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“Yeah,” I mumbled. “Maybe.”
“I know you think you’re invincible, but—”
“I accidentally used my magic the other day,” I said. “In a big, big way.”
Grandma Betty just stared. “You used magic? To what, pollinate your lemon tree?”
“After I was named a candidate for the wildcard seat, a handsy reporter tried to blackmail me in a back alley. I sort of exploded all over him.”
“He wouldn’t be the one that’s currently missing, would he? Briggs something or other?” Gran gave me some side-eye. “It’s all over the news today.”
“That part is not my fault.”
“I’m very intrigued.”
“Best if you don’t know.”
“I get that.”
I was a bit alarmed at how casually my grandmother was taking the news that I may or may not have been involved in the disappearance of an annoying reporter. My grandmother—a soft-spoken, cookie-baking, flower-gardening, sweet old lady—would once in a while give me glimpses into a past that had me wondering what sorts of stories she could tell.
Stories I probably didn’t want to know for legal reasons. I imagined there was nothing like finding out your grandmother was an assassin to blow the apron-wearing, cake-making image of her out of the water. Sometimes I just didn’t know about Grandma Betty.
“It’s something,” my grandmother acknowledged. “Maybe it’ll keep the purists off your back for a bit. Just don’t get fooled into thinking that one outburst of magic will keep you safe forever.”
“I have personal reasons for not wanting to use my magic.”
“What are they, Trix?” Grandma faced me, her gaze kind. “You’ve never really said. I’m sure you have them, but nobody knows what they are.”
“The only thing magic has ever done for me is get me in trouble,” I said after a brief hesitation. “You know how you said I had a lot of power in me? Well, sometimes I think the only reason Mom stuck with me is because of my magic.”
“It’s not hard to see that you’re a powerful witch.” Grandma Betty bit down on her lip. “You radiate it. Why do you think I’m so worried about the purists finding you?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes Mom would make me use magic for her. Love potions mostly, but sometimes we’d need money, and she’d use me to get it.”
“Using magic to procure money is illegal. And if a witch does use that sort of magic, it’s at a great personal cost.”
“No kidding.” I intensely remembered the darker streak in my mother, the way her eyes would glow with hope and fake enthusiasm as she’d encourage me to find ways to circumvent the laws. “Mom was creative. She’d find ways around the rules. Ways to make me use my magic so we could get money to pay our bills.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Daisy wasn’t a bad person.” I couldn’t meet my grandmother’s gaze. “She had issues beyond her control. Sometimes she used substances from behind The Veil, usually if one of her boyfriends would get the stuff. It wasn’t her during those times...it was like she was a stranger.”
Grandma Betty nodded, trying to hide the crestfallen look on her face. She did a noble job of hiding her real emotions, but it wasn’t enough. I could see the disappointment. I had tried to hide the full truth about my mom for a long time now, from pretty much everyone—especially my grandmother. Grandma Betty had suffered enough at Daisy Gardens’ hands.
Gran reached out to me. She squeezed my hand.
“The last time I used my magic,” I said, “was when Daisy asked me to curse one of her ex-boyfriends. I didn’t want to do it, but she could be very persuasive.” I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but I made a mistake, and I almost killed him. I almost killed a man with my magic. After that, I swore I’d never use it again.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Oh, Trixie.”
“I ran away then. I lasted five weeks on my own before she tracked me down. By then, Daisy had gotten clean. She apologized up and down, swore she’d never go back to The Veil.”
“Did you believe her?”
