Still truths you do not know.What more could there be? She tucks her mother’s letter into the back of her grimoire and closes it, laying it beside a mixing bowl. Her mind is a mess, and the best way to sort out her thoughts is to do some busy work. Hopefully Lottie and August are hungry because she is about to make the most elaborate breakfast the world has ever seen.
As she pours and stirs, she calculates when she might be able to get away and go see her family. Frankie clearly needs her, so she wants to be there for him more than anything. Well, maybe not more than anything. Her main priority is still to see Lottie admit that magic is real. Then she wants Frankie to be there and help rub Lottie’s face in it.
As she goes over the traveling logistics in her head—the tiny boat, the carriage, the big boat, another carriage, and lots of long walks in between—she starts to understand her grandmother’s disdain for travel. Beyond that, she does not want to leave the isle. This land has changed her, and it does not want to let her go. And she can’t leave until things are resolved with her guests. Can she be in two places at once? Is there a spell for that? It would make this so much easier.
She is flipping through her grimoire again when August joins her in the kitchen. He takes a seat at the table where Frankie’s letter is lying open.
“Morning! What’s this?” August asks as he picks up the pages.
She pours him a cup of tea. “It’s a letter from my brother back home.”
He smiles as he reads. “I like the sound of this Frankie. He seems fun.”
“You two would get along quite well,” she says. Frankie and Aster were babies when they stopped visiting Innisfree, so they never got the chance to meet August properly. “I miss him very much.”
“It seems that you two are a lot like Lottie and me.”
She flashes a skeptical grin. “Maybe. Though neither of us could rival the sourness of your friend.”
“I must apologize on her behalf again. She’s normally not quite so rough around the edges,” he starts, but then he shakes his head. “Well, that is a lie. But she is extra sensitive around her birthday. It brings up a lot of bad memories for her.”
“When is her birthday?”
He slaps his hand over his mouth and groans—he obviously was not supposed to mention this. “It’s today, but do not tell her I told you. She hates when people bring it up.”
“Why? Birthdays should always be joyous.”
“Not for her.” He finishes the last of his tea. “She’s not even sure if this is her real birthday.”
“She doesn’t remember?”
Shaking his head, he says, “You must understand, Lottie was on her own at a very young age. It’s not only her birthday that she’s forgotten—it’s everything. When she came to live with us, my parents picked a random day to call her birthday and throw her a party because they couldn’t bear the thought of her not having one. My mother made her a cake and they got her a new sketchbook. We started singing to her, and she started crying. Since then, she’s been extra bitter around this time of year.”
Marigold’s heart breaks to think of little Lottie feeling like she didn’t even deserve a birthday because it wasn’t real. Even though Lottie hasn’t been entirely kind to her, she cannot let her suffer through another birthday.
“August, we cannot let her mope in her room all day. We must do something special.”
“That is”—August puts a hand on her shoulder—“a terrible idea. One of the worst I’ve heard.”
She pushes his hand away. “I’m serious! It’s your job as her best friend to cheer her up, and it’s my job as a host and Honey Witch to help you. Now, give me some ideas. What could we do today that she would actually like?”
“I’m warning you, Honey Witch. This could go very, very bad.”
“Or,” she objects, raising her brows, “it could be amazing, and she might actually smile.”
August sighs, then paces, then sighs again before surrendering. “Lottie loves chocolate. The more bitter, the better.”
Marigold leaps with excitement toward a drawer full of recipes, and she pulls out one for chocolate cake written in her grandmother’s hand.
“August, I need you to go out to the garden and grab some of the tiny edible flowers that we can use for cake decorations. Come back quickly. We’ve got a lot of baking to do.”
By the time Lottie strolls into the kitchen in a new, somehow more prudish dress that swallows her whole, Marigold and August have packed a large basket with the cake, treats, blankets, and other birthday surprises that they intend to present to Lottie during a picnic.
Lottie eyes them both suspiciously. “What is going on here?”
“Lots,” August says cautiously, “today is a special day.”
She stiffens. “No, it is not.”
