Page 81 of Big Little Spells

I know the darkness all too well.

The ring on my hand pulses a warning.

The words my grandmother gave me all those years ago ring in my head, as strong as ever: Time is mine until time takes me home.

Maybe my grandmother is no longer here, but I feel like I have to prove to whatever is left of her in the air, in the plants she left behind, that I can do it right this time.

I might be a Chaos Diviner, but I have the control.

Hecate knows I’ve earned it.

I feel the tide recede. I feel that balance point Nicholas and I worked on today. Where the light and dark meet. Where time stands still. Where the sun hovers before it tips back toward the night.

I will not let this woman goad me into tearing myself apart. Not this time. If she wants me in pieces, she’s going to have to do it herself.

“It was nice to see you, Felicia,” I say, sounding serene and very nearly sincere. “Looking forward to Wednesday’s practicum.”

I sweep through the barrier and brush past her to get my feet on the bricks, on my way to Wilde House where, no doubt, my mother is waiting to lecture me. I don’t really want a lecture. But it’s better than giving Felicia what she wants, so I sing the whole way home.

22

I’M THE LAST TO arrive at Jacob’s farmhouse that night. The last besides Nicholas, that is, because His Ancientness has yet to grace the mortals with his presence. This does not concern me in the least. I think the only ghosting an immortal would bother to do would involve, like, actual ghosts.

I throw myself into sampling the appetizers with Zander. “How’s your mom?” I ask.

This is a test balloon of a question, because I’ve been texting with her all day. Just like every day.

Every day is better than the one before, sweet girl, she’d texted earlier. Now tell me about your private lessons with the world’s most famous—and most famously attractive—Praeceptor!

I did. But it isn’t lost on me that her texts come at odd intervals. And she won’t let me see her. Or even give me a call.

Zander shakes his head, and I see something raw in his eyes before he drops them. “Not good. Not good at all.”

And it’s one thing to have suspicions. It’s something else to have those suspicions confirmed. It feels a lot like a kick to the gut.

I press my shoulder to his. “I’m so sorry, Zander.”

“She’s refusing visitors. She sleeps a lot, and when she’s not sleeping, she’s in pain. It’s not great no matter how you look at it.”

And when she’s doing neither of those things, she’s texting, where she can pretend she’s well. I can understand that, I guess.

I nod, my eyes suddenly blind with tears. He makes a gruff sort of sound in reply. And then we handle our emotions in the tradition of our people. Meaning, we ignore them and start shoving food in our mouths.

Ellowyn stays on the other side of the room. Once the emotion recedes a little, it seems to me that there’s a weirder tension than usual between her and my cousin. Not quite as antagonistic or angry, but almost...more awkward. As if she knows I’m studying her, she turns away to make a big deal out of petting Cassie, Emerson’s familiar, who wags her tail happily. While Smudge makes a scene by hissing loudly from her hiding spot on top of a hutch, pretending she and Cassie aren’t buddies from way back. She also spends a lot of time doing this to Octavius back at Wilde House, seconds after sharing sunbeams with him, because cats are weird.

“How did you two have time to do all this?” Georgie asks my sister, looking at the impressive spread.

“Jacob’s mom has a sixth sense about these things, and voilà, a full-fledged dinner right when we need it,” Emerson replies, fiddling with this and that.

And then someone knocks on the door. Very formally.

We all pause. Even though they worked with Nicholas when I wasn’t here, this definitely feels like a new step for everyone involved, if maybe not the kind of step he meant.

Still, when Jacob goes to answer the door, we all trail after him like we’re not quite sure who it might be.

Jacob greets Nicholas. Not the friendliest greeting, but also without hostility. Nicholas steps inside, sketches a stiff bow like it’s hundreds of years ago despite the fact he’s in jeans and a T-shirt again, and then we’re all just...standing there.

This makes me feel a different kind of sad, so I move forward and link arms with the immortal suddenly brooding in the old North farmhouse. As if we’re pals. Then I tow him into the dining room, but the surprising thing is that he lets me.