Page 43 of Homegrown Magic

“I…think so?” Margot has never asked herself this question. Why would she? Making remedies was what she was taught. It’s what she was expected to do. “I was trained by Granny Fern. Then, once she was gone and we moved in here, I dove into re-creating them…” Margot trails off, drinking more tea.

Yael picks up a slim bottle full of emerald-green liquid. “What’s this?”

“A potion for getting rid of imperfections—temporarily—but I’m fairly sure you don’t need it.”

Yael’s eyes meet Margot’s, the air between them crackling. “Thank you, Daisy. Rest assured, you don’t need it either.”

After Margot’s done kissing Yael again—though will she ever truly be done kissing Yael Clauneck?—she says, “Perhaps I’ll be able to restart Granny Fern’s business and sell remedies again someday. Or at least I hope to. There’s a long road from tinkering in this workshop to carrying on her legacy, but I want to try.” Admitting this sends a snicker of guilt through Margot. Her original plan to use Yael to convince their family that she’s living up to her potential feels ridiculous this morning, after so many weeks together, and their intimacy last night. But still. Things are complicated between them. Even more so now. Pushing these feelings down for the moment, Margot moves over to a shelf where row upon row of small bottles filled with bright-pink potion rest in a wooden holder. “These are for hangovers. The really vicious kind. They’re nearly ready.”

Yael picks up one of the bottles of pink liquid, holding it up to the morning light and considering the contents. “Hibiscus?”

“And strawberry. I just got the formula right last week. Clementine is eager to keep them in stock.”

“Fabulous. I may need it after the next community dinner.”

“No. Never.” The words leave Margot’s lips too quickly, out before she really even considers them. Because she can’t let Yael try her potion. Never mind that Margot tested it on herself after last week’s community dinner, when she and Yael and a handful of Bloomfield friends had ended up at Clementine’s, singing the night away and drinking too many ales. It had cured her hangover with the first few sips, giving her more energy than she’d had in days. But there was a tremendous difference between sampling her own potions and letting Yael drink one. What if something went wrong, as it had with her parents?

“I’m sure it works perfectly,” Yael says, putting down the tiny bottle. “Mind you, I was mostly sober last night, and I’m in ideal health today, but I wish it could cure my morning breath, which is horrific.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Margot says, delighted to have an excuse to kiss Yael again.

The morning is busy in Bloomfield as they walk hand in hand back to the cottage, having left Sweet Wind outside the greenhouse, as Yael absolutely insisted they enjoy the morning air. They walk past the northern field so Yael can see the mammoths for the first time, to their extreme delight, then head back into the village. They wave to Mike, Dara, Clementine, Estelle, Javril, Astrid, and Rosiee, all moving through their daily stretching routine in the town square. Affection surges through Margot as they stroll the village.

“What are you smiling about?” Yael asks as they round the bend past the tavern and start toward the cottage.

“I’m just…”

“Happy?”

“Yes,” Margot says softly. “I feel like we’re exactly where we need to be. This feels like home.”

And for the first time in a long time, with Yael at her side, she feels like it might be possible to save the village and all the people in it.

As the front gate of the gardener’s cottage comes into view, Yael pulls up short. “Oh no,” they whisper, going pale.

Margot follows their gaze to the envelope affixed with ribbon to the gatepost. Yael’s name is an elegant flourish in green malachite ink across the cream-colored paper.

“Who’s it from?” Releasing Yael’s hand, Margot steps forward to take the letter. “And why would they tie it to the gate?”

She turns the letter over to open it, but Yael takes it from her with trembling fingers. “You don’t recognize the seal?” they say wryly.

Of course she recognizes the little picture stamped in deep-green wax, now that she looks: the façade of a tall stone building with a C turned horizontal at its peak, almost like a pair of horns rising from the roof to spear the sky. She saw it on the letters her parents used to pore over again and again until the ink faded beneath their fingers, as though they were searching for some clue or key to free them from their own doom. She knows it from the letter tucked away in the loft.

The seal of the Clauneck Company.

Yael breaks the wax and removes the message. “It’s an invitation.” They sniff then clear their throat to read aloud in an uncharacteristically flat voice, with none of their usual flair: “ ‘Mr. Baremon Clauneck and Mrs. Menorath Clauneck request the honor of your presence at their Midsummer Masquerade, to be held at Clauneck Manor.’ And ah, there’s a postscript. ‘Enough of this, Yael. It is time to come home. We’re sending a carriage to pick you up in three days’ time, which will arrive at the outpost gate at noon. Don’t miss it.’ ” They scoff and toss the letter into the dirt with an attempt at bravado Margot doesn’t quite believe. “Chaotic of my parents to send out invitations a mere week in advance, but perhaps I was an afterthought. How flattering to have made the C list.”

Margot opens and closes her mouth, not quite sure what to say. After a long moment, she manages, “What will you do?”

Yael shoves both hands through their hair. “Nothing. This changes nothing.”

“They know where you are, Yael. Do you think Rastanaya told them?”

“I don’t know. If not, then someone must have. Once I was spotted in Olde Post, it was only a matter of time until word traveled back to them, and we weren’t exactly discreet yesterday evening.” Crossing their arms over their chest, Yael starts pacing back and forth on the garden path. “But you’ll notice they’ve sent a messenger rather than traveling themselves. Well, they did swear they’d never come back after the first visit.”

Margot can’t tell whether Yael is relieved by their absence or stung by it. Perhaps both, and she’s not sure how she feels about that. “May I?” she asks.

“Of course.”