Page 12 of Homegrown Magic

“Ooooh, so fancy,” Margot says, laughing. “Any other secrets to reveal?” She shifts on her stool, the heat of Yael’s thighs warming her leg. Now they’re so close, Margot glimpses the tiniest of freckles nearly hidden under Yael’s lower lip. How had she forgotten about that freckle?

“That I’m a proficient kisser,” Yael says matter-of-factly as they lean a little closer.

Margot goes very still. Are they really talking about how good a kisser Yael is? Like two teenagers? Ridiculous.

Yael’s hand rests lightly, ever so very lightly, on Margot’s knee. She nearly faints.

Reaching out, she grabs for her wineglass. “I might have heard rumors of your talents,” she says, wishing she would’ve just gone home the minute she recognized Yael Clauneck. “But then, I’ve also heard you once were caught with Sedgewick Wayanette on the boarding school lawn beside a fountain you’d dared him to turn from water to mead.”

A laugh bursts out of Yael at that. “All lies, I assure you. Except the kissing part. That’s entirely true.”

Margot wouldn’t doubt it. Yael’s, ahem, reputation had followed them from the time they were almost teenagers all the way through school. Rumors even floated across the narrow strait from Perpignan to Harrow while they were away.

Before Margot can say more, Clementine appears with Yael’s stew, and Margot immediately untangles herself from Yael. The stew is a gloopy brown mix of meat and vegetables, delicious but humbler than they must be used to in Ashaway. Still, Yael cheers as Clementine sets it down.

“I brought you one too,” she says, setting a bowl in front of Margot. “Because I’m sure you forgot dinner again, yes?”

Gratefully, Margot accepts the stew, and she and Yael eat in silence for a few moments. When Yael’s done, they turn back to Margot, eyes once again full of candlelight and danger.

“Well, now that I’m fed, do you know anywhere I can stay the night?” Yael asks.

The question is laced with so many unspoken ones that Margot has to let out a slow, steadying breath.

It’s not that she’s given no thought to her love life, or even her sex life, in the last few years, but something about concocting a potion that sends your parents into comas shortly after they’ve gambled away the entire family fortune on bad investments, combined with the pressure of needing to come up with a potion that saves the village and her greenhouses, does put a damper on things. That, and living full-time in Bloomfield, where the average age of the residents hovers above fifty, give or take a few people who took over their homes and businesses from their parents—like Clementine, whom Margot has known since she was a toddler.

There were a few nights of fun in college, of course—just casual encounters from when Margot and Sage would go to the alehouses in Olde Post. And there was the long-distance thing with Zella, Margot’s on-and-mostly-off-again girlfriend during the last year of college, whom she communicated with via sending stones once they graduated. But that hadn’t lasted after Zella took a job in Perpignan. There’d also been a tinkerer who came through Bloomfield at the start of last autumn, his wagon full of wares and soft furs. That was a fun evening, but it had been nearly six months since then.

Gods. Six months. Actually, six months and thirteen days exactly, but who was counting?

How has it been six months since Margot touched another person beyond hugging Sage or handing someone a plant?

She looks again at Yael.

Do you know anywhere I can stay the night?

She does indeed.

Good thing they aren’t friends. Such a wonderful, delightful, deliciously good thing, because tonight, Margot’s loneliness is an abyss.

“I have a place in mind,” she says, finishing up both her wine and the ale, for courage’s sake.

5

Yael

It’s not that Yael’s lived a hard life. Quite the opposite. They’ve spent twenty-three years stumbling through doorways that magically opened for the Clauneck heir. In most cases, magic wasn’t even necessary. Wealth and power were a sufficient key, no matter that none of it actually belonged to Yael. But even for them, this is a wild bit of luck. Finding Bloomfield, then finding Margot, and now finding a much better place to sleep than a barstool or a pile of hay in a stable?

Maybe Yael has some secret store of magic in them, after all.

Trotting Sweet Wind back up the lane toward the Greenwillow estate with Margot’s arms wrapped around their waist from behind, they feel on top of the world. The stew was excellent. The warm blur of wine has successfully pushed off what promises to be a vicious hangover tomorrow and eased the painful climb back onto a wooden saddle. Between that and Margot leaning closer to speak into their ear, pressing her curves flush against Yael’s back, the night no longer seems cold.

“Turn off before the main gate,” she tells them. “There’s a service gate on the east side of the property that leads right to the cottage.”

“Are we visiting Granny Fern first, then?” Yael laughs.

“It’s, um, it’s where I live now. Just me.”

Their stomach sinks. Though they never really knew the woman, they remember Margot’s love for her well enough. “Oh. Margot, I’m sorry—”