Chapter Twenty

When Marigold retrieves the moon water from the edge of the oasis in the morning, she sees a dark mass stagnant in the center of the water. From a distance, it looks like a massive dead slug, but as she gets closer, she sees a horrifying truth; it is Yliza, the landv?ttir of the oasis. Her bright yellow skin has turned midnight blue. Her normally glossy and plump body now looks almost matte and deflated. At first, Marigold thinks she is dead.

Can spirit guardians simply die? It does not make sense. The guardians of Innisfree are immortal—they are not even truly of this world. They sit safely behind the veil, unable to be harmed.

But last night, the moon was full and the veil was thin. Maybe they could have somehow hurt Yliza when they went swimming. It could already be too late. Marigold places her palms in the water, making gentle ripples that grow into waves of movement. The water carries Yliza to her, and she gently rotates the body without pulling her out of the pool.

"Yliza?"

It is the strangest thing; Yliza is alive, her glassy eyes staring straight back at her with no death inside them—only anger. Her round mouth opens to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth that were not there before. The koi thrashes violently in her arms, desperate to bite. It's as if Yliza has gone through some sort of monstrous transformation. Could it all be from one night of swimming? Something that Marigold has done so many times before? She fishes a vial of acacia honey out of her pocket, pops the cork off, and grabs Yliza again, careful to avoid the teeth. When she is able to force the honey into the koi's mouth, there is an immediate change. Yliza returns to her normal state; her skin loses its inky black tint, the anger in her eyes fades to apathy, and her rows of teeth fall out like seeds.

Marigold makes haste to each of the landv?ttir guarding the isle. Odessa sits on the coast of the lake, her stark white feathers turned slick black and her long neck bent at an unnatural angle. It looks broken until she comes closer and sees Odessa's glowing eyes, now bloodred, staring back at her.

"What happened to you?"

Odessa lets out a gargled scream. When the landv?ttir opens her beak to shriek, Marigold is quickly able to get a few drops of honey on her tongue right before she is bitten. The injury is worth it when she sees the black pigment lift from Odessa's feathers, and her eyes fade back to pale lavender. She repeats this process with the remaining spirits—Talaya, the blue snake who had been turned white as bone, and Chesha, the cat who grew new fangs and venomous claws.

What could have happened to them? She has always cared for them, she's never forgotten an offering, and she has never been unkind to the isle. Perhaps they are angry about having more people on the isle than they are used to? But even that does not make sense. There have been plenty of times when her grandmother allowed a customer in need to stay at the cottage for days at a time, and to her knowledge, this never happened to the landv?ttir.

The only place where she might find an answer is in the giant grimoire that details the history of honey magic. The problem is that the book is over six thousand pages, with very little guidance on what information can be found on what page. The spells at the beginning are indexed—everything else is a guessing game. It will take her years to read and understand the entire thing cover to cover, but it is the only hope she has for understanding what is happening to the isle that she swore to protect.

After tending to the landv?ttir, she comes inside with her moon water ready. She can start her research after she's finished August's spell, if she can stay calm enough to focus. She fills the kitchen counter with all the necessary tools and ingredients to craft it: the fresh-made moon water, the lavender honey straight from the frame of honeycomb, the lemon seeds from the ripe fruit in front of the house, the spotted rose petals that feel as soft as sleep. A heavy mortar and pestle sit empty in their immovable spot. She ties her hair into her yellow ribbon and wipes the already beading sweat from her forehead as she checks over her spell instructions one last time. Her instinct continues to tempt her to flip past the spells to start reading the rest of the grimoire—to not stop until an answer is found regarding the landv?ttir's illness.

But for this soulmate spell, everything must be perfect. Flawless. Impossible to deny. A perfect spell is the only way that Marigold can force Lottie to eat her words, with mythcraft being the first on the menu. Once everything is in place, she goes to the library, where Lottie and August are entertaining themselves with a bounty of books.

