your date night!” She squealed and clapped her hands. “And I brought friends!”

CHAPTER 15

Enid

Istood in my living room with Ceri, Niamh, Fiona, and a painting of a woman that Niamh held. This was the most people I’d ever had in my cottage, and I wanted to throw them all into the bog.

“Wow.” Ceri’s eyes were wide as she tugged her blond curls, her round cheeks pink. “The back of your cottage opens up to the bog? It’s beautiful.”

Niamh reached out to touch one of the flowers on the moss-covered walls. “Your cottage is like a forest.”

“Or a cave,” Ceri said.

“A forest cave!” Fiona yelled.

“Oh, I like that,” the woman in the painting said.

I jumped. “What was that? That painting just talked.” I pointed a finger at the woman with angular catlike eyes and long dark hair.

“I’m Margaret.” She waved. “I hope you don’t mind that I came along. I really wanted to meet you.”

“Came for what, exactly?” I asked. They had yet to explain why they were here.

Vine slithered in front of me, a tray perched on its tail, full of berries and an assortment of veggies from my garden of edible food. It hadn’t even brought the poisonous stuff.

“What are you doing?” I hissed as it set the tray on the little table in front of my couch.

“We’re here for your date.” Fiona clapped and jumped up and down.