Page 46 of Homegrown Magic

Margot grabs the buckle of their trousers, undoing it, and begins to tug downward. “Since it’s my turn, I’ll tell you what I want, yes?”

Yael lifts their hips to make it easier for her to slide their trousers and underpants down until their clothing catches on their boots. “Tell me.”

She pulls their boots off to finish the job, tossing the bundle across the carriage floor, then sits back on her heels to consider. At last, she declares, “I want to hear the sounds you make when I’m inside of you.”

“Gods, Daisy.” Their belly clenches.

With a villainous grin, Margot pushes their legs even farther apart and dips forward, her tongue finding them.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” they grunt as they try not to grind into her mouth; they really do. They shouldn’t be surprised by how good it feels; in all things, Margot is competent, confident, magical. But godsdamn.

Some number of blissful moments later, she surfaces, slipping two fingers inside of them in place of her tongue. “Do you know what I thought of you the moment I saw you in Clementine’s Tavern?”

“What?” Yael breathes out, somewhere between a grunt and a moan. It’s hard to focus while the pace and pressure of her fingertips continues to stoke the swelling heat between their legs.

“I thought that even after years apart, you were still the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. And I remembered that when I was young, before I even knew about…about all of this…I’d looked at you and dreamed about burying myself in you, and coming out as somebody new.”

“But why would you want to be—” They’re cut off by the insistent slide of her fingers inside of them, stirring harder and faster now. “Gods, Margot!” It’s becoming impossible to keep still.

She laughs, reaching up with her free hand to cradle their jaw and press her thumb across their lips. “Do you want the coachman to hear you?”

Yael shakes their head once.

She tugs at Yael’s bottom lip with the pad of her thumb. “Well, I do,” she says, gray eyes sparkling.

Yael obliges.

Their feet skate against the cushion and their back arches above the bench as the climax rolls through their body like a warm sea wave, filling every part of them before it breaks. How many times has Yael sat in this carriage with their family, fidgeting anxiously as they rode toward some ball or business dinner they dreaded attending until they were scolded to just sit still, to just keep quiet. For twenty-three years, this cabin (or one exactly like it) has witnessed Yael’s silence and dread and shame. Even now, moving toward Ashaway, they should feel nothing but miserable.

But because of Margot, they feel good. They feel so good.

Like a disciple of one of the gods of the plane besides their own might bless a haunted field or manor house, Margot’s cleansed this carriage, and Yael inside of it.

Yael really doesn’t deserve Margot Greenwillow.

They blink awake some hours later to the coachman’s shouted warning.

“City gates ahead, sir’ram!”

Yael stretches where they lie entangled on the narrow bench cushion with Margot, who stirs against their body, yawning. Neither of them bothered to straighten their clothes before napping, and in fact, they took off a good deal more between them. Margot’s dress and Yael’s shirt and trousers lie crumpled on the rug under their dust-caked boots, which is not the impression they’d planned to make on the capital after months away. Maybe Margot can magic away the wrinkles and dust. They’d do it for her if they could, they think sleepily; they hate to wake her to ask.

Now you long for the family magic? You’ve wanted nothing to do with this family for more than an entire season, but suddenly you’re in sight of the manor, and you can’t manage without us.

Yael freezes mid-stretch. They haven’t heard Clauneck’s voice in their head—like the sour, off-key peeling of a dented bell—for weeks. It was foolish to think they’d never hear it again. But after confessing to Margot about their patron, Yael had hoped there was no corner of themself for Clauneck to hide in.

“I don’t need you,” Yael mumbles back, too low to disturb Margot, at least no more than the noise of the carriage and the pounding of the giant boars’ hooves against the Queens’ Road.

We’ll see, shall we?

Sitting bolt-upright (startling Margot in the process despite their intentions) Yael moves to the window and yanks back the curtains, watching the nearby settlements of Higley Brook and Poppler approach, and the vast black city walls and southern gate grow larger and larger as they churn unavoidably forward. “Once we’re inside, ride on,” they shout up to the coachman. “We won’t be staying at the manor. Take us into the city proper, where we’ll secure lodging for ourselves.”

Margot blinks, looking up at them curiously.

“I’ve instructions to deliver you both to the estate,” the coachman calls back, uncertain.

“And what if we jump from the carriage and sprint down the Queens’ Road, shouting, Kidnap! I’m sure I could cause quite a scene if I tried. I’m actually known for it.”

Reaching across the cabin for her dress, Margot slides it over her head, still staring at them.