“If I ratted you out to the witchy powers that be?” Persi asked, raising an eyebrow. “No. But I did go to the Conclave and tell them about the Cleansing, minus your involvement.”
“What happened?” I asked. “I mean, you’re here, so at least they didn’t throw you in the Keep.”
Persi smiled and blew a smoke ring. “Not this time, at least.”
“Well?” I finally prompted when she showed no signs of going on.
“I thought they were furious at first,” Persi said. “I’d expected that. But it soon became obvious that what I was getting was fury from Ostara, and a show of fury for her benefit from the others.”
“Really? They didn’t vote to… I don’t know, excommunicate you or something?”
Persi chuckled. “Hardly. When I’d explained it all, Xiomara thanked me. Said I’d saved them all the trouble of having to go over Ostara’s head. Ostara didn’t like that at all, but what can she do about it now? It’s done with.”
“She should be happy, shouldn’t she? Or at least hopeful? Finding that Sarah had attached herself to Bernadette means there’s a chance Bernadette wasn’t acting of her own free will.”
“Ostara is never happy when she isn’t in complete control. But yes, I think, because of that, she let me off with only an official warning.” Persi looked at me and smiled her most winning smile. “I have a talent for getting out of trouble to match my talent for getting into it.”
“Useful.”
“Very.”
“Hey, you haven’t seen my mom around here anywhere, have you?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve barely seen her in the past couple days. It’s almost like she’s avoiding me.”
To my surprise, Persi looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, she’s around,” she said vaguely.
“Around… where?” I asked.
Persi sighed. “Ugh. I don’t want to… look, you’re partly right, okay? Your mom isn’t avoiding you, but she’s definitely avoiding something.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Persi was literally squirming now. “It’s not my place, but… well, your mom is having a sort of witchy existential crisis. You know, being back here, dealing with her own magic. I think she’s struggling—not that she’s confided in me about it.”
“No offense, but you aren’t really the confiding type, are you?” I said.
Persi shrugged. “I can be. We used to be a lot closer, Kerri and me.”
I thought about my mom, and wondered if this return to Sedgwick Cove had driven a kind of wedge between us, me ready to embrace my magic and her…
“What kind of witch is my mom?” The question popped out before I could stop myself.
Persi looked at me, indecision all over her features. Then she said, “The walled garden.”
“I don’t… huh?”
“A minute ago, you asked where your mom is. The walled garden. I’m not the person you should be getting your answers from. Go talk to her.”
It wasn’t really a suggestion… more of a command, and one that I was more than willing to obey. I stood up and walked out into the garden, winding through the familiar sections that bordered the house, to find the lavender door set in the stone wall. I’d been in this part of the gardens only once before, when my mom and my aunts had used a spirit board to summon Asteria’s spirit. Asteria had left it for them, knowing they would need it to connect with them. Was that because none of them were elemental witches with a connection to spirit? And if that was the case, what did it mean that I’d seen Asteria twice now without using a spirit board? The first time, I’d practically written it off as a dream. But the second time, at Shadowkeep… there was no question of dreaming then. Did I have an affinity for spirit after all? Because if so, Rhi’s theory that I might be a pentamaleficus might just turn out to be true.
These questions carried me almost unconsciously to the lavender door in the garden wall. As it had been the last time I’d been here, the door was partially open. I slipped sidewaysthrough it, and into the garden beyond. Almost at once, I spotted her in the center of a clump of bushes.
“Mom?”
I’m not sure why I hesitated, like I wasn’t sure it was her. But for a second, it hadn’tseemedlike her. Something about her felt different, or maybe it was several little things. Her hair, usually up in a messy bun on the top of her head, was falling in thick brown waves around her shoulders. Her usually ramrod straight posture had a relaxed droop to it. And her expression, which seemed permanently harried and stressed these days, was softer. She looked… well, maybe not happy, but peaceful somehow. Content.
The first time, the word had come out as little more than a whisper, easily carried off on the breeze. The second time, I made sure she would hear me.
“Mom!”
