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

murky puddle. She had expected Wren to cry, to scream, to turn away from her once she had learned the truth. But she had underestimated the girl. Instead of fleeing, Wren stood her ground.

“Your sister is the dark witch,” she repeated. “Which means you know who we’re up against. I don’t. That’s why I need you to tell me everything.” She looked as though she might crumble beneath the weight of all of Tamsin’s evasions and lies. “So,” she said pointedly. “The book.”

“It’s hers,” Tamsin finally admitted, rummaging in the pocket of her cloak and pulling out the diary. “It’s Marlena’s.”

Wren let out a little hiccup of a giggle.

“What is it?” Tamsin snapped, feeling rather put out. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m sorry,” Wren said, one hand on her chest. “I just—I feel so silly. When Leya first mentioned Marlena, I thought—” She took a step forward, then shrieked as her foot sank into a muddy patch of grass. She scrambled to regain her balance, the ground slurping her leg into the squelching deep.

Tamsin lunged to grab Wren’s elbow, but when her toes began to slip into the muck as well, she scurried back, letting Wren’s arm go.

Wren’s eyes widened with betrayal. “What are you doing?”

“Stop flailing,” Tamsin commanded, charming her lantern to float next to her shoulder and fumbling with the tie on her cloak. “I can’t save you if I’m stuck too.”

Wren’s face was twisted into a pinched, fretful expression as she struggled and writhed, sinking deeper into the muck with each motion. Tamsin shook out her cloak, clutched the hem tightly in her hands, and threw the hood to Wren.

“Grab hold. And quit moving. You’ll sink yourself deeper if you keep squirming.”

“It’s cold,” Wren moaned as she scrambled to grab hold of the cloak. “And it stinks.”

Tamsin pulled at the cloak, the emerald-green fabric slippery beneath her sweating palms. Wren was submerged up to her waist. If she wasn’t careful, she would slip under completely. “Right leg first. Slowly. Slowly.” Tamsin’s voice tensed.

“It’s stuck,” Wren said through gritted teeth as she sank a few more inches.

“Maybe it’s a bog. Bogs are mostly water, after all. Can you swim?”

“No.” Still Wren leaned back, her face plastered with a pained grimace. “It feels like I’m sinking further.” She was, but Tamsin didn’t want to tell her so.

“Move your right leg up. No, up.” Tamsin’s heart was pounding in her ears.

With a great grunt of effort, Wren freed a leg. Tamsin spotted the hint of a giant leather boot. Wren struggled, pulling hard on the cloak, but despite her shaking arms, Tamsin managed to hold her ground. After an immense amount of effort, and several more guttural sounds, Wren freed her second leg. Tamsin hurriedly pulled her upright.

Wren panted wildly, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. Tamsin reached up to brush it away. She caught the faintest whiff of lavender before the smell was swallowed by the stink of the endless night. Tamsin mumbled a few quick words, and Wren’s trousers dried instantly.

Wren, still struggling to catch her breath, stared at Tamsin with soft eyes. “Thanks.”

Tamsin shrugged and busied herself with refastening her cloak. “You can’t go dying on me now. We finally have a lead.” But her attempt at humor fell flat, her shaking hands giving her away.

“I meant for the trousers.” Wren offered up a soft smile. “But I guess thanks also for saving my life. Here.” She stepped forward and tied Tamsin’s cloak with a quick hand. “There you go.”

As they stared awkwardly at each other, Tamsin caught another whiff of lavender. Something about Wren was different.

“Oh!” Tamsin finally managed. “Your eyes are green.”

Strangely, Wren didn’t seem as shocked. “And?”

“They were gray before.”

“No.” Wren frowned. “I’m fairly certain my eyes have always been green.”

Tamsin shook her head wildly. She remembered Wren’s eyes: the color of slate, the gray of rain-soaked stone. This new color was vivid and shocking. It made her want to stare. It made her want to look away.

“Why are you looking at my eyes, anyway?” Wren’s tone was playful, but her smile was guarded.

“I’m not,” Tamsin snapped, despite the fact that she obviously had been. She pulled away, leaving the lantern behind for Wren. Even as she walked away, she listened for Wren’s footsteps to follow her.

It was the darkness, Tamsin told herself, that was throwing everything off. She had been awake for only a short time, but already she was exhausted, ready to throw herself back into sleep. The darkness meant that everything felt closer, more intimate, when all she had done was save Wren from a patch of mud. The darkness was even playing tricks on her eyes, changing colors, giving Tamsin glimpses of another life, one where she noticed the smell of a person’s hair or the color of her eyes simply from staring into them.

But that wasn’t who she was. That wasn’t her lot in life. And so Tamsin swore she would not let the darkness play with her mind. She would not let the darkness win and break her already useless heart.

The innkeeper of the Fickle Fare recognized Tamsin too. But theirs was not a happy reunion. “All I have is a shack,” the hawk-eyed woman said, her eyes beady and judgmental. “It used to hold my goats. But we fixed it up. Some.”

Tamsin opened her mouth to protest, but the woman looked down her nose at Tamsin’s left arm, as though she could see the mottled skin through the layers of clothing. It was enough to shut Tamsin up. This innkeeper knew exactly what she was responsible for. She knew she had been stripped of the Coven’s sigil. Without it, Tamsin had no more status than a child stumbling Within for the very first time, their magic tumultuous and wild. She was not respected. She did not matter. Still, her mother was the High Councillor, and she had a hunting license issued by the Coven. The woman did not dare to turn her away completely.

“Fine.” Tamsin