Immediately, the pain lessens and Marigold’s skin starts to soothe. It’s an impressive concoction. She’ll have to write this one down in the grimoire, but with a few modifications. With a drop of black sage honey, this could probably cure burns overnight. And if she added acacia honey, maybe it could get rid of old scars.
“This is amazing,” she says as Lottie uses up the last of the poultice. “If I did not know better, I’d think you were a witch as well.” She giggles, but Lottie scowls, dropping her hand and jerking the empty bowl off of the table.
“Do not insult me.”
“It was a compliment,” she assures.
“Not to me,” Lottie says, dropping the bowl into a pile of other dirty dishes. “You need to bandage that and leave it on overnight. I would do it for you, but I don’t want to earn any more accusations from you.” She storms out, walking into August’s room and shutting the door behind her.
Breath quickening, heart racing, Marigold can hardly move from her position. It’s too easy to scare Lottie away. It’s almost funny, but extremely frustrating at the same time. She is slow to find her bandages in a drawer. Cindershine suddenly crawls from beneath the couch and hops onto the counter while she wraps her wound. When she finishes, she scratches the cat behind the ears and sighs.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Cindershine. When she touched my hand, I felt something. But she’s positively wicked, and I’m… well, I’m cursed,” she says.
Cindershine meows loudly and nuzzles farther into her hand.
“Great advice,” she mutters. She returns to her cooking and serves their dinner, giving Lottie the plate that turned out the ugliest. That’ll show her.
Chapter Fifteen
The three spend the evening exchanging all the obligatory pleasantries that people are supposed to exchange over dinner. Marigold tells them about her home in Bardshire, her talented family and neighbors, and how she could never quite measure up until she became a witch.
“Bardshire, you say? Is that how you got that original Claude piece hanging in your living room?” Lottie asks.
She is taken aback by Lottie’s recognition of her father’s work. “Yes. How did you know that is a Claude piece?”
“I’d recognize his style anywhere. He’s my favorite painter.”
“Lots is quite an artist herself,” August says, and smirks.
Lottie purses her lips and says, “I’m no Claude, that’s for sure. Did you know him well when you lived there?”
“Quite well,” she says through a laugh. “He’s my father. That painting is of the gardens in our home.”
Lottie drops her fork and it clatters against her plate. “You’re kidding.”
“I assure you, I am not. Everyone in my family is exceptionally talented except for me.”
“Well, that’s not true! I bet none of them are as magical as you are,” August says, and her heart flutters. There was a time when that was all she ever wanted, to feel like she was talented enough to belong. Now she has that, but at such a cost. Some nights, she lies awake and thinks of her parents, of Aster and Mr. Woodrake,Ronan and Caoimhe, June and Lachlan, and now August and his future soulmate, and Lottie and whoever her partner might be.
On those nights, she wonders if she got the raw end of the bargain.
She clears her throat. “Perhaps you’re right. At times, it is still hard to accept that I have my own abilities. I’ve been a Honey Witch for a year, and it still feels unreal.”
“Wonder why,” Lottie says under her breath.
She clenches her fist around her fork. “What is your family like, Lottie?”
Lottie stiffens, and August looks at her with sad eyes. “Lottie is a part of my family,” he says. Marigold glances at Lottie, waiting for elaboration, but she says nothing.
“She is definitely my father’s favorite,” August continues, cutting through the long silence.
“Don’t say that,” Lottie says. “Your father loves you. He’s too afraid to show it sometimes.”
“Afraid of what?” August snaps, but Lottie remains composed like they’ve had this conversation a million times and she knows exactly what to say to ease his aching heart.
“He’s afraid of losing you, August. He’s afraid that if he loves you too much, too often, and too loudly, you’ll disappear. You know that.”
Lottie’s wisdom and empathy are surprising. Every side Marigold has seen of Lottie so far has been unnecessarily cold, but with August, she is so uniquely gentle. She describes August’s father as if she can see to the very core of the man and know his deepest truths. Lottie might be too perceptive for her own good. Can she see past Marigold’s walls as well? Is that how she knows to poke at her deepest insecurities?
