Page 43 of My Faire Lady

A sour taste fills my mouth. I’ve stumbled through life so far, struggling to be the leader I’m meant to be. My entire purpose is to protect them, and I can’t even do that.

Shifting the cloak further over my shoulders, I inhale a deep breath, and the smallest part of me aches for it to be laced with lavender. My steps echo over the stone floor, and I wrap a shaky hand around the door handle, pushing it open.

A dozen feet below, the crowd goes silent. Phoenixes perch on windowsills, their ruby wings tucked against their bodies, and Shadow stands on the farthest outskirts, her onyx eyes set on me.

Oil lanterns cast dancing shadows over them, and I take a moment, scanning each of their faces. Sprites hover overhead, but beneath them are vampires, fae, dragons, centaurs, and werewolves in their human form. Even creatures I haven’t met in my lifetime are standing or floating beneath the moon, hanging onto my words.

I step up to the railing, its edges pocked by time, and press my hands against the cold stone. Clearing my throat, I trace a voice projection spell into my palm and wait for the magic to hook around my vocal cords.

Silence stretches out.

I pull in a breath. “I apologize for calling you here on such short notice. Under Murrell law, if there is a threat to the land, it warrants a summons.”

They shift, and those hovering in the air sway closer.

There’s no way to ease into it—no way to soften the blow. I dig my fingernails into the grooves of the stone, anything to keep myself from cracking. “The land is losing magic, and some of the creatures are falling ill.”

Silence. Nothing but a rapid flutter of wings buzzes through the air, and the weight of their attention threatens to drag me over the edge of the rail.

A harpy steps forward on taloned feet, wings ruffling at her sides. She blinks at me. “But you know how to fix it, right?”

My stomach drops. I lower my gaze and shake my head. “No. I don’t.”

The silence shatters. Voices shout, yelling over each other until they’re so loud the ground rumbles beneath us. I back away. My breath comes in shallow sips, and the magic beneath my skin cowers in the far reaches of my body, leaving my chest hollow.

“You are a Murrell witch,” Boden says into my mind. “The magic that pumps through your veins is the very magic that your ancestors had. You may think it dilutes over generations, Scarlet, but it doesn’t. When a witch dies, her power isn’t lost to the earth. It’s recycled, repurposed, and transferred to the next witch.”

My eyes sting, but I blink and find him in the crowd. “What do you mean?”

“You aren’t the weakest Murrell witch in existence. Not by a long shot. You’re the strongest. Now pull yourself together and bloody act like it.”

He snaps the connection between us and throws up a barrier like a brick wall, yet his eyes don’t leave me, daring me to believe otherwise.

But he can’t lie.

I flip my hands over. The shouts continue, but I focus on the fine lines weaving across my palms—pressed into the divots of my knuckles. The noise drowns out to a low hum. I sift through my body and search for my power, coaxing her out of hiding. It’s like Lottie’s thread—tangled into knotted strands. I ease it apart until it unravels.

They’re all here. The strand of magic that belonged to my mother, my grandmother, and hundreds of other women who I didn’t have the privilege to meet but intimately know within the very marrow of my bones. I am them. They are me.

My lungs expand, pulling in fresh air. I scribble a rune onto my palm and project my voice even louder. “I don’t know how to fix it, but I will find out.”

A silent vibration washes over the courtyard, and the reverberations of my voice whip up a gust around my feet, twisting my hair around my head.

The hood of my cloak falls, and I let it—let them see me. “I found a spell that might work, but it’s written in code. I, along with a handful of others, will spend night and day trying to translate it. In the meantime, I ask for your patience and understanding. And I promise you, under Murrell code, that I will do everything in my power to save our land.”

Murmurs weave over the stone, and the creatures stare at me, neither nodding nor arguing. All I can ask for.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling my hands from the rail. “If you have any questions in the coming days, or you think you know something, you know where to find me.”

I sever the projection spell and turn my back to the crowd, striding through the double doors. My fingers tremble, but I clench them into fists. The scroll sits heavy in my back pocket—the waning magic a constant reminder of how little time we have left.

If Lottie is the answer, I have to figure out why.

16

The faire feels different today.

I tap my pencil against the sketch, gnawing my lip as Kelsey threads the ties of a corset—tightening the waist of one of the customers in the shoppe. It’s just as busy as it was last week, but there’s undeniable shift in the air I can’t put my finger on. Something heavy.