Chapter Fourteen

For the first time since her grandmother's passing, Marigold will not only have customers and Mr. Benny as company, but actual friends staying with her. Well, one friend and one disgruntled guest. They will dine with her during every meal. Walk with her throughout the isle, tending to the wild things around them. She readies the first guest bedroom for August and brings Lottie to the other, which is also her grandmother's old room. She stands before the door, her hand heavy on the handle, but she cannot bring herself to let Lottie into this sacred space until she turns and sees Lottie glaring back at her. Her smile is cold and taunting, like she cannot wait to watch Marigold fail.

That right there, that wicked I-know-everything smirk, is the reason she must push forward. A life of being doubted has prepared her for this, and proving this woman wrong will heal decades' worth of insecurity.

So, she smiles back at Lottie—a fake smile with her nose extra scrunched for good measure. She walks into the room and pulls blankets out of the trunk at the foot of the bed to make everything extra comfortable out of spite.

Lottie clears her throat. "May I have a private word with you?" She looks around the room for the first time, taking in what is likely the largest bounty of books she has ever seen.

"Of course," Marigold says, worried that Lottie is about to eviscerate her with words. Lottie seems too distracted by reading the titles of the books to recall what she wanted to speak about. She runs soft fingers across the aged leather, touching the embossed lettering on the spines.

"Lottie?"

"Right. Sorry," she says, pulling herself away from the books. "To be completely honest with you, I simply will not believe in any of this, and I don't intend on changing my mind, but I would do anything for August. We'll play your games while you make the spell. We'll watch you splash around with your silly moon water. But at the end of this, I need you to give him the spell no matter what, and you don't have to worry about me ever bothering you again. Deal?"

A low laugh hums in the back of Marigold's throat. "You will see that it is real. I have no doubts."

Lottie places her hand on her hip. "You are genuinely claiming that you will magically lead him to his soulmate?"

"Yes," she snaps back at the impossible girl before her. Why must Lottie be so obstinate and distrustful? The glares between them are unyielding and sharp—neither one of them is willing to release the other from eye contact.

"You are mad," Lottie finally says. "But it would break August's heart if you let him down, so you better put on a good show. For his sake."

"A show?" she says, insulted almost beyond words. "You think I do this for someone else's entertainment? I stay here, completely alone almost all of the time, with no one to entertain but myself."

"Except when your so-called customers come to sing your infinite praises and spend their hard-earned coin on mythcraft."

Marigold steps forward, her finger pointing at Lottie's heart. "How dare you. I'll have you know that I take no money from anyone. I help everyone who asks."

Lottie leans in closer so that their faces are mere centimeters apart. "You're not helping anyone by giving them false hope."

She pushes back, her chest nearly touching Lottie's. "Nothing about what I do is false. I come from a long line of witches who have given all that they are and all that they have to this work. You have no idea the sacrifices that I must make to live this life." She accidentally bites her tongue on the last word—that's how mad she is. Through gritted teeth, she says, "But I do it because I have a legacy to fulfill, a family to make proud. I actually help people. You might want to try it sometime," she says as she storms out of the room. August is standing awkwardly in the kitchen after obviously hearing bits and pieces of their exchange. She stands before him, her eyes wide and angry, her fingers and toes tingling with adrenaline.

"What is wrong with her?" she says, her voice mixed with a growl. Her mouth tastes of blood.

"I know," August says. "She's such a skeptic."

"I understand that, but she needn't be so rude about it."

He sighs. "I know it is hard to believe, but underneath that hard exterior, Lottie is a wonderful person with an enormous heart. She is simply very slow to trust others. If you knew all that she has been through, you'd understand. Be patient, and one day, she might let you in."

She nods, though she does not pretend to understand. "August, may I ask, why does it matter to you whether she believes in magic?"

He places a finger on his chin. "I suppose I could ask you the same thing. You are the one who proposed that we remain here until she admits defeat."

She opens her mouth to respond, but the words do not come. She wants to prove herself, yes, but there is something more there, something buried deep. Even she is not entirely sure why she feels such a pull toward the impossible girl. She swallows and says, "I'm merely following your lead. You are the one who brought her here."

He turns, staring out the window. His profile is strong and angular, and his long lashes cast a slight shadow on his cheeks as he squints. The sunlight highlights his strong jaw when he speaks. "She's my best friend, and she needs to believe in something. Give her time to warm up to you. I promise that she will."

