Prologue
Beth
Mage Hollow, 1793
They say there’s only one surefire way to hide your true identity—do it in plain sight.
“Watch it!” a man with a round belly and rosy cheeks bellows at me as I brush past him.
Nodding my apology as water sloshes over the bucket I’m carrying, I offer him a soft smile. It’s been a long night, one of many in the endless stream that have poured in since we opened, since our sister went away.
A pang of guilt worms its way through me as I think of her, of what she did for me. The look on her face haunts me. Her gift and her sacrifice are weights that grow ever heavier on my shoulders. I remember it all as if it had happened yesterday.
“Papers, get your papers.”
“Fresh fruits and vegetables . . .”
“Candy, try our new candy.”
A woman with a grim expression and cheeks flushed from carrying a basket full of vegetables, stomps on my toes as shemakes her way around me. Instead of yelping in pain like I want to, I grunt quietly and smile, tucking myself closer to Irina’s side.
The market is bustling more than usual, every member of the town desperate to get a glimpse of the famous Mrs. Peabody. Every person, including me.
I’m curious about her story, about how she survived such a treacherous journey. Josephine wouldn’t allow me to come alone. She insisted Irina escort me, as if that would quell my curiosity. Her job is to make sure we grab what we need and get home unscathed.
My sisters claim our quiet way of life is necessary, that we mustn’t let anyone know what we are. They try their best to appease my need for something more. And while maybe that is safest, I long for the time when I didn't need to hide or be placated. The memories made when it was only us and magic.
“Excuse me. Are you in line?” a soft-spoken voice rings out.
To my left, I notice a handsome individual wearing a frock coat paired with trousers. There’s a woman with beautiful blonde hair and cerulean eyes hanging on his arm, awaiting our answer.
“No, we don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Irina says. It’s practiced, poised, exactly what she should say. But hypocritical at best, a bald-faced lie in reality.
Irina thinks I’m not onto her, that I haven’t noticed her sneaking out, or the way couples somehow keep finding true love in unexpected places. She’s as guilty as I am of wanting more, just better at hiding it.
“Can you tell me why she’s here, more about her stor—”
“Move aside,” the man commands.
Instead of answering my question, the couple does what people always do. They dismiss our existence, stepping around us with their noses in the air.
“Stop it, Beth. You’re drawing attention by asking trivial questions.” Irina grabs my arm, pulling me away from the crowd as the woman from before snickers at us.
“You stop it. You’re the one who’s lying about who you are.”
Irina is matchmaking, forcing people together that likely wouldn’t have found each other without her help into the kind of love she believes she missed out on. It’s her entertainment, while the dismissal I was just dealt is my nightmare.
My sisters never listen. They care for me only because it’s what’s expected of them. And that couple isn’t actually curious about how Mrs. Peabody survived, or what she learned from her ordeal. Fate and what the future holds are meaningless notions to them, with their predetermined and seemingly insignificant lives. The lives that will be lucky to last over thirty years.
We are not the same. They haven’t seen what I’ve seen. They don’t know what it was like when we first arrived here, and they can’t imagine what it’ll be like a hundred years from now. I shouldn’t fault them, but I do anyway. The luxury they have in their contentment seizes hold of me, turning me green with envy. I don’t have a choice. I have to know what’s next because it’s the only thing I have to hold on to. My future, my understanding of the world around me, and what my role is are the only things that ensure my survival.
“You’re finding fault where there is none. You’re going to be the one to seal our fate, to get us strung up on the cliff’s edge like our family.” Irina stomps her foot as her face reddens in anger. She’s not wrong to call back to our history. But the witch hunt in Salem has been over for a century… is it wrong to hope people have moved on?
“It’s cruel—the way they treat us, the way they look beyond us as if we don’t exist. I want more. No, I need more… I need to know my future isn’t simply more of this.” I swing my armsout wide, symbolizing the vast nothingness that has become our existence.
“Hey, I know you. What have you done to my daughter?” A brutish man yells from behind me, charging toward my sister.
Irina’s eyes widen, but in the blink of an eye she grasps my hand and sweeps me into the air with her. Guilt is etched on her features.
