by Ophelia Silk
Adelaide was in the kitchen, a far cry from the elegant glowing witch Jane had recently walked in on. Her usually straight black hair was snarled and mussed, her skirts rumpled and the buttons of her blouse askew.
Jane had to hide a giggle in her hand. Whatever she felt, it seemed as though Adelaide felt worse.
“Good morning,” she said sweetly, sweeping into the room. She kept her voice soft—she wanted to be teasing, not painful—but Adelaide squinted a dubious not-quite-wince anyway.
She grunted what might have been a greeting, or perhaps another curse. Jane reflected that anyone else behaving this way would have dismayed her terribly. She would have thought it the height of bad manners. But, now that she knew Adelaide, she found it endearing. That she wouldn’t put on a pleasant face in spite of her pain, that she refused to live on anyone’s terms but her own.
Adelaide slammed a strange-looking fruit into the table, producing another clatter. A cloud rose from it, coating the table in orange powder. She scooped it into a metal mug with the heel of her hand, then eyed it suspiciously. With another grunt, she filled the cup with water and swirled it.
“What is that?” Jane asked.
Adelaide started, as if just remembering that Jane was there. She held out the mug in a jerky motion that almost sloshed the now-orange liquid right out. “Find out. Just save enough for me.”
Jane blinked, then took the mug and sipped it warily, expecting it to taste as foul as the potion. But it didn’t taste of much of anything, and almost immediately some of her headache abated. “Oh.” She took a hearty swallow, letting out a sigh of relief as it washed away the foul taste in her mouth, pushing away a cloudy-headedness that she hadn’t even realized was there.
Adelaide grunted again, making grabbing gestures at the mug. “Share.”
Jane laughed, passing it over. “Sorry.”
Adelaide tilted her head back and swallowed the remainder of the mug in one gulp, letting out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank the gods.”
Jane leaned against the counter, a soft smile on her lips. “Magic cure?”
Adelaide nodded. “Damned expensive fruit, too. Created by witches in far lands. Luckily they don’t rot, and I rarely need them.”
Jane looked curiously at the fruit, which now had a shriveled, used up look. “You can’t grow them in your garden?”
“Wrong climate for it. They’re tropical.”
“Ah.” Jane considered this for a moment. “It’s strange. How similar magic is to… to gardening, or cooking, or medicine. Not very different at all.” She considered the memory of Adelaide glowing and amended, “Well. At least in some ways.”
Adelaide nodded. “There’s truth to that.”
“How does one become a witch?”
“It depends. For some, like me, it’s genetic. Others choose to study and pick up what spells they can.”
“So anyone can learn magic?”
“Not all magics, but a lot of the plant-based magics and similar things are possible for anyone to learn. Of course, most people choose not to.”
Jane nodded. “Of course, the stigma.”
Adelaide raised an eyebrow. “Your town is not the world, Jane. Stigma around magic is not the norm.”
Jane blinked. “Then why don’t more people do it? And why do you stay here?”
“I stay here because it was my mother’s home, my grandparents’ home, my great-grandfather before them and my great-great-grandmother before him. As for why people don’t do magic…” Adelaide waved a hand, idle. “To do magic is to know yourself intimately. To accept who you are and not run from it. To not lie to yourself about your heart.”
Jane thought about this. She thought of all of the times she pushed down her own desires, her own wants, in order to do what was expected of her. How many times had she assured herself that she’d come to want to marry William, that her parents were in the right and she was in the wrong? How many times had she written herself off as foolish or mistaken to avoid dealing with her thoughts in any real way?
“That sounds very difficult,” she finally said.
“It is,” Adelaide replied.
“Will you teach me a spell?”
Adelaide’s mouth dropped open. In truth, Jane didn’t feel much different. The question seemed to come out of nowhere, a whim voiced without her consent. But it didn’t feel that way, in her heart. Not when she thought of Adelaide glowing with power in the kitchen. Not when she thought of the tingle of magic on her palms in the garden.
