Althea sighs. “A whole lot of disappointment. Trust me, that spell is not the answer to loneliness.”
“I see. What do you do to feel less lonely, then?” Marigold asks.
“I got a cat nearly thirty years ago and he’s still going strong,” Althea says, laughing. “His name is Cindershine. He’s around here somewhere, though he is a wild thing. He roams Innisfree as he wishes, but he always comes back eventually.”
She gasps. “Thirty years? How is that possible?”
“I told you that Innisfree grants unnaturally long life for its residents. Not just the people.”
“Right. I guess I didn’t realize how powerful it was.” She flips back to the protection ritual and starts pulling out chili powder, cloves, and cinnamon from the cabinets. “If I may ask, do you think that Versa was right? Could you use Innisfree’s magic to create immortality?”
The air in the cottage goes cold. Sensing the shift in her grandmother’s mood, she immediately regrets asking.
“May I tell you the truth, even if it’s frightening?” Althea’s voice is low and full of warning. Marigold nods slowly.
“I think it is possible, and that is why she will not give up.”
They both go quiet for a moment. Marigold mixes her dry ingredients into a bowl and tops it off with a bit of salt. She pauses. “Would it be so bad if someone found a way for us to live forever?”
Althea stands slowly from the couch and walks toward the kitchen. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugs. “Curiosity,” she says, adding blackwell honey to the bowl.
Her grandmother’s brow furrows, waiting for a better answer.
“It’s nothing,” Marigold says. “It’s too sad to talk about.” She keeps her eyes on the bowl, pouring from the jar until the mixture reaches the consistency of thick paint.
“Mari,” Althea says, placing a hand on her wrist. “Are you worried about me dying?”
Sighing, she says, “I don’t want to lose you. And you certainly deserve eternal life more than she does.”
“Eternity is not a gift. It is a punishment. To outlive everyone you know, everyone you love, and everyone who once loved you—” She stops herself and swallows. “One hundred years is more than enough for me.”
Marigold places the jar back on the counter. “But I didn’t get to spend those hundred years with you.” Her voice comes as a whisper. “Even if I did, it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ll never be ready for you to go.”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Althea says, patting her hand. “You will be fine without me. In fact, you will thrive.”
“I wish I could believe that,” she says, sagging her shoulders.
“I promise, Mari. You will see one day. And when I am gone, look for me in the yellow flowers. I’ll be there for you, always.”
The protection ritual starts with Marigold using the mixture to paint runes in every corner of the cottage. It’s the same image that was on the back of her father’s paintings—an arrow of sorts, with swirls and shapes along the shaft. The cottage is small: a kitchen with a table that seats four, the sitting room, a short hallway, and three tiny bedrooms. It does not take long to complete her task, and the air feels light and calm by the time she is done. She returns to the kitchen, and Althea stands from the table.
“And now we’ll do the same at every corner of the isle,” Althea says.
The two of them walk outside, hand in hand. They paint therune everywhere—on the hives, in the trees, across stones and petals and dirt. Every corner, every inch. It takes hours to complete, and the exhaustion comes in heavy waves. Her grandmother needs to rest every few minutes, and it is hard to witness. Althea resents her old body, calling herself names and insulting her ability as they go. Marigold’s stomach knots when a crow swoops in front of her. An omen of death, a warning of imminent grief. They push onward until they complete the task, and the ritual is nearly complete.
As they walk together, Althea says, “The runes will need to be repainted about three times a year. Honey never goes bad, you see, but it will crystallize and flake away, especially in the winter when the air is dry and cold. Keep an eye on them. Instinct will tell you when the ritual needs repeating, and you will be more than capable of performing it on your own.”
Althea then leads her to a glade shaded by a large wisteria tree and stands directly in the middle.
“This is the center of the isle, the very heart of Innisfree. Stand perfectly still, and you can feel it beating beneath you.”
Marigold lets out a breath and relaxes every muscle in her body. Her hands rest in her grandmother’s grip, and she listens as the isle beats for her.
“Now we channel our magic through the runes,” Althea says. “Let it drip from you, from the palms of your hands and the soles of your feet. Visualize the lives of this land that we must protect.”
Closing her eyes, she imagines the bees dancing in the sunlight. Pink petals falling in the wind like snow. Tall trees with branches that reach for each other. Whistling melodies of little birds. All the creatures that rely on her to keep them safe.