"Ready to find your soulmate?" she says, and August drops his book onto the floor and runs breathlessly into the kitchen. He's so excited that he could be mistaken for a puppy, complete with panting sounds and a wagging tail. "Is it ready?"

"We haven't even started yet." Marigold laughs. "Take a seat and watch." She rarely has such an attentive audience when crafting spells, but she pushes away her anxieties as she focuses on her work.

She first powders the petals, grinding them into the same texture that she would use as a pigment in a homemade beeswax lipstick. The powder is transferred to a larger mixing bowl before she grabs the heavy rectangular frame of honeycomb. She heats a large serrated knife over the open flame of the nearest candle sitting in a votive, and she waits until the smallest twirls of steam dance around the blade's sharp edge. The knife glides through the wax that keeps the honey trapped inside the honeycomb, and with one solid swipe, the honey pours like liquid gold. With two hands, she holds the rectangular wooden frame up to the light and lets the sun kiss the honey. She allows some of it to drip into the mixing bowl with the powdered petals, while the rest must be strained from the wax. Carefully, she removes the large pieces of honeycomb from the frame and wraps them in thin cheesecloth. The honey oozes through the thin fabric as she kneads and squeezes the honeycomb over a large bowl. This process takes an eternity until all the honey slowly oozes out and collects in a massive jar that is bigger than her head. The sweet scent warms the entire home, and she cannot help herself; she must taste it, and it is utterly divine—sweet, earthy, with that signature hint of a burn from the magic in the back of her throat. She savors it for a moment before wiping off her sticky fingers and getting back to work.

The honey and the powdered petals mix beautifully, turning into what looks like liquid pink glass. She adds the dried lemon seeds and then a splash of moon water. Once everything is seamlessly mixed, she gently pours the elixir into a vial that is small enough to wear as a charm at the end of a necklace. She corks the bottle, attaches a string, and searches her very soul for the purest intent.

This spell will lead August Owens to his soulmate.

This spell will prove to Lottie Burke that honey magic is real.

This spell will dazzle, amaze, confuse, astound.

As she holds the vial close to her chest, she feels it begin to heat, and she cannot contain her excitement. She holds the vial up by its leather string. She motions to put it on August.

"Oh cute, you made him a necklace. Very powerful mythcraft, indeed."

August makes a disapproving sound. "Could you please let me enjoy this moment, without your remarks? I'm trying to find my soulmate, here."

Lottie rolls her eyes, but she does keep her mouth shut as Marigold loops the necklace around August's neck.

He places his palm over the necklace and presses it to his chest. "Oooooh, it's warm. It's very warm."

"That means it's working," Marigold says.

"It's working a little too well." He carefully positions the necklace to hang over his shirt, rather than beneath his collar where it could burn his chest.

"It's only because it was just activated. Give it a few days and you won't even notice it."

"A few days?" Lottie asks with a sharp tone. "How long is he supposed to wear that thing?"

"Until it leads him to his soulmate."

"Right," Lottie scoffs. "And how long will that take? A million years?"

Lottie's attitude makes it clear that either she got no sleep last night after the nightmare, or she is violently hungover. Possibly both. At this point, Marigold and August seem to both silently agree that they will not be acknowledging her anymore during this conversation.

"How do you feel?" Marigold asks, keeping her eyes glued to August, which is always difficult for her when Lottie is around.

He examines his whole body—he rotates his hand to view both sides, touches his curly black hair, and then runs his hands over his smooth face and holds his hand over his heart, just to the left of the spell. "I don't know. The same? How should I feel?"

"Of course," Lottie murmurs.

"Do you feel compelled to go anywhere? Like you are being pulled in a certain direction?"

August thinks for a moment. He then opens the front door dramatically and stands in the doorway. He licks his pointer finger and holds it to the wind, searching for direction. "Maybe north?"

Lottie erupts in laughter. "Wow, so specific. What a perfect spell you've made, Witch."