She wanted to know what that was like. She wanted to understand what it would be like, to be so confident. To understand herself as easily as Adelaide seemed to. She wanted to look into her own heart and not run from what she saw there.
Adelaide regarded her with interest. “I could show you that protection spell, with the edelweiss,” she said. “If you think you can be patient. It takes time to train yourself to be able to think like a witch. I don’t know if you’ll actually be able to learn in the time that you’re here, but…”
“I’d still like to try.” The reminder that she would still be leaving soon served as an icy shock to Jane. A part of her tried to shy away from why, even though being honest with herself about her emotions was the entire point of this endeavor. But it was so hard to admit that she didn’t want to leave Adelaide.
Adelaide could be blunt and rude. But she could also be kind. And she was trying, now. Jane couldn’t imagine anyone back home trying for her the way Adelaide did. Being so open with her, so honest, accepting her so utterly. She had people back home that she missed, people that she enjoyed spending time with. But she didn’t feel about anyone the way she felt about Adelaide.
But what were those feelings? Could she really face them in the sober light of day?
“Jane?”
“Hm?” So lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize Adelaide had spoken until she looked up and saw the expectant look on her face.
Her parents would have reprimanded her, but Adelaide only gave her an amused smile. “I said, do you want to go out to the garden?”
To the garden. To the sun, and the flowers. Maybe it would be easier out there, with Adelaide’s guidance, to face these emotions and feelings that she still wanted to lie to herself about.
“I do.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Power Unleashed
“DON’T BE FRUSTRATED. If you’d gotten it right on your first try, I would’ve been shocked.”
Jane stared at the small Edelweiss bloom cupped in her palms. Despite Adelaide’s words, Jane felt her lips curl into a frown. “I just don’t understand what I’m meant to be doing.”
The sunlight was nice. Beyond the fence, the bare tree limbs swayed harshly, but here in the garden there was only a faint breeze. Jane closed her eyes, took a deep breath to calm herself, and opened them again. The sweet scent of the flowers was a comfort, at least.
She turned to Adelaide, frown relegated to a small crease between her pale eyebrows. “Am I mispronouncing the words?”
Adelaide shook her head. “Your pronunciation is fine. You just need to connect. Let yourself be seen. Open yourself up to being protected.”
“I’m trying.” Jane steadied herself, looking down at the flower with intensity. “Elvare,” she said. “Clysidium.”
The Old Words tingled on her lips, but they didn’t resonate in her heart. The flower, which should have begun to glow and shrink into many petals, remained still and small in her hands.
“The magic can’t protect you if it doesn’t know you,” Adelaide said. “You have too many walls up.”
“Those can’t be torn down in a day!” Jane felt heat rush to her face, and she ducked her head. “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—her tone, her words, or the existence of those walls in the first place.
“Jane.”
In contrast, Adelaide’s voice was soft. Uncharacteristically soft. It was enough to pull Jane’s gaze to her. The sunlight suite
d her, brought out the flecks of amber in her dark eyes, the streaks of dark, oaky brown in her black hair.
“You like the flowers, don’t you?”
Jane blinked, not expecting this change of direction. “Yes?”
Adelaide stood behind her, putting her hands on her shoulders. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“Yes.” But if she were being honest, she was more concerned with the warmth of Adelaide’s slim fingers bleeding through the fabric of her blouse.
“Okay, good. Close your eyes, but keep them in your mind’s eye.”
Jane did so. Now Adelaide’s proximity distracted her even more. She was now very aware of her standing there, the solidity of her at Jane’s back, the swish of her skirts against Jane’s ankles. She wanted to shy away from it, this awareness.
But that was exactly the opposite of what she was meant to be doing. So, she noticed Adelaide. She felt her there. And she imagined the flowers that surrounded them with their sweet perfume.
