We’d commandeered one of the coven’s guest rooms for the better part of a week while the others tried to track down our mystery monster. Dark beams stretched across the ceiling, a contrast to the cream plaster walls and the flicker of firelight from the small hearth tucked into one corner. The four-poster bed dominated the room, its carved oak frame draped with heavy curtains that pooled at the floor. Andre sat propped against a mound of pillows, reading one book from a string he’d pilfered from Olga’s library.
For once, Andre didn’t argue. He only sipped, his eyes lingering on the side of my face in the lamplight.
“And while that is a sweet sentiment, it’s not the whole truth, is it? Fussing over me, I understand. This anxious vigil you keep at my bedside is becoming worrisome.”
I flinched. So I hadn’t been as subtle as I’d hoped.
“I can’t help it,” I said, horrified by the tremor I could hear in my voice.
“And why is that?”
“Because… well, I feel responsible for what… happened to you.”
“Poppy—”
“If I hadn’t interfered, if I hadn’t—” I swallowed hard, the words sticking painfully in my throat. “You wouldn’t have been hit by that bat.”
Andre reached out, his fingers brushing mine, gentle but firm. “Hey, look at me,” he said. Slowly, reluctantly, I did. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Everyone kept saying that. It was technically true. But it didn’tfeeltrue. And if something didn’t feel honest, it had to be a lie, right? Just one that I was telling myself?
“You don’t get it! I—”
He cut me off with a soft laugh, though it was strained. “Poppy, itwasn’tyour fault. I see you twisting yourself intoagonized knots all day, every day, when what happened wasn’t something you could have predicted or controlled. You’re not responsible for accidents, silly. All that matters is that you’re here, taking care of me now, and that’s more than enough.” He paused. “Although you could be better at bringing snacks.”
We both laughed at that but then my frown returned.
“Okay, out with it,” Andre said, giving me that look that told me not to argue. “I can see I haven’t convinced you.”
“Well… no, you haven’t.”
“What is going through that worried mind of yours, love?”
“I just—I can’t get beyond the fact that it was my potion that provoked the creature,” I said quietly. “My powers that made it lash out the way that it did. I might as well have been the one who clobbered you. And when I think like that, I reach the conclusion that I’m the one who gave you a concussion.”
“Something absurd and ridiculous, but do go on.”
“You could have been hurt badly. Killed! And that’s my fault!”
Andre shifted, wincing slightly as he reached over to pull me into his side. I didn’t fight him, though I wanted to. I felt guilty as I settled into his lap, but I wasn’t going to hurt him more by arguing.
“Poppy,” he said firmly. “Stop.”
“But I did this!”
“How in the world do you think you did this, you ridiculous woman?”
“It was my alchemy that did it! I can’t control this power, Andre! And… and I hurt you. I could hurt Finn!” Anger started to spiral through me, and I’d never wished to divorce myself of my Alchemy as much as I did then. “I want to just turn it off. This isn’t who I am. Not what I want to be!”
“But youarean alchemist. You can’t change that. What do you plan to do? Swear off magic?”
“Maybe.”
I wasn’t sure how I’d do it, though. Magic was a part of me, as fundamental a force as the blood in my veins or the beating of my heart. I could refuse to practice it, but I couldn’t get rid of it.
“But I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know how to live with something this big—this dangerous—without breaking everything I touch.”
Andre studied me for a moment, then said gently, “You don’t have to figure it out alone. Talk to your friends, Poppy. Wanda. Fifi. Both of them know what it’s like.”
