“Who was trying to kill me?” Marigold interrupts loudly.
Her mother and grandmother stare at each other for a moment before her grandmother says, “Would you like to tell her, or shall I?”
“Do not ask me to relive that day.”
Her mother starts to leave the room. She hangs her head for a moment before looking at Marigold. “I have done nothing but protect you. And I do not want to stop protecting you. But if you won’t let me, if you don’t trust me, there is nothing I can do.” Another tear slips. This time, she lets it fall before walking outof the room. Her mother is no stranger to dramatics, but the pain in her eyes looks real and sharp. Marigold is tempted to follow her, but she stops herself. Too many questions have haunted her for too long. And now the answers stand before her.
She sits next to her grandmother and says, “I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice wobbles as her emotions catch her by surprise. She feels like a child again—small, curious, and safe.
“I’ve missed you more,” her grandmother says, and that does it—Marigold surrenders to her tears as she hugs her grandmother tighter than is probably safe for a woman of Althea’s age. Her grandmother strokes Marigold’s dark blond hair until she catches her breath.
Marigold sits up straight and wipes her face before taking her grandmother’s hands in her own. “What happened that day?”
“Our story begins long before that day. Before you, or your mother, or I was ever born. It starts with power, and the endless struggle to keep it.”
“What power?”
“We are witches, darling. Every eldest daughter in our lineage is a witch, including you.”
Her heart races, beating the breath out of her body. This is it—what she has always felt, always known to be true, that she is not strange or bad or broken as she has been made to feel. New realizations click together in her mind like heavy locks and spindly keys. She places her palm on her chest. “Even Mother?”
“She was. Until she gave up her magic.”
Her eyes widen. “Why would she do that? Why wouldanyoneever do such a thing?” She can think of nothing that could make her give it all up, especially not for a life in Bardshire.
“Love,” her grandmother says with a resigned smile. “Our line is cursed, Marigold. For us, love and power are opposing forces. We must forsake one for the other.”
“So Mother chose love, but you did not?” Wise choice. Love is a burden. It doesn’t work for wild women.
Althea has a solemn look about her as she shakes her head. “Idid not get a choice. Our line has always been witches, but the curse began fifty years ago with me and the woman who tried to harm you the last time you came to Innisfree.”
That sentence heavies the air. Marigold closes her eyes and remembers the storm, now with the knowledge that it was no storm at all. Everything begins to sharpen. She sees the cottage window and recognizes the darkness spilling inside; not clouds, but smoke. Not rain, but ash. Not lightning, but flames. And in the center of it all is not a cyclone—it is a woman with flaming curly red hair.
“Who?” she asks.
“To understand who she is, you must first understand the nature of our power. We’re called Honey Witches. Our magic comes from working with the bees to create enchanted honey. We also use flowers, herbs, and spices for our spells. But it is the nature of the universe to have an equal opposite to every force. Fire is the opposite of water. Air is the opposite of earth, and…” she says as she pulls a vial of warm golden honey from her pocket, “the opposite of honey is ash. So where there are Honey Witches, there are…”
She leans in. “Ash Witches?”
“Precisely. And anything that we would utilize, they must burn first before it is of any use to them. So, as you can imagine, Innisfree is of great importance to both of us. It is a land ripe with power and all the ingredients that any witch could ever need, and it is also rich with life.” She looks at her hands in her lap, turning them over and counting the age spots like they are annual rings of a tree. “It has granted me over a century.”
Marigold’s jaw drops as she takes Althea’s hand in hers. “How is that possible?”
“It is sacred land. It cares for those who tend to it. There are hundreds of enchanted places like it, tucked in every corner of the world. Honey and Ash Witches are born to protect them. I have only ever used Innisfree’s blessings to help and heal others, but my counterpart, Versa, could not say the same. She believed that if wehoarded our power for ourselves, we could use the isle’s magic to grant ourselves immortality,” Althea says, scowling in disgust.
“And you didn’t want that? Why?”
Althea pauses, pinching her brows. “Because it is selfish, Marigold. Ash Witches are meant to clear away the rot of death, to bring warmth to people. Honey Witches tend to new growth in the wake of fire, to help life rise from the ashes. Versa selfishly betrayed all the work we were meant to do together.” Althea’s knuckles turn white as she tightens her fist. She clenches her jaw. “A life spent on only the pursuit of power is not worthy of eternity. I would not let her take my purpose from me. Not without a fight. And trust that I gave everything I had in order to win.” She smiles, though there is something else behind her eyes. A memory, a loss, a sadness of some sort. “That is where the curse began. If she couldn’t defeat me, maybe she could outlive my line so that, one day, there would be no one to stop her. She cursed us to never have anyone fall in love with us in an attempt to end us. But it didn’t work, of course. I had Raina without love, and then she forsook magic and the curse altogether.”
Realization washes over her. “That’s why she came that day. To end the line. To end… me.” Panic rises in her chest and surges through her blood, causing sharp tingles in her palms and fingertips. No wonder her mother never let her return.
“After Raina’s choice, we did not know if her first daughter would have magic. We truly thought it may have ended with her.” Althea holds Marigold’s cheek and tucks a hair behind her ear. “But here you are, honey-eyed and more powerful than I could have ever imagined.”
Her heart warms as she looks into Althea’s eyes, but something isn’t right. She stands and paces around the room, running her dirty fingers through her hair.
“Why didn’t you come here, Grandmother? Fifteen years without a visit, without telling me the truth of what we are.”
“Your mother would not permit it, and I respected her wishes. I understood, and still do, why she did not want you to know.”