“Imagine those flowers growing,” Adelaide said, her voice lilting softly. “Imagine them reaching out, creating a dome around you. They’re blocking out prying eyes. No one can see you here in the flowers. Smell them, how close they are to you. Know that they’re here to protect you.”
The sunlight in her eyes didn’t fade, so Jane knew that the appearance of the flowers hadn’t changed. But it was comforting to imagine such a tiny world, with only her in it. And Adelaide, still warm at her back. A world where she could lean into that touch, completely sober and of her own mind, and not have to worry about being ashamed.
“You can feel whatever you want, here in the flowers.” Adelaide’s voice was hypnotic. “Nothing in your heart is wrong here. The flowers will never judge you. Face yourself, Jane. It’s safe to do so here.”
Jane took a deep breath. The flowers were sweet in her lungs. She took another breath. Adelaide’s hands were warm on her shoulders. Another breath. Her heart was pounding, her mind set aglow with the potential of a power she shouldn’t have, couldn’t have wanted.
But she did. Just as she wanted the flowers.
And just as she wanted Adelaide.
Admitting that to herself seemed to open up the floodgates of her heart. All of the emotions that she’d kept buried, or hidden, or shoved away as improper, rushed over her in a wave. Not all of them were pleasant. For everything she liked about her society, there was so much she disliked. And facing her desire for power, for flowers, for Adelaide, meant that she had to face her dislike of the home that kept it from her. Her disgust for William. Her annoyance at the things she had to do to keep his attention.
And then there was her anger at her parents, living in a hidden, wounded, betrayed part of her. Her knowledge, deep down, that they didn’t love her as anything more than a tool. That the punishments they gave her were unfair. That she’d always known that, and shied away from it.
“There.” Adelaide’s voice floated through her. “There. It’s alright, Jane. Everything’s alright. It’s okay to feel this way.”
Her cheeks were warm. She was crying. She wasn’t sure when she’d started. Her chest ached, but Adelaide was right, it wasn’t a bad ache. Or maybe it just wasn’t as bad as allowing it to fester, unknown and unwanted, in the pit of her chest.
She let the tears roll. And she allowed the feelings of disgust and betrayal to fade. They were, after all, not the ones that were relevant now. She was not in the town, not in her parent’s farm. She was here, in the garden, with the flowers and Adelaide.
She was with everything she wanted.
Warmth enveloped her, but this time it was not the warmth of tears. It surrounded her from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet. Light glowed on the backs of her eyelids—a gentle, white light, as soft and delicate as a flower.
“You’re doing it,” Adelaide said, warm. “You’re doing it.”
The magic coursed through her veins, beat in her heart. “Elvare,” Jane said. “Clysidium.”
This time, the words resonated all through her. They surrounded her with a feeling of protection, of safety. The magic in her palm felt different this time, more like an old friend. It came from her own heart, herself.
Eventually, it faded. But it didn’t disappear. The feeling of safety, and acceptance, didn’t go away.
For maybe the first time, Jane Paris knew who she was, not just who she was supposed to be.
She opened her eyes. The Edelweiss petals were small and dried, but they still tingled against her skin with the memory of magic. She smiled, cupping them carefully in her hands.
“Well done.”
Jane turned. Adelaide stood there, smiling. She had taken her hands off of Jane’s shoulders at some point, but she hadn’t noticed. The warmth lingered on her skin just as the magic lingered in her veins, urging her, telling her that it was alright, that she didn’t have to hide from who she was anymore, what she wanted.
The petals fluttered down around her feet, forgotten.
Adelaide raised an eyebrow, an amused sort of curiosity on her face. “What—” That was all she had time for, before Jane closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together.
Their first kiss was fast as a lightning strike. Jane pulled back just enough to study Adelaide’s expression. Surprise slackened her face, but there was no dismay. And she didn’t pull away. She was, in fact, gripping Jane’s arm.
