Sweet & Bitter Magic by Adrienne Tooley (best ereader for textbooks .txt) 📕

It was the reason Vera had insisted on her curse. When Tamsin loved, she loved too hard. It made her dangerous. Never before had that been so clear. Tamsin’s love hurt people.

She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, wishing desperately that she could cry. Anything to release the terrible, terrible ache in her chest, the stiffness of her heart, the guilt pooling in her lungs. It was all her fault.

She had no idea what she was going to tell Wren.

Wren.

She had nearly forgotten about the source, left alone to face the Six. Tamsin hurried to the end of the corridor, faltering as the door opened before she reached it. She tensed, waiting for a reprimand or a gasp as the person on the other side registered her presence. Instead she was met with a familiar red-lipped frown.

It was odd knowing that once Leya had made her feel. For as she stared at her now, she saw nothing but a girl.

“Are you following me?”

Leya rolled her eyes. “Again,” she said, her voice flat, “I live here, so in fact one could argue that you are following me.”

Tamsin swayed slightly, exhaustion creeping through her bones like a morning frost. She used the wall to steady herself, rested her head against it.

Leya’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Tamsin reluctantly lifted her cheek from the stone.

“Make me feel sorry for you. I can’t handle that.” Her words were harsher than her tone.

“I’m sorry,” Tamsin said. “I haven’t slept in two days.”

Leya snickered. “No kidding. You look awful.”

“I’m sorry,” Tamsin said again.

Leya sniffed. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you were my best friend for ten years, and you’ve apologized to me more in five minutes than you ever did then.”

Tamsin sighed, guilt flickering in her chest. Another casualty of her carelessness.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, then winced. Leya snorted.

“She really did a number on you, didn’t she? I can see the earnestness written all over your face.”

“Who?”

Leya blinked blankly at her. “My replacement.”

“Wren?”

“No,” Leya snapped, “the other source you brought along. Yes, Wren.” She slumped against the wall next to Tamsin, pressing a foot up behind her. “How did you even find her? I thought we had every source in all four corners of the world.”

So had Tamsin until Wren had appeared at her door. “She came to me.”

“Of course she did,” Leya muttered darkly.

“What does that mean?” Tamsin turned her head to face the girl who had once been her friend.

“That you were always going to be okay, no matter what happened.” Leya turned away from Tamsin, her eyes fixed on the window across the corridor. “It means I did the right thing, telling you no.”

Tamsin frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Leya’s laugh echoed in the empty corridor. “Did you ever care for me? Even a little? Even just as a friend?” Her eyes flitted across Tamsin’s face hopefully. “Before, I mean.”

“Of course I did.” The question was unfathomable. Even though she couldn’t remember loving Leya, she knew she had. She had been in awe of her, the way magic was so intrinsic to her person, the confidence she’d possessed. The way she made Tamsin feel important and full of potential.

“Then why did you ask me to help you?” Leya brushed her hair in front of her eyes the way she always did when she was close to tears. “They would have killed me, and you didn’t care at all.”

“That isn’t true.” But maybe in some small way it was.

Tamsin had thought that her return Within would be a chance for redemption. A way to set things right. But there was still so much to repent for.

“Just don’t do the same thing to Wren,” Leya sighed, sounding resigned. “She likes you, you know.” Tamsin nearly hit her head on the wall in surprise.

“Wren?” Leya’s words were unfathomable. “No, she doesn’t. I’m awful.”

Leya snickered. “Now, that we can both agree on.” She pushed herself away from the wall. “Good luck,” she said, “with whatever you came here to do.”

“Thanks.” Tamsin ran a finger absentmindedly against the black ribbon around her throat. “I’m going to need it.”

“You probably won’t,” Leya said, smiling sadly before continuing down the corridor.

It was all Tamsin was going to get in the way of good-bye.

SIXTEEN

WREN

Wren was restless. Although the flames in the torches on the walls still burned bright, the outside sky had grown light. The fresh mark upon her skin had stopped its throbbing and become a sure, steady pain.

Still Tamsin had not appeared.

Wren shifted her position on the marble floor. She had lost feeling in one of her legs but was too exhausted to pull herself to her feet. She drummed an empty rhythm on the floor with her fingers, playing in time with the echoes of magic floating near the rafters.

Leya had left Wren alone with her thoughts, and rather than unpack the meaning behind the fluttering of her stomach and the twisting envy in her gut, Wren had given in to the sounds of magic: its broad, swooping notes, its grating scrapes, its lulling, unchanging pulse.

The hall was filled with it, the history of every bit of magic ever performed within the confines of its black walls. Some spells lilted with hope; others cried like crashing waves. Wren managed to find a melody: several bright, careful notes that kept repeating. She tried her hand at whistling, but her lips went dry with the effort.

Wren faltered, a note catching in her throat as the door at the back of the hall scraped open. She scrambled to her feet, wobbling slightly as she put weight on her dead leg.

Tamsin moved swiftly forward, the low blue flames cutting a sharp shadow across her face. Her jaw was set, her expression hard. She might have been carved from stone were it not for the wildness in her eyes.

It was an uncertainty, more contained than Leya’s raw energy but less focused