“You like to think you’re different from the rest of us,” Ash said, “but you’re not. You’re just another bored rich girl, desperately searching for some bigger meaning where there is none.”
Willow stopped in front of the library’s door. “You think wantingmoremakes me foolish?”
“I think being nineteen and still believing in fairy tales makes you foolish.”
Heat flared in Willow’s chest. “I don’t believe in fairy tales, and you know it.”
“Magic, then,” said Ash, and her cold smile said that she knew she was tightening the net.
Why did Willow care? Did there have to be a net? What if there was no net?
“You only accept something if you can prove it,” she countered, “but not everything works that way, Ash. You don’t know what I know.”
“Really, Willow? This again? You touched a stupid rattle once, and you had some sort of... psychotic break. Because you’reWillow.” She widened her eyes and did jazz hands. “Special. Delicate. And then along came Mr. Chapman—”
“Ash? Don’t.”
Ash held up her hands. “Fine. Just—if Mom gets it into her head that you’re losing the plot again, guess who’s going to be stuck picking up the slack?”
Willow blinked hard. If she cried in front of Ash...
“Why are you being so mean?” she managed.
“Because you’re my big sister!” Ash exploded. “You’resupposed to take care ofme!”
Willow was dumbstruck. She was, literally, struck dumb. When she could form words again, she said, “Since when have you ever needed anything from anyone?” She replayed Ash’s words about the baby rattle. “And I did see something with the rattle. And it was amazing. Until you came along and ruined it.”
“Right. Of course. I scared away the fairy woman in the trees,” Ash said, adopting a singsong tone that was code for,Aren’t you just. So. Dumb.“When I was four, because I’m just that scary.”
“You see something shiny and call it fake. You see something that glitters, and you say, ‘It’s calledscattering. It’s what light does. It’s not magic, it’s science.’”
Ash gave a little laugh. “Okay, so I’m a realist. I’m fine with that.”
Willow’s head ached with a pressure she’d have to ignore because, yes, fine, her motherwasthe one who got migraines. Only one person per family allowed, according to some unspoken rule, and Willow’s mother had claimed that card ages ago.
Sometimes Willow hated her for it, just as she hated her father for being a blowhard and Ash for being a smug, superior tight-ass who was only happy when others were miserable.
“You aren’t a realist, Ash. You’re an emotional vampire who sucks joy from the world.” A strange calm descended. “You show up”—she tilted her head—“and magic leaves.” She made a bursting motion with her hands. “Poof.”
Ash’s lip wobbled—almost. But no. Willow must have imagined it. Willow’s vision was just off. Even so, it almost seemed as if Ash cared.
Which she didn’t.
Obviously.
Whatever emotions Ash was or wasn’t experiencing, she wrangled them under control. “Ah,” she said. “The woman in the trees wasmagic. That explainsso much.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning...” Ash lifted her eyes to the ceiling and inhaled audibly. “Omigod, Willow, I don’t know. Just, you’ve clung to this story of yours for so frickin’ long. Could you spice it up a little, at least? Throw in a sexy fairy bad boy who swoops in and rescues you from your humdrum life, all while pirouetting on green felt slippers?”
Willow thought of Serrin, and an electric jolt shot through her. But green felt slippers? She lifted her chin and said, “For your information, the boy in my dreams wouldnever—”
She broke off.
Too late.
“Oh. My. God,” Ash said. Her grin curled up, wicked and delighted. “Youdohave a sexy fairy bad boy fetish. Wow, Willow. Just...wow.”
