Sweet & Bitter Magic, Adrienne Tooley [books suggested by elon musk .TXT] 📗

the dark magic, all of it could end as soon as Vera said the word. The way she had when it had been Tamsin’s spell. When it had been Evangeline.

Vera had instilled an understanding in her daughters that the fate of the world Within was worthy of ultimate sacrifice. Evangeline had been Vera’s best friend, Tamsin her daughter. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. The world Within was more important than the individual, greater than family. The choices Vera had made for Marlena’s life, for Tamsin’s future, were proof of that.

Hesitation stretched across Vera’s face like a mask. Her uncertainty made her look small. “I cannot.”

It was jarring to hear that phrase from the Coven’s leader. Her mother was the most powerful witch in the world. She could do anything.

“Why not?” Tamsin’s voice was so quiet she wasn’t certain she had spoken aloud.

“Because this was my mistake. A miscalculation.” Vera pushed herself away from her desk and moved toward her bookshelves. She kept her back to Tamsin, her fingers brushing the covers of books containing spells that were as old as the world. “When you are the Coven’s High Councillor, your loyalty must lie with all witches,” she said, tugging a slim book from the top shelf and flipping idly through the pages. “But when you are a mother…” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “Sometimes your priorities change.”

Tamsin frowned. Vera had never seemed particularly interested in being a mother. Certainly, she’d been in her daughters’ lives, as their teacher, an authority figure—a mentor, even. But not as a parent. Their relationship was not warm. Tamsin was a person, born from another person, valued and cherished for her power. Nothing more.

“But you didn’t contact me. Not once in five years did I ever hear from you.”

Vera closed the book and clutched it to her chest. “I knew you would find your way. You are strong. You were always going to survive. Your sister, however…” She trailed off again, her eyes far away.

“Didn’t.” Tamsin hated how bitter she sounded. It wasn’t Vera’s fault Marlena was dead. It was her own. Her rash decisions and desperate need to be loved had done this. And no matter what, she would always have to carry it, like a stone in her pocket, with every step she took on this earth.

“I’m sorry,” Vera said, her eyes still focused on the stars shining outside the tower’s tiny window. “It was the only way. The only way life Within could continue as usual.”

Tamsin knew she was talking about her refusal to save Marlena. Tamsin saw her mother’s reasoning despite the fact that she did not understand it. One could not come before the many. As Vera had said, her loyalty had to lie with all witches.

“It was my fault,” Tamsin whispered, her breath hitching in her chest.

Vera set the book down on her desk. “No, Tamsin, it was mine. You couldn’t stay here. You knew that. They would have killed you. I should have killed you, but you were so young. You had so much potential, and… you were my daughter. I couldn’t bear to lose you. So I sent you away.”

“I deserved it,” Tamsin said, and the words felt right. Honest. “I killed her. Amma, too.”

Vera sighed, running a hand through her river of curls. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” She swore darkly under her breath. “I had hoped this would be easier, but there isn’t time to get it right.” She exhaled sharply, moving back to stand before her daughter, her expression apologetic.

“Tamsin…” Her mother’s voice shook. “The dark witch is Marlena. Your sister isn’t dead.”

FOURTEEN

WREN

Wren’s wrists were bound, her knees pressed against an unforgiving marble floor. She blinked blearily in the dimly lit room, trying to get her eyes to adjust. It was massive, all vaulted ceilings, tall windows, and ornately carved columns. The high ceiling created an impossible chamber of sound—the music, the screeches, the lyricism of past spells, bouncing about the rafters in a cacophony so chaotic and grating that Wren wanted to slap her hands over her ears and run screaming from the room.

Instead she took a breath, trying to steady the nerves fluttering in her chest. The darkness was heavy and thick despite the hundreds of tapers lining the walls. Though each candle dripped wax, the fire hummed a tune that told Wren the flame would never reach the end of the wick. The light would never burn out.

Wren shifted, turning her attention to the nearly twenty witches filtering into the room. Some, with rainbow-colored magic, lined the stone walls, their eyes curious and expressions muted. Others were more stoic, their magic older, less colorful but more refined, gray like the sky or stone.

The six with ancient magic stood directly before her. Wren’s nose was overwhelmed by the strong scents of their power (rain, lightning, figs, paper, sweat, and iron, respectively), and her eyes swam with the shimmering, protective enchantments they wore like cloaks. If she had to guess, she’d place their ages anywhere from one hundred to three hundred years old.

Wren squirmed within her bindings, her ears ringing. Leftover magic kept prodding her menacingly, like fire irons. She was in the Witchlands, yet it was nothing like what she had envisioned. She had pictured arriving with grace, exuding confidence, her power speaking for itself. Instead she was dirty, bound, and broken.

She wished Tamsin were with her. She also hoped she never saw Tamsin again. She took a breath, trying to steady the nerves fluttering in her chest. How could Tamsin have kept her mother a secret?

Even witches have mothers, Wren. She could practically hear Tamsin’s flat expression, could perfectly picture the roll of her eyes. It wasn’t as though Wren had assumed Tamsin would share all her secrets. What was surprising was the magnitude of those secrets, the truth of Tamsin’s past. There was still so much about Tamsin she did not know.

Wren’s many questions were silenced as she caught sight of