Sweet & Bitter Magic Adrienne Tooley (best novels of all time .txt) 📖

was out the door before he could respond, stopping only at the gate to pull off her sorry excuse for boots and step into her father’s worn yet sturdy pair. Wren laced them as tightly as they would go. They were several sizes too big, but with a bit of padding they would surely suffice.

She left her own dilapidated pair hanging from the gate, their broken soles the only remaining proof that she had ever been there at all.

She set off back toward Ladaugh, her load much heavier than before. She moved the sack to the other shoulder, the jangle of coins in her pocket reminding her she still had unfinished business.

Wren might have been leaving her father behind, but that didn’t mean she was leaving him alone.

She pushed open the door to the tailor’s shop, grateful to find it empty, save for Tor, who was poring over numbers at a desk in the back. He looked surprised to see her. Wren couldn’t blame him. She had been repairing her own clothes for so long she could hardly remember the last time she’d purchased anything new.

“I have a favor to ask,” Wren said, in lieu of a greeting.

The old man peered at her curiously. “Go on, then.”

Wren dropped her sack with a soft thump. “My father has become afflicted. I have to leave town, but I need to be sure he’s taken care of. Fed, hydrated, kept inside so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Anger flashed in Tor’s eyes. “You’re a sweet girl, but surely you can’t be asking me to put myself in that kind of danger.”

Wren looked desperately at him. “You don’t have to go inside. Just leave some food on the step, knock on the door, and run.”

She pulled her hand from her pocket and dropped a mess of coins onto his desk. They clattered wildly. A copper farthing rolled to the floor. Wren stopped it with her foot.

“Please, Tor.” She pressed the rogue coin onto the desk with a sharp clink.

Tor did not look away.

“Please.”

“And where are you going, then?” When the tailor finally spoke, Wren knew it was as close to an agreement as she was likely to get.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Wren said quietly. “Please”—she bent down to retie her bag—“take care of him. He needs someone.”

The tailor let out a long, low sigh. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do all I can until I’m unable.”

Wren had half a mind to throw her arms around the man, but she refrained. “Thank you,” she said instead, and hoped it was enough.

Tor slipped the coins into his pocket and bade her farewell. Wren’s load wasn’t lighter, necessarily, but it felt more manageable.

Wren didn’t bother to knock. She simply barged into the witch’s hut and dumped her sack by the door, startling Tamsin so intensely that she fell from a kitchen chair to the floor with a loud thump.

“Okay.”

The witch’s face flashed with surprise. “Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll pay you in love.”

“I thought I was a monster.” Tamsin was back on her feet, one hand on her hip, her eyebrow cocked in challenge.

Wren’s cheeks burned. She had spoken rashly, let her anger get the better of her. What if the witch had been so insulted that she refused to accept?

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to choose her words carefully. “I shouldn’t have… I wasn’t…” Tamsin watched her struggle, eyebrow raised. Wren finally let herself lapse into silence. The room was quiet, save for the crackle of the fire.

“Fine.” There was a flicker of something frantic behind the witch’s eyes. Excitement and fear fought a battle to claim her expression. It made Wren anxious. Apprehensive. Still, the word offered a welcome relief from the suffocating silence between them.

“Give me your hand.” Tamsin extended her own, displaying a long palm and thin fingers.

Wren stepped back, cradling her hands near her heart. “Why?”

“I don’t work until my payment is received. You pay me with love; I accompany you on your hunt. Get it?” She gave Wren a withering look, as though she thought perhaps she didn’t understand.

Wren shook her head sharply. “If I give you my love now, I’ll no longer have motivation to end the plague. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Tamsin scowled. “I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

“If you want my love for my father, it is your problem.” Wren was bluffing. She needed Tamsin much more than the witch needed her.

“I don’t like problems,” Tamsin said. “No deal.” She turned away, her spine rigid. “I am paid in advance, or not at all.”

Wren’s heart sank to her toes. Only moments ago, the girl’s eyes had gleamed hungrily. Now she was refusing. Still, there was something desperate lingering in the crack of her voice.

“What if I gave you a taste?” Wren took an inadvertent step forward. The witch spun on her heel to face her again. “Just a little bit,” she clarified quickly. “So you know I’m good for it. Would that work?”

Wren had already resigned herself to this fate. So what if it came a bit sooner than she had expected?

The witch closed the distance between them in one swift stride. Tamsin wrapped her clawlike fingers around Wren’s wrist tightly. “Think of him,” she demanded.

Wren did. She conjured the image of her father, his smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners, his swoop of tawny hair patched with gray. And as Wren thought, she felt a tug right behind her heart. Just as when the two had first touched, Wren felt something inside her flowing toward the witch, like Wren was a river that opened up to Tamsin’s sea.

“What are you doing?” Wren tried to pull away, but Tamsin only held on harder. Wren caught a whiff of fresh herbs, felt the tickle of a summer breeze upon the back of her neck, despite the fact that the cottage was quite sealed to the outside world.

The witch’s features changed. A smile floated gently across her face—a very nice face, Wren had to admit begrudgingly, when it wasn’t