Page 36 of This Witch Is Not Wicked

I shot a glare at Vine, who was currently dropping berries into everyone’s hands.

“Oh, thank you.” Ceri popped one into her mouth. “Mmm, this is delicious.”

This was getting ridiculous. Vine was acting like the perfect little host for a gathering I didn’t even want.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the date is canceled,” I said.

Niamh’s face fell. “What? Why?”

Vine poked me in the back, and I bared my teeth at it, making it slither behind the couch. Good riddance.

“Because Nevan is mad at me.” I twined my hands together, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. I hadn’t meant to admit that.

I didn’t need any of them snooping around in my business, but I also desperately wanted to be left alone, and maybe if they knew the whole story, they’d see I was a hopeless case and wouldn’t return.

“Mad at you?” Margaret put a hand over her mouth. “Is this about Mr. Porter?”

People had already heard. Just perfect. “How do you know about that?”

“What?” Fiona asked. “What happened with Mr. Porter?”

“Nothing,” I snapped.

“One of Enid’s plants shot him with its spindles,” Margaret said in a cheery tone. “Nevan was not happy.”

My heart sank. I knew it. I knew he’d be upset with me, but mostly I was upset with myself for caring.

“He was upset?” Niamh shot a concerned glance my way.

Margaret nodded. “Oh yes, he gave Mr. Porter a piece of his mind.”

Niamh set the painting on the couch facing us. “Margaret, have you been snooping again? I told you that you can’t just hop from painting to painting and spy on people.”

“I wasn’t!” Margaret held up her hands. “I just slipped into the lab to ask Nevan a question about ointment for a bad rash that I’m pretty sure one of the maids has, and I happened to walk in right when he was reprimanding Mr. Porter.”

The berry I was eating got lodged in my throat, and I coughed, banging my chest, not sure I’d heard Margaret correctly.

“Someone needs to,” Ceri muttered. “Mr. Porter is so grumpy all the time.”

“He reprimanded Mr. Porter?” I finally asked after swallowing the berry. “What did he say?”

Margaret’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, it was so good. Nevan told the blacksmith that maybe he should try being nicer and then the plants wouldn’t attack him. He told Mr. Porter to go and apologize to your plant for calling it ugly.”

“He did what?” I asked, sinking onto the couch next to the painting, mind in a daze.

“What is this couch made of?” Margaret pointed down at it. “It looks like vines twined together. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Nevan wasn’t mad. He wasn’t planning on ending things. He’d stood up for me. Those odd flutters started up in my stomach again, and I clutched it tight.

“Are you okay?” Niamh sat on my other side.

“You look pale,” Margaret said. “Well, a paler green, at least. Maybe a lime green instead of a mossy green.”

“Do you need some broccoli?” Fiona whispered.

Ceri grabbed the little girl and shushed her.

“I’m fine,” I said slowly. “I must have misunderstood the situation is all.”