“It is, actually,” Marigold replies. “It’s summer, so we have clover, peach blossom, tupelo, and lavender honey. This honey is made from lavender nectar, and it’s primarily used in love spells.”
“Of course, it is,” Lottie says from her stance in front of the door to the house.
August rolls his eyes at his rude and skeptical friend. “Come try it. Don’t be a coward.”
Marigold smirks. Unable to resist a challenge, Lottie walks forward, slowly relaxing her shoulders. She stands so close Marigold can smell her: vanilla and sandalwood.
She takes her honeyed fingers out of the hive and holds them up to Lottie’s lips. Lottie looks up at her through her heavy brown lashes and smirks. She parts her flushed lips and wraps them around Marigold’s two fingers. Her tongue tickles her fingertips, and Marigold acknowledges it with a breathy laugh. Lottie smiles as she slowly pulls her lips away, leaving Marigold’s fingers glistening and warm.
She tries to pretend that it feels exactly the same as when she had August’s lips wrapped around her fingers, but it does not. Here, with her, there is much more heat.
The two finally break from their trance and fumble with a response.
“Maybe it does taste a little like lavender,” Lottie says as she savors the sweetness on her tongue. She leans in closer to Marigold, as if she intends to take her waiting fingers back into her mouth. When she is close enough to taste, she smiles. “Still a bunch of mythcraft, though.”
Marigold grimaces. She would like for Lottie to get stung right now, if only to shut her up. Unfortunately, the bees are listening, and one of them takes her idea and runs with it. Or rather, stings with it.
Lottie yelps and slaps her hand over her lip, where a needle-sharp stinger has poked into her skin.
“DAMMIT!” she cries, and Marigold spirals into a panic. It was an accident. Lottie was being so frustrating and negative and rude, especially after the moment they shared then. Or, the moment that she thought they shared. Maybe she imagined the way Lottie’s gaze lingered on her. She must have, because she is cursed. Lottie, or anyone else, could never look at her the way that she thought she just saw.
She feels such a fool as she hurries to Lottie to help her. She reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a bottle of royal jelly—a substance made by bees to feed the queen and their babies. It is also a form of magic in itself, and when used by a Honey Witch, it can heal any wound it touches.
“Let me see it.”
Lottie is still writhing in pain and refuses to pull her hand away.
Marigold places a soft hand over her wrist and gently strokes her skin with her thumb. “Please, let me,” she says. Pain wells in Lottie’s eyes as she slowly drops her hand. The stinger has fallen out, and her lip is already swelling. Marigold takes off the lid ofthe royal jelly and scoops up some of it on her thumb. She then drags the salve across Lottie’s swollen skin, over and over again until she is soothed. They breathe in time with each other. Lottie brings her hand back up to her lip and tries to touch her wound, in disbelief that it is already healed. Her fingers brush against Marigold’s, and the two share a gentle gasp. Marigold pulls her hand away and puts the royal jelly back in her pocket.
“Better?” she asks, her gaze not leaving Lottie’s eyes for a second.
Nodding, she says, “You said that they listen to you and you told them not to sting us.”
“Well, yes, but I also said not to cross me,” Marigold says with an attempted laugh that comes off ruder than she intends. “And then,” she stumbles over her words. “You… you were going on with all your mythcraft nonsense…”
“Mymythcraft nonsense?” Lottie interrupts.
“Yes, that silly word that you made up. And it frustrated me, and I thought about how I would like you to hush. I didn’t realize that the bee would actually act on that thought, and I’m sorry.”
Lottie bites her tongue, which must be hard to do with a swollen lip. “At least that one can’t sting anyone else,” she says.
Marigold’s eyes widen. How could she forget about this? Her bees never sting anyone. She has never had to deal with this before. But of course, it remains true that if a bee stings, it loses its stinger and dies. The thought of this poor little honeybee dying on her behalf, and for someone as hateful as Lottie, breaks Marigold’s heart. She leaps up from her crouched position in front of Lottie and looks frantically around among the tall grass.
“Help me find her,” Marigold commands, panic shaking her voice. August and Lottie approach and begin to follow suit, looking for the tiny yellow body among the sea of grass.
It is August who stumbles upon her and picks her up in his palm. “Here, I’ve got her.”
Marigold runs to him and gently holds the bee in her fist with her eyes closed. She takes a deep breath that stretches out everywrinkle of her lungs, and she centers herself in her own power. She has only ever brought plants and flowers back to life, but she wonders if she can use the same method to save this bee. To bring her back home.
She continues her deep breathing and focuses on the creature in her palm. The magic in the air pours out from the wild things that surround them. The trees, the birds, the roses, the worms. She feels the wild heartbeat of them all as she channels that energy into the bee. Talaya, the snakelike spirit guardian of the apiary, slithers slowly toward her, granting her all the magic she needs. Her energy drains swiftly, as it always does when she utilizes this power, but when she pulls her hands apart, it doesn’t work. The bee is still dead, and there is nothing she can do. Her legs wobble with exhaustion.
“I failed her.” She can hardly speak. She desperately needs rest.
“It’s just a bug,” Lottie says.
She clenches her jaw. “You do not understand.” Her voice is a weak whisper.
Lottie places her hand on her hip. “We can agree on that.”
