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

midnight-blue velvet. It was strange, watching Tamsin let down her guard. She looked younger, the sharp lines of her face relaxing slightly. Perhaps it was the warm orange flame flickering through the room or the way Tamsin’s entire body had lost some of its rigidness as soon as the old woman had taken her hand.

Wren rolled out the crick in her neck, closing her eyes as she did. She could likely fall asleep on the spot. When she opened her eyes, a willow-patterned teacup and matching saucer had appeared in front of her. Wren curled her hands around the cup, which had filled itself with steaming tea.

Tamsin returned after several minutes, carrying two bowls of stew. Hazel followed after her, plopping down a plate of flaky pastries. The woman smelled of freshly churned butter, her ribbons of magic an herbal green.

“Oh, now,” the old woman said, at last turning to Wren. “Who’s this?”

“You already gave me two bowls, Hazel. You can’t pretend to be ignorant now just so you’ll get an introduction.” Tamsin’s words were harsh, but her tone was soft. Hazel gripped Tamsin’s shoulder in a firm yet loving squeeze.

“I’m Wren.” She hesitated, uncertain if she should extend her hand.

“I know.” The old woman cackled, but it was a warm, inclusive laugh. “I’ll leave you girls to your food and make up a room for you.”

Tamsin settled herself into the plush pink armchair across from Wren. “Sorry about her. She means well, but she tends to meddle.”

“She’s nice.” Wren blew softly on a spoonful of stew.

“We stayed here sometimes when we needed a break from the dormitories. When we wanted to feel as though someone actually cared for us, since Vera never seemed to have the time.” Tamsin ran a pale finger around the rim of her teacup.

“We?” Was Wren sitting in the same seat Leya had once occupied?

Tamsin startled. “Sorry, I. I meant me.” She took a sip of tea. “Hazel is kind. Perhaps too kind.”

“No such thing,” Wren said pointedly, trying to tamp down the squirm of suspicion in her stomach. “You should try it sometime.”

“Ha. Ha.” Tamsin’s voice was flat.

Wren took a sip of tea just to have something to do with her hands. “So,” she finally said, trying to keep her voice light, “we’ll stay the night here?” She glanced out the window. The sun was already rising. “The day? The way the dark magic is pushing the sun through the sky, I’ve seen so many sunrises I no longer have any concept of time.”

Tamsin almost laughed. “Suppose it doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is finding her.”

Her?

Surely Tamsin meant the dark witch, although her certainty that the dark witch was a woman was a new development.

“Tamsin.” Wren glanced around, trying to keep her expression light. The buzz of gossip was still floating through the room, but the witches now seemed more focused on their conversations than on Wren and Tamsin themselves. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

Tamsin ran a hand through her tangled hair. “I really need a bath.”

Wren sighed deeply. “Will you stop avoiding my questions? If we’re going to do this, I need to know what we’re up against.” She tapped her fingernails against her teacup, a soft tinkling filling the empty air between them as she stared the witch down. Tamsin looked away first.

Wren’s mouth soured with the witch’s silence. “I know how to keep a secret, you know. Not as well as you, obviously,” she said pointedly. “Banished? I mean, you really didn’t think to mention that before making me seal a contract?”

“Didn’t your father ever teach you not to enter into contracts with witches?” Tamsin raised her eyebrows. “We’re notoriously good at incredibly precise wording.”

“He did, actually.” Wren tried to suppress the pang she felt at the mention of her father. Tried to forget about the new reality of her life. “Anyway, I thought you were going to give me answers.” She looked at the witch expectantly. “My patience is running thin.”

Tamsin snorted. “No, it’s not. You’re never anything other than good and patient and kind.” Her eyes flickered over Wren. “Which, frankly, is very annoying.”

Wren rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Says you. So?”

Before Tamsin could answer, Wren’s stomach gave a ferocious growl. She smiled apologetically and lunged for the closest pastry. She couldn’t recall the last time they’d stopped for food. She couldn’t remember the last time they had properly slept, either.

“Don’t choke,” Tamsin said, watching Wren stuff half the pie in her mouth at once.

Wren let out a soft groan. The food was hot, the spices sharp, the pastry crisp. It was maybe the most wonderful thing she’d ever eaten.

Tamsin was watching her with horror. “You look like an animal.”

“You look like an animal,” Wren shot back giddily, her mouth full. A flake of pastry fell onto her shirt.

Tamsin wrinkled her nose. “Well done. That was devastating. Truly.” She reached for her own pie. For the first time in days, she almost looked relaxed. But Wren was still on edge. We. Her. There was something the witch was still keeping secret.

Someone.

“Tamsin, who’s Marlena?”

Tamsin nearly choked on her pastry. She coughed wildly, her face turning red. Wren fought the urge to get up and help her. She merely stared, waiting, until Tamsin had settled down and taken a giant gulp from the teacup in front of her. The witch’s lips pressed into a firm line. Then, after another moment’s hesitation, when Wren was sure the witch wouldn’t answer, Tamsin said, “My sister.”

Wren had thought she could no longer be surprised by Tamsin’s reveals, but this one punched her in the gut. “You have a sister?”

Something complicated flashed across Tamsin’s face. “A twin.”

“So, earlier, when you said the only thing that matters is finding her, did you mean the dark witch, or did you mean your sister?”

The witch looked nervously over her shoulder. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

Wren dropped the remaining bite of her pastry, eyes blazing. “No, you won’t. You’ll explain it now.” She hoped she