She clenches her jaw, because it is a perfect spell. It is working. Sometimes it needs a moment to acclimate to the wearer. But of course, Lottie will not hear that reasoning. She will not excuse anything. And Marigold has had enough, especially after last night. They had been open to each other, so vulnerable. What happened? Where did that warmth go?

"You know what, Lottie? I think you're jealous."

August turns around to face them both so quickly that he almost loses his balance. Lottie stares, open-mouthed, at her. "Jealous? Of what?"

"You're jealous that August is about to find his soulmate, and then you will be alone. You don't want it to work. Because the minute it leads August to the person he is meant to be with, you won't have him all to yourself."

Lottie wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead. "You are truly delusional."

"Am I? Am I saying something that isn't true, or are you simply too afraid to admit it? You are scared. You are scared of losing him and being left with no one else because you push everyone away. That's why you hated Edmund."

"I hated Edmund because he was a rake."

"A rake who was keeping your best friend away from you."

Lottie tenses her shoulders. Her face grows cold. Her chest heaves as she gathers her words, but Marigold has yet to relent. While August goes to Lottie's side, Marigold turns back to her kitchen and quickly pours the remainder of the spell into another small vial on a leather string. She finds her intentions, says her incantation, and wraps the necklace around Lottie before anyone can protest.

"There. Now you can find your soulmate, too, and maybe we can find some peace away from your company."

"Marigold…" August says, and the world stops. Time stretches itself so that she must sit with the echoes of her words. She watches her cruelty collide with Lottie's skin, seeping into her blood, spearing her pounding heart. Only now does she understand what she has said, and what she has done. She has never felt such sharp, sickening regret. She has equipped Lottie with a spell that will send her away.

Lottie still says nothing, her body is frozen in place, her balance maintained only by August's form beside her. Marigold approaches slowly, afraid that she may get slapped. But still, Lottie does not move, even as she comes within arm's reach. Then she wraps Lottie in an embrace.

The first that they have ever shared. Her arms sit atop Lottie's rigid shoulders, and her hands connect underneath soft red hair.

"I am so sorry, Lottie. I did not mean it."

She feels Lottie start to move, but instead of running away, Lottie does the most unexpected thing—she returns the embrace, her arms tight around Marigold's soft waist.

"You did mean it," Lottie whispers. "But you were right. Again." She pulls away from Marigold, but not completely. Her palms lay flat against Marigold's sides, her fingers flexing in the soft fabric of the dress. She turns to August and says, "I am scared of losing you."

"Oh, Lots," he says as he joins the embrace. "You are never getting rid of me, and I cannot believe you would ever think otherwise."

"A girl can dream," Lottie says with a breathy laugh, her harsh jokes and stone walls already rising up again. She pulls away from the embrace and picks up the vial at the end of her necklace. Marigold mirrors her, grabbing her grandmother's ring that hangs from her neck.

"So, how do you claim that this thing works?" Lottie says.

And the moment is gone. Marigold sighs, wishing she could have held on to it for a little bit longer. When Lottie abandons her callous facade, when she admits her feelings, it is the most beautiful wonder to witness. But it never lasts long.

"The spell essentially weaves itself into your intuition, guiding you to make decisions that lead you where you want to go. In this case, it is to your soulmate. When you feel the pull, you'll know."

"Well, I, for one, cannot wait. And I'm thrilled to be going on this adventure with you, Lots. Who knows? Maybe we'll both fall in love this way."

In this moment, Marigold's heart feels as though it has turned to bone and fallen to the pit of her belly to rot. Her friends are going to fall in love, and it will be beautiful, and so lonely to watch. She realizes now that she has the same fears of which she accused Lottie—she, too, is absolutely terrified of being alone. But she has chosen a life path that ensures she always will be, and it can never be changed.

A knock echoes through the cottage.

"Well, that was fast! Will it be Lottie's soulmate or mine?" August chirps. Marigold smirks and opens the door to reveal Mr. O'Connell, a sweet, middle-aged man with short black hair, constant stubble, and a humble beige cotton shirt untucked from his trousers.

