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?

"Well, that's how all love works," August says. "You can't love anyone without the fear of losing them, without the forethought of grief. There is an inherent loss in love, but that does not mean that love is not worth it."

"That's beautiful," Marigold says. August's words remind her of her grandmother, and how much she misses her. But it hurts more to imagine a world in which her grandmother did not come to her at the end of her life. They made so many memories together in such a short time—some silly, some beautiful, some heartbreaking.

Althea's passing was peaceful, but Marigold's grief was not. It never is. It is a mistake to think of grief as an absence. It's more of a dark, shadowy thing that sits in constant periphery, always there, always stealing air and making it hard to breathe. It's a demon that she has fought every single day, but it will not leave. Every time she encounters something that she would have once shared with her grandmother—a new recipe, a good book, a bad dream—she sees the face of that grief instead.

But August is right. Even if she knew the pain that would come after Althea's passing, she still would have gone to Innisfree. It was worth it, all of it. Her grief isn't going anywhere, but maybe she can make friends with it. Maybe there are good memories hiding behind it.

Lottie sits awkwardly, uncomfortably, and constantly pulls at her dress, yanking the sleeves around her wrists and the collar up to her chin.

"Well, I am quite full and exhausted," Lottie finally says. "I'll leave you both for the evening and head to bed. See you in the morning," she says through a yawn as she stands and walks lightly down the hall. When Lottie gets to the door, Marigold calls her name, though she is unsure why. Perhaps it is because she has yet to see Lottie from that angle, peering back over her shoulder. The pause between her name and Marigold's next words is far too long.

"I wanted to say thanks for today. For helping me with the burn."

She nods stoically in response as she turns away.

"Hey, what about me? Don't I get a good night?" August yells from his place in the kitchen.

"Sure, sure, good night, you big baby," Lottie scolds from behind her door. August laughs and looks at Marigold, who is eyeing him with suspicion. She leans forward to ensure that Lottie's door is closed and whispers, "August, I wanted to ask you something. I don't mean to overstep, so please feel free to leave this unanswered, but I was wondering… Are you only interested in men?"

August laughs. "I don't have any preference when it comes to gender. I love whom I love, without question, and sometimes without logic."

She smiles, having a deep understanding of what he is describing. "So… you and Lottie… have you ever been involved?"

"You and everyone else always wonder about what we are to each other. Lottie is only attracted to women, and our relationship is a little hard to explain."

Marigold starts cleaning up the kitchen, wiping the counter as she says, "As a girl who one day learned that she has magical powers and the ability to communicate with bees, I think I can keep up with ‘hard to explain.' Try me."

"Fair enough," August says after a laugh. "I'll let her tell you the story of her life, if she ever decides to open up about it. We do love each other a great deal, always have, always will. But it was clear from the beginning that we were meant to be more like siblings and the truest kind of friends. The ones who never leave," he says.

The ones who never leave.What she would give to be part of such eternity.

"That's beautiful. Friendship is the greatest gift one can give," she says.

"Indeed," August says as he walks over to her side and leans onto the counter, smiling with suspicion. "Why do you ask? Are you interested in her?"

She scoffs dramatically and starts cleaning her mugs. "She hates me."

He catches her wrist. "That didn't answer my question."

"Of course I'm not interested in her." She pulls her arm back. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

He shrugs, feigning innocence. "I guess my words fall out sometimes and I cannot control it. That's another trait of mine that only Lottie forgives. I never know when to stop talking."

"It's fine," she says. She tries to put the mugs on the top shelf—that damn top shelf—and he notices her struggling. He comes to her side and takes the mugs from her, smirking as he effortlessly puts them away.

"But Lottie is not courting anyone, in case you are wondering."

"Well, I wasn't wondering about her at all," she lies as she blows out every candle except for one, which she picks up to lead them to their rooms.

"I must say," she continues, "your courage to fall in love even after loss is admirable. I am not entirely sure that love is worth the risk of heartbreak."

He smiles, stretching. They walk down the hallway and reach their respective doors, now diagonal from each other.

"Marigold," August says before going inside. "Love is worth the risk."

Marigold lies awake in her bed, restless. An hour after lying down, Cindershine runs through her open window with Chesha. The two of them pounce onto her, though Cindershine is the only one with any weight. Marigold opens her eyes when Chesha's aura brightens the room beyond even the light of morning. A magical aurora radiates from her, painting the walls and the ceiling with starlight and streaks of green, blue, and lavender. If she squints, she can see wisps of vivid red that match the color of Lottie's hair. Chesha jumps off the bed and dashes to the door, pawing at it to open.

"What's going on, Chesha?"

She continues to paw until Marigold gets up and opens the door. Cindershine and Chesha dart outside and sit directly in front of Lottie's door. Chesha paws again, but when Marigold approaches and places her hand on the handle, Chesha hisses violently.

Marigold pauses, her brow pulled upward in confusion, and then twists the knob. When it clicks, Chesha screeches so loud that she fears it could wake up the entire house—the sound may even travel all the way to Mr. Benny across the lake. She calms down when she remembers that not only is she the only person who can see the spirits, but she is also the only one who can hear them.

She sighs and kneels down to Chesha, offering her a drop of enchanted acacia honey from one of the many vials that she keeps on her person at all times.

"I take it you don't like our skeptical guest?"

Chesha hisses before she takes the honey and nuzzles into Marigold's waiting hand. Cindershine circles around Marigold, scratching his back on her lace nightgown.

Then the door slowly starts to open. Chesha flees faster than a shooting star, leaving Marigold and Cindershine crouched on the floor in front of the door. And Lottie is standing there, wearing nothing but a blanket draped over her shoulders. Quickly, she pinches it tightly at her chest so that her whole body is covered, but it's too dark to see anything regardless.

Marigold promptly stands up, though still cowering slightly beneath the weight of Lottie's glare.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Cindershine was pawing at your door and I just came to get him," she says with panic in her voice.

"The pawing didn't wake me up. It was his resounding screech. It didn't even sound like a cat. It sounded like a monster," she says as she fights off a yawn.

Marigold stops. Her jaw drops for a moment, but she picks it up quickly. How could Lottie hear Chesha's scream? It should be completely impossible. It is impossible. It has to be.

And yet, it did happen, and Marigold cannot explain how or why, so all she says is, "I'm so sorry. I'll take him back to the bedroom with me."

Lottie looks at her quizzically, as if she knows that there are more words waiting in the back of Marigold's throat, but she lets it go for now and nods as she turns back to her room.

Marigold breathes a sigh of relief. She carries her cat back to her room and lies in bed with her eyes wide open.

What has she gotten herself into? Who is this wild girl?