Jane placed her hand on Adelaide’s cheek and moved in slower this time, more like a rumble of thunder growing in volume. She had time to notice the warmth of Adelaide’s lips, the way her hair tickled Jane’s cheek.
She pulled away again. She and Adelaide stared at each other for a long moment. Then Adelaide moved in, and it was not just lighting or thunder but a deluge.
Once, worn down by William’s debating and complaining, she had allowed him to kiss her. She had felt disconnected then, mildly bored and a bit disgusted by the wet noise that their lips had made when they broke apart.
There was no disgust now, no disconnect, and definitely no boredom. Adelaide’s lips tingled against hers, her gasps jolted down her spine. Jane couldn’t get enough of her, of the feel of their bodies pressed together, of the heat pulsing through her core.
This was magic, a different sort of magic than the flowers, but a magic nonetheless. It filled Jane with a sense of power, of freedom, of flight.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there in the garden. Long enough for her fingers to tangle in Adelaide’s hair, for Adelaide’s arms to wrap around her waist. When they parted for breath, Adelaide moaned against her mouth, and it reverberated under Jane’s skin.
Her eyes fluttered open, wanting to take in the sight of Adelaide wanting, needing her. Instead, they landed on a shadow in the forest beyond the garden. A figure, watching them.
Jane gasped, stumbling away from Adelaide. Her heart pounded almost painfully against her ribs, nausea swelling in her gut. What was she doing? Kissing Adelaide out here under the sky, where anyone could see if they dared. Had she really thought that she could be safe? That she could ever truly hide from judgement?
“Jane,” Adelaide said, cautious. “Are you alright?”
The figure was gone, if it had ever truly been. But the damage was done. The sun was too bright above her, revealing all of her desires, everything she’d spent twenty years trying to hide from everyone, even herself. Jane could feel a thousand eyes on her, watching her. Judging her.
“I—” Her eyes flickered from Adelaide’s concerned face back to the forest. Unable to deal with either of them, she turned and fled back into the house.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A Choice Made
JANE CURLED HER knees to her chest, sitting in bed.
Adelaide had not followed her to her room. Perhaps she was annoyed with Jane, for fleeing so rudely. Or perhaps she simply wanted to give Jane space. Jane wanted to trust Adelaide enough to believe that it was the second one, but the instinctual ache in her chest assured her it wa
s the first.
Her legs itched to run. From all of this. To shove her feelings back in the box she’d hidden them in for so many years, away from prying eyes, away from even her own heart. She’d never felt a fear this intense.
But she’d also never felt a joy so intense as when she’d kissed Adelaide. And was it worth never feeling such a powerful fear, if she were to cut herself off from such wonder ever again? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that despite her instincts, a part of her was so sick of running, of lying to herself. She wasn’t sure if she could do it anymore.
For better or for worse, something within her had been unlocked. To pretend it wasn’t there might cost her more than she could bear to lose.
Jane stood slowly, her heart hammering in her chest. Turning the doorknob to her room felt a little like willingly entering a burning building. But she did it. Just finding out that she had the strength for it surprised her.
Adelaide was in the living room, stroking Cabula, but she looked up with wide eyes when Jane walked in. It broke Jane’s heart to see Adelaide look so vulnerable. She’d been so caught up in how she felt that she didn’t stop to consider how it must have felt to Adelaide, a woman who was so often used for one purpose and then tossed aside.
“Jane—” Adelaide started, but then Jane was across the room, holding her.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I shouldn’t have run from you like that.”
Adelaide stiffened in surprise, but slowly melted into the embrace. Her hands fluttered for a moment before one landed gently on Jane’s arm. “You must have had a reason.”
Jane nodded. “It still wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t mean to just… I didn’t want to make you feel… or to act like…”
Her voice began to waver, and Adelaide finally wrapped her arms around her, holding her gently. “Shhh,” she said. “Jane. What are you afraid of? Can we start there?”
Jane bit the inside of her cheek. “I…” But how could she explain, without sounding dreadfully rude?