"Hmm," August says, crossing his arms over his chest. "A bit old for me, but I suppose age is but a number!"

She gently places her hand on August's back and guides him to the table. "August, take a seat. Mr. O'Connell, how are you? How is your wife?"

August's eyes go wide. "Oops," he mumbles.

"Oh, we're fine. Howya doing, Marigold?" Mr. O'Connell says, bringing his floppy hat to his chest.

She grins. "Fine myself," she says, stepping out of the doorway to allow him inside. Mr. O'Connell came to see her once or twice after Althea passed away. He brought ripe vegetables and fresh yellow flowers from his garden, which made her wonder if Althea had sent him there from wherever she is watching. It was such a comforting gesture, and she can never say no to new ingredients. She has Mr. Benny, who cares for her and provides her with ingredients from his farm, of course, but he is so old. Mr. O'Connell is decades younger, and the work doesn't hurt him in the same way. He still has the bones for it. Thinking of Mr. Benny working the day away in the hot summer sun makes her feel guilty; she shouldn't allow him to push himself so far. That conversation with him would go nowhere, though. She can envision his exact response in her mind: "Miss Marigold, you aren't asking anything of me. This is my job. Now let me work how I want to work." That man would push himself to the brink of death if he thought that it would help her in any way. She does not know why—she certainly hasn't earned it. Perhaps it is his promise to Althea to take care of her that inspires such devotion, but even then, why would Althea's wishes hold such weight over him, especially after her passing? It would be better, certainly safer, if Mr. Benny went easy on himself, though he never will.

She leads Mr. O'Connell to the empty chair at her kitchen table across from Lottie and August.

She turns to a cabinet to grab a cup. "Hungry? Thirsty?"

"No, thank you, miss. Forgive me for not bringing anything to offer you now. The garden is not well."

She pours him some tea anyway and places it in front of him. He takes a sip and lets the heat of the drink undo some of the tension in his shoulders. "It's burnt."

"The tea?" August asks, confused. Lottie sighs.

Mr. O'Connell shakes his head. "No, the garden. Burned to all but ash."

Interested, Lottie leans in. "A wildfire?"

"Too contained to be a wildfire. My garden borders the Hazelwood Forest, but nothing else was touched by the flames. Not even a slight singe on an overhanging branch. I haven't a clue how it happened."

Marigold takes her seat next to him and across from Lottie. She eyes the soulmate spell around Lottie's neck as tension still stretches between them. Clearing her throat, she says, "That's strange, Mr. O'Connell. When did it happen?"

"Last night. Tried everything I could to put it out, but it just wouldn't die. You'll think I'm bonkers for this one, but I swear water couldn't even touch it. Those flames didn't go out until they finished what they started in my garden."

She stiffens against her chair with every word. It sounds exactly like her nightmare. Lottie fidgets with the hem of her long sleeve.

Marigold pushes herself up from the table. "Give me a moment to gather what I need, and then we will return to your garden together." She nearly invites Lottie to attend so that she may witness the magic she is about to perform. Plant resurrection is no small feat, especially at the scale necessary for a garden of that size. But the nature of this destruction, those undying flames and only ash left in their wake, wouldn't be good for Lottie to see. Telling her story last night and showing her burns was so distressing that it caused nightmares for both of them. Lottie should never have to relive that.

Leaving Lottie and August to entertain themselves, she follows Mr. O'Connell to his small green boat. In a way, it's nice to get away now. August and Lottie are probably talking about their soulmates, about their futures that certainly do not include her in them. She doesn't need to hear any of that.

Mr. O'Connell is a quiet man in general, but he is utterly silent through the entire ride, answering her questions only by nodding or shaking his head. He must be exhausted after trying to fight a fire that would not die.

Her nightmare, Lottie's nightmare, and Mr. O'Connell's garden burning all in the same night? It could be a coincidence, but she is a witch who knows better. There are no accidents.

Not like this.

When they arrive at Mr. O'Connell's garden, it's nothing but a perfect rectangle of dry gray dirt. It's a massive plot, possibly bigger than her cottage.

