We walk through the kitchen—I catch a fleetingglimpse of Layla and raise my hand to wave—then climb a narrow set of stairs to the Waverlys’ apartment above the café. I’ve never been up here before, but Poppy’s mentioned it, so I knew she and Layla lived here.
The space is quaint and cozy, and the air is pleasantly warm from the fire flickering in the hearth. All around me, the cheery yellow walls hold a multitude of painted images, bundles of herbs, and other knickknacks—little shelves with figurines, stones, and sticks of incense. Everywhere I look, there’s something new to see and be curious about.
“Through here,” Poppy says. She kicks off her shoes near the door, so I do the same, and then I follow her to a small room overlooking the cobbled street at the front of the shop. People walk down the road or ride in carriages, bundled up to fend off the cold. And all across the city, smoke plumes puff from chimneys, all the fires fighting to keep the homes and shops warm against winter’s chill.
“So,” Poppy says, sitting down on the end of her perfectly made bed, “what’s going on?”
With a sigh, I turn and sink into Poppy’s big bay window. It’s full of plush pillows and thick knit blankets, and a narrow end table stands nearby, weighed down with more books than I’d probably read in a year—though I’m sure Poppy will read them all during the holiday, plus some.
I wiggle my toes under one of the blankets and lean back against the wall. “I set a fire again. At home.”
Poppy doesn’t say anything at first. Her pale purple brows pull low over her eyes, and she stares at me like I’m spent tea leaves in the bottom of her cup in tasseography class. I’ve never been particularly good at divination—or any of myclasses, for that matter—but Poppy excels at it, probably because she’s a dream witch, with lots of practice interpreting things that at first glance don’t seem so clear.
“What happened? Were you upset about something?”
“Yeah, about a million somethings,” I grumble, then nibble on my bottom lip and look out the window again. Down on the cobbles, a mother pushes a stroller, with another young child toddling along at her side.
Did Mama ever go places with me? Did she ever want to?
With a sigh, I say, “I was thinking about me, and my mother, and Cairn...” Saying the words out loud makes my stomach pinch at the reminder of all the pain. “It just set me off, I guess. Papa had to put out the fire. Then I burned the soup. So here we are.” I toss her a glance and a big smile, but I don’t think she’s buying it. Now that we’ve been roommates for a year and a half, it’s become exceedingly more difficult to hide my real feelings from the girls. Most of the time, they see right through me. Then I add, “It feels like I’m moving backward, like I’m sliding down a slope, and I’m going to be right back where I started this year. One more fire at the academy, and I’m done. And now, with Cairn leaving, I...” These are words I’ve not said aloud to anyone, words I’ve scarcely allowed myself to even think. “I’m afraid I’m just going to get worse. He grounded me, helped me. But without him, I feel weak. Dangerous...” I fiddle with the soft tassels on one of the knit blankets in the window seat. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Poppy tips her head at me, short lavender hair framing her light brown cheeks. “I don’t think that’s the case at all.”
I arch a brow at her. “No?”
She shakes her head. “No. You’ve made so much progress, Lyra. And Cairn might’ve helped, butyoudid that work. And...” Her smile is small and soft. “And you’re allowed to miss him. It doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
Miss him . . .
Of course I miss him. But I’m also afraid to miss him, afraid of the pain of caring for him and wanting him when he’s so far away. It would be safer to cut things off, to set fire to the feelings I have for him and let them burn to ash that blows away in the winter wind.
“I don’t know,” I say, wiggling my toes farther under the warm blankets. I’ve still been struggling to stay warm, like my fire magic is feeling just as gloomy and blue about Cairn as I am.
“Do you want to be with him?” Poppy’s voice is gentle, coaxing.
“I...” I furrow my brow, bite my lip, try to come up with an answer that won’t feel like a lie but won’t make me face the truth either. But with Poppy staring at me like that, her eyes focused and intent like she’s staring right into my soul, I suddenly feel like there’s no point in lying—to her or to myself. It’s too exhausting. “I do. And I don’t want to lose what I found in the gardens. Not just him, but the new me.” Tears start to well up in my eyes for the second time today. “I was doing so well, Pops. And now... I’m afraid.”
Poppy stands from the bed and comes to sit beside me in the bay window. “You’re not going to lose anything. But you might have to fight for it.” Her eyes are twinkling when I meet her gaze. “I’ve never been in love”—her cheeks flush pink—“but from what I cantell, it doesn’t always come easy. I mean, look at everything Raelan and Alina went through last year. You’ve got to work for it. And I think this connection you have with Cairn is worth fighting for, Ly. Do you?”
My mind flashes through my memories of Cairn: images, conversations, the kisses we’ve shared. And a warmth starts to blossom in my chest as I realize that the reason I learned to control my magic around him is because he always made me feel safe, grounded. When he looked at me, spoke to me, laughed with me, it felt real, and it felt like we had something that would last. But now that I’m afraid of him leaving, my magic is acting up again, becoming as erratic as the emotions swirling in my chest.
“What if it doesn’t work out?” I whisper to Poppy.
She smiles at me and puts a warm hand on my knee. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.” Her smile grows. “And I’ve never known you to give up on anything you put your mind to, Lyra Wilder.”
Now I’m starting to smile too, and the tears welling along my low lashes slowly start to dissipate.
I don’t want to be reckless, but I also don’t want to isolate myself because I’m afraid of those I love leaving me. Mama left Papa behind, but he’s not closed himself off, hasn’t become bitter and resentful. He still laughs and smiles and finds joy in every day. That’s what I want too—to finally take off this burden of weight I’ve been carrying around with me ever since my mother walked out that door.
I don’t want her to drag me down any longer.
And what Idowant is Cairn.
Ifhe’ll still have me.
Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around Poppy and give her a firm squeeze. She smells like honey and cinnamon, probably from whatever she’s been baking today.
“Thanks, Pops,” I whisper. “I think I know what I need to do.”