She pinches the space between her brows. "I'll hold you to that promise, August Owens."

Day one of attempting to prove her magic involves a thorough tour of the house and an enfleurage demonstration. There are grander things that she can do, but why rush? The sooner she proves herself, the sooner they'll be gone. She can take her time and try to get on Lottie's good side so that the two friends do not disappear forever after all this is done. She begins to cook dinner as the others settle into their rooms.

It may not be the largest meal ever prepared in the history of this kitchen, but it is definitely close. Stew simmers in the pot over the open flame as Marigold opens her spell book and continues to try committing it to memory. It contains descriptions of some of the rarest and most valuable ingredients: snow from winter's first storm, black sand, or a hair from someone of royal blood. She almost understands why Lottie might not be quick to believe any of this. Honey is a miracle in itself; when stored properly, it is the only food in the world that never spoils. There have been legends of honey being buried with the dead as an offering for spirits to guide the soul to the afterlife, and centuries later, the bones are all but dust while the honey is still good and sweet.

She turns the page and finds an unfinished letter to her mother that she used as a bookmark. So far, all it says is:

Dear Mother,

Aster said I should write to you, so if this letter does not find you well, please blame her instead.

What more can she say? Her mother's face was so broken on the night that she did the ritual. Has enough time passed for their relationship to be healed? It's been over a year, but it still feels like it has only been the blink of an eye.

I miss you, she writes.

I am so sorry for how things ended the last time we saw each other. I do not know if this will make you feel better or worse, but it's the truth so I am going to tell you: I am where I am meant to be. Never have I felt so sure, so complete, and so happy. I still talk to Grandmother sometimes. Her presence is very strong on the isle. She told me to look for her in yellow flowers, and she meant it. If you'd like, you could visit

She crosses out the last line. Her mother made it very clear that she would never come to Innisfree again, so there is no point in bringing it up. It will only make things worse.

If you'd like, I could come visit. The isle is healthy and strong. I could spend some time back home. We could talk about everything. Only if you want, of course.

I'm sorry.

All my love,

Marigold

She finishes the letter and stares at the wet ink on the page. Lottie comes out of her room and runs into the kitchen, awakening Marigold from her trance. "Your pot is about to boil over," she says.

Marigold turns bright red. She must look a true fool now, buried in a book of magical oddities, while her soup boils out onto the floor. She runs over to the pot and moves it out of the flame, forgetting to use any sort of barrier between her hands and the hot metal. Once she releases the handles, the pain settles in, and she yelps loudly. Lottie runs over to her and takes her by the wrists.

"Let's go to the water," she says, leading Marigold outside and running down the pier with her wrists in hand. Once they reach the lake, Lottie pulls Marigold's hands into the crystal blue water and comforts her as the coldness stings her burned skin.

"I know it hurts, but it's the best thing for a fresh burn," she says coolly, as if she has extensive experience treating such wounds. Marigold meets her gaze—it's inexplicable, but she has not felt a moment of pain since Lottie took her wrists. All she can feel is Lottie's soft skin on hers. It feels healing, and it's not just the coolness of the water. Something is happening here between their touch, something she hasn't felt since the first time George held her hand. She pulls away swiftly.

"Thank you," she says quietly as she shakes the water from her hands and stands.

Lottie looks up at her from her crouched position, and she gives the softest smile. "I'm good with burns. I could make a healing poultice for you."

Pain pulses in her hand. Really, she can make her own poultice—it would probably be more effective—but Lottie doesn't seem like the type who offers aid often. This is a rare chance to bond. "That would be great. What do you need for it?"

"Aloe and agrimony. You have them in your kitchen."

She pauses. "Were you snooping through my things?"

Lottie nods justly. "Checking for poisons before we eat your food."

Marigold rolls her eyes and the two begin walking back to the house. She outpaces Lottie, careful not to end up at her side. Inside, Lottie makes herself at home in the kitchen and grabs the ingredients she requires. "Bowl?" she asks over her shoulder.

"Cabinet to your right," Marigold says as she approaches the table and watches Lottie work. She's fast—she must have made this poultice a thousand times before. It takes her less than a minute to bring it over and begin caking it onto the burn.

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.