"This isn't how it looked before," he says. It's the first thing he's said since leaving the isle.

"What has changed?"

"The ash is gone." He leans down and drags his fingers through the dirt. "This was pitch-black when I left. It was completely covered in ash. I swear it."

She inhales deeply through her nose.

The air smells of her nightmare—salt and smoke. Slowly, she understands that this is the scent of ash magic. Leaning down, she runs her fingers across the dirt mixed with the remnants of the ash. Upon contact, it's as if she is transported to a world of only darkness, and she can see nothing but a flickering light in the distance. It looks exactly like the light she has seen in the Hazelwood Forest. In an instant, the light erupts, stunning her vision. She blinks to adjust her eyes and sees a menacing old woman hovering over her, scowling down at her, readying a bolt of fire in a withered, bony hand.

It's Versa. She burned this land, and now she must be somewhere close by with an arsenal of ash.

As the Ash Witch launches the bolt of fire, Marigold closes her eyes and screams, bracing herself for the pain. She feels a pair of strong arms picking her up, and when she opens her eyes, she is back in the garden.

"Marigold, what happened? Your eyes glazed over and you started screaming!"

She holds on to him tightly as she struggles to believe what she is seeing. Is she really here? Truly safe?

"I had a vision," she says, her throat raw from the scream. "I saw the woman who burned your garden." She pulls away from him and hurriedly readies a wealth of ingredients—seeds, honeys, moon water, petals and herbs of every color.

"I need to work quickly to protect you." She paints a rune of protection in the center of the garden so Versa will not be able to reach them. And now the Ash Witch will not be able to touch the garden again.

"Can I help, miss? You deserve to be protected, too."

At first she shakes her head, but then she pauses. "Actually, there is something you can do for me."

Mr. O'Connell leans in, eagerly listening.

"I'm going to do my best to revive and restore the garden," Marigold says, placing her hands on her hips. "I will probably faint once it's done. I wanted to warn you so you don't think I'm dead." She can revive a handful of flowers with only a touch, but for something of this size, she must perform a ritual similar to the one she cast with her grandmother so long ago. She'll craft a honey potion, paint healing runes in the corners of the garden, and use up her energy to bring life back to this land.

He hesitates. "Maybe you shouldn't be doing this, then. It sounds dangerous."

Shaking her head, she says, "Not dangerous. Just exhausting. Promise me that if I do fall unconscious after this, you'll bring me back to Innisfree."

"Marigold…" he says.

"Promise me."

Sighing, he says, "I promise."

"Excellent. Then I shall get on with it."

Marigold wakes up on the soft green couch with Lottie, August, and Mr. O'Connell hovering so closely over her that she can see up their noses.

Mr. O'Connell really needs to trim those hairs.

"She's waking up!" August says too loudly, and she winces.

"Don't scream in her face, boy!" Mr. O'Connell says. It's the loudest she has ever heard him speak.

"Both of you, quiet!" Lottie says. She rests the back of her hand on Marigold's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

She tries to clear her throat, but it's too dry to swallow. "Want to go to bed," she mumbles.

Lottie leans in and wraps her arms around her. "I'll help you up."

August joins, tucking himself under Marigold's arm.

They walk about three steps forward when Lottie's nose scrunches up. "Why do you smell like that?"

"Rude, Lots," August scolds. "Marigold, you smell perfectly normal."

"Don't lie to her, August. She reeks of salt and smoke."

August leans in even closer, taking a big whiff of her. "What are you talking about, Lots? I don't smell anything."

"You must be catching a cold. I could smell her before Mr. O'Connell brought her inside."

"Maybe you're just being mean to her for no reason, as per usual."

Marigold's head drops, and Lottie and August tighten their grip on her as they push forward toward her room.

She struggles to speak. "Can we stop… debating… my… stench?"

"Sorry," Lottie and August say in unison.

"I just… need… sleep."

Eyes closed, she collides, and the world fades to black.