Mama came forward and hugged Auggie to her, and I stepped in front of all of them. “We are no less witches because we don’t have our magic. We were cursed by my grandmother, an accident.”
“And why didn’t you come forward?” Witch Superior’s gaze snapped to me.
“Because you’ve created a realm where everyone lives in fear of your laws, where witches don’t trust each other.” I shot a look at Georgie. “Where your own granddaughter is afraid of you.”
Witch Superior’s eyes flashed. “Do not dare speak to me about my granddaughter.”
I’d hit a nerve. I stepped forward, shedding the fear that surrounded me. I could do this. I could be brave. I could stand my ground. “Well, now you know why we didn’t come forward.”
“It’s not an excuse,” Witch Superior snapped.
“So punish me,” I said. “It was my idea. My sisters, my mama, wanted to come forward several times over the years. I convinced them not to.”
“Elspeth, no,” Mama said, reaching for me.
I ignored her, keeping my gaze locked on Witch Superior. “It’s my fault. I take full responsibility.”
“The punishment for living in the Witchlands illegally and keeping curses a secret from your leader is one year in prison for every year the secret has been kept.”
I stiffened. That would be twelve years locked in the Dearthsten Prisons.
“No.” Draven stepped in front of me. “I won’t let you take her.”
Witch Superior tilted her head. “Ah, yes. The other disappointment in my family. You were one of our best cursebreakers, and you gave up all that power to come live here in this no-name village. What do you care about some magicless witch?”
Draven’s lip curled. “That magicless witch has done more for the Witchlands than you ever have.”
“You love her.” Witch Superior scoffed. “How utterly disappointing. No grandson of mine will be associated with such an embarrassment.”
Draven surged forward, and I grasped his arm to keep him from doing something he’d regret. “Don’t ever speak about her that way again.”
Mama whimpered from behind us.
“Well, it doesn’t matter.” Witch Superior waved her hand. “She admitted to breaking the law. Now she must pay.”
Voices erupted outside the window, and I looked to see Veldar marching toward our cottage, followed by Morty and—practically the entire town of Thistlegrove.
“What now?” Witch Superior rubbed her temples. “Who are all these people?”
“The residents of Thistlegrove,” Draven murmured.
Edgar peeked his head up over the couch. “Oh, look at that.”
Witch Superior ground her teeth together, then spun on her heel and marched outside. We all shot each other uneasy looks but followed, emerging in front of the cottage.
“You can’t take away our soup!” Veldar jabbed his cane at Witch Superior.
“Who are you?” she asked, lip curling in disgust.
“I’m old enough to be your father,” Veldar shot back.
Morty stepped forward, elbowing him. “I think what Veldar means is that you can’t arrest the Moonflowers. We already chased your spy away.”
Helena. The townspeople . . . chased her away?
Veldar smacked his cane in his hand, a smug look on his face. “She won’t be coming back any time soon.”
Witch Superior looked back at me, then at the crowd, who was murmuring in agreement. A few of them shifted from foot to foot, looking uneasy, but they stood their ground under Witch Superior’s assessing gaze.
