Sweet & Bitter Magic by Adrienne Tooley (speed reading book TXT) 📗

Within. Witches don’t die (unless they’re me, but even I didn’t actually die despite the number of times I was told my chances looked grim). I hate myself for making this about me. For trying to be funny the way you can’t when something has ripped your heart out and left you numb. Empty. Cold.

It’s been raining for thirty-one days, and my best friend is dead. Drowned in her own bed. It’s cruel the way magic works. Amma had sight, so no one thought they had to warn her. Everyone thought she’d be the first one out. But she had a headache that day. She’d come to my room, asked to sleep in my bed, but I’d only just come from the infirmary and didn’t want to lie still in a dark room. And so I sent her away. Away to a room where the water seeped through the windowsill until it filled her lungs.

She’s dead. And the world is wrong. It has taken on a tilt, just the slightest angle, everything sharp, even with all the water. Everything off.

Tamsin’s stopped talking. I swear, you’d think it was her best friend who died, the way she carries on, eyes ringed red. She didn’t even like Amma. Always resented her, I think, because Amma “stole” me away. Not that it’s stealing if you go willingly. But Tamsin never understood that, did she? No, it was only ever about what she wanted. Who she thought I was. Who she wanted me to be. It was always about Tamsin. It was never about me.

She hasn’t even come to see me. Not that I’d let her, mind you—I’d turn everyone away, even the High Councillor, although of course she hasn’t got the time. She’s getting nervous, you can tell. No one knows what’s going on, not even the Coven. Her grip is slipping. And she can’t afford to let go.

Me, on the other hand, well, I’ve got nothing left to lose.

“Seriously, what is the matter with you?” Wren’s hands were on her hips, her expression impossible to decipher.

“Nothing.” Tamsin’s tone was particularly vicious, a grating octave that usually stopped Wren from pressing the way she always pressed. Marlena’s entries were changing; her resentment was now tinged with hatred. Her bitterness was now disgust. Tamsin had always thought she’d done a good job disguising her anxiety over their dark-magic bond. She thought she’d muffled her guilt and grief over Amma’s death. But Marlena had seen right through her.

And hadn’t said a word.

“Tamsin.” That was all Wren said, just her name, in a voice so patient it made her want to scream. She was staring at the book still open in Tamsin’s shaking hands.

Tamsin deserved this uncertainty—the sour taste of fear on her tongue—and Wren deserved the truth. But if Tamsin made it through the Wood, if she was able to set foot Within, she needed someone on her side. Someone who didn’t look at her with trepidation. With fear.

Wren couldn’t know that Tamsin was a murderer, however inadvertent. She would turn away, would cut and run, and any chance of finding the witch responsible for the dark magic would vanish. Tamsin wasn’t brave enough to step into the Wood on her own. She needed Wren. Which meant she could only offer her a glimpse of her past.

“The last time a witch used dark magic, a girl in my class died. Two girls, actually.” The hollow rasp of her voice was not an act. She fumbled with the diary, shoving it in a pocket so that it disappeared from view. “Seeing the world like this now, it… it brings it all back. Every awful thing. I want to stop this, but… I’m afraid.”

She couldn’t believe she’d said it out loud.

Neither, apparently, could Wren. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She stared at Tamsin with wide eyes, sympathy sticking to every syllable she spoke. The softness of her tone made Tamsin feel guilty. Still, she had to admit it was nice to have someone who didn’t know the truth. A girl who didn’t look at her like she was a monster.

“It hurts too much,” Tamsin finally admitted, reveling for just a moment in the truth. “The remembering. Being here. I…” She trailed off helplessly, the forest looming ahead, greater and more terrible than her memories. Towering higher than her fear. What if the trees did not offer her entry?

Oh, but what if they did?

Tamsin had been born Within, had never moved through the Wood on her way toward the world of magic. She did not know what to expect. Could not gauge what would happen next.

“We’ll go together.” Wren’s voice was no more than a whisper, her face guarded but hopeful. “Into the Wood.” She offered a hand to Tamsin, who stared at it blankly. “You’re not alone,” Wren tried again. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

But the words were so foreign as to be nonsense. Tamsin was alone, and she always would be. That was the nature of her curse. The nature of her.

When she did not reach for Wren’s hand, Wren reached for hers instead, and Tamsin let herself be led toward the tangle of trees.

“Are you ready?” Wren gave Tamsin a significant look.

They both knew the answer was no. They both knew the answer didn’t matter in the end.

Stomach squirming, Tamsin pressed a hand against a knotted trunk. With a creak and a groan, the branches began to recoil, twisting away from her touch like a hand from fire. Instead of finding relief in the fact that the trees were prepared to offer her entry, Tamsin’s entire being was charged with a great, deep fear.

“I don’t know what we’ll find in there,” she whispered, the truth bitter on her tongue. She had asked Leya what it had been like to walk through the trees. Leya had shuddered, never giving her a complete answer. All she’d ever offered was that it felt like the Wood was asking her two questions: Are you one of us? and