Page 14 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

Chapter Seven

Mariselle pushed open the door of the old greenhouse later that afternoon, wincing at the slight squeak of its hinges, and found Petunia already inside, pacing between the rows of potted plants they had cultivated over the years.

Mariselle felt a surge of relief—Petunia must have received the hastily scrawled note she’d dispatched with one of the household pixies the moment she’d returned from Solstice Hall.

“Please,” Petunia said without preamble, halting her agitated circuit to fix Mariselle with a piercing stare, “tell me that all this nonsense the gossip birds have been shrieking about you and Evryn Rowanwood is complete and utter rubbish.”

Mariselle closed the door behind her and leaned against it, expelling a breath.

“Yes! Well, partly.” She pushed away from the door and crossed the space to drop into one of the pair of worn velvet chairs they had pilfered years ago from the Dawndale attic.

A small table between the chairs held a wicker picnic basket, Petunia’s customary offering whenever they met in the greenhouse. “When did you hear?”

“This morning, around dawn,” Petunia replied, abandoning her pacing to take the chair across from her cousin.

She swiped in annoyance at the wayward strands of auburn hair that had fallen around her face.

“I told you the darned things were building a nest in that tree outside my window. Now I have to endure their rubbish at all hours of the day.”

“Those wretched birds,” Mariselle muttered. “They work quickly. It would have been barely a few hours since they heard me telling my parents about the soulbond. Could they not rest for at least?—”

“Soulbond?” Petunia’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t hear that part.

They were screeching something about a ‘shocking Rowanwood-Brightcrest engagement’ and an ‘outraged family,’ but their vocabulary tends toward the dramatic rather than the specific.

” She leaned forward, her expression softening with genuine concern. “Mari, what have you done?”

Mariselle took a deep breath before launching into her tale.

The midnight race against Evryn, their chase through the forest, the discovery of a secret she could use as leverage against him.

She deliberately omitted the precise nature of this secret, having pledged her word not to reveal it—and a promise remained a promise, even when given to a detestable Rowanwood.

She continued with their confrontation at Windsong Cottage, the unexpected activation of the magical contract, and finally, the agreement that followed.

“So you see,” she concluded, “it isn’t actually a soulbond at all.

It’s a contract mark. But it looks so similar that we’ve decided to claim it’s a soulbond to explain its appearance without revealing our true purpose.

Well, my true purpose, to be exact.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, holding her cousin’s gaze.

“Tunia, I’m going to bring Dreamland back to life.

The Brightcrest name will finally be elevated above the Rowanwoods, and my family will be forced to acknowledge me as more than merely the insignificant younger daughter. ”

Throughout Mariselle’s explanation, Petunia had simply stared. Now she sighed and reached into the picnic basket, withdrawing a large slice of cake wrapped in a linen napkin. “Cake?” she asked, breaking it into two pieces.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Mariselle said, gratefully accepting the half Petunia offered to her.

She realized suddenly she hadn’t eaten much since breakfast, having been too nervous about her audience with the High Lady to manage more than a few bites at luncheon.

She tasted the cake. It was delicately spiced with cinnamon and cardamom, exactly the sort of comfort she’d been craving.

“Let me understand this correctly,” Petunia said, watching her.

“You’ve magically bound yourself to a Rowanwood, of all people, to restore a failed attraction that destroyed your grandfather’s life, all based on magic you’ve been hiding from the family, and you expect this to somehow win their approval?

” She took a bite and chewed before adding, “Your optimism continues to be your most baffling quality.”

Mariselle felt a smile pulling her lips up despite the gravity of her situation. This was why she treasured Petunia above all others—her cousin’s unflinching honesty, delivered with that perfect blend of exasperation and affection that made even criticism feel like care.

“I know it sounds mad,” she admitted, brushing crumbs from her skirt, “but you should have seen the cottage, Tunia. I took a closer look after that Rowanwood idiot left last night. Everything is perfectly preserved, all the Dreamland documentation and blueprints arranged on a bookshelf, as though waiting all these years for someone to return. And the contract wouldn’t have activated unless this was meant to happen. ”

Petunia snorted. “Magical contracts activate because of specific conditions being met, not because of cosmic destiny. You cut your hand, bled on the door, and made an oath. That’s not fate—that’s unfortunate timing.”

“Perhaps,” Mariselle conceded, leaning forward to grasp her cousin’s hand, “but now I have the chance to turn unfortunate timing into a magnificent opportunity. Don’t you remember how we always spoke about returning Dreamland to its former glory?”

Her mind drifted back to those sun-drenched afternoons in the library tower at Foxleigh Hall, during the summers their families had spent there together.

She and Petunia had created their own sanctuary, far from the judgmental eyes of their overbearing mamas, lined with pillows and forbidden books.

With lemonade in hand and bare feet tucked beneath them, they had spun stories about the legendary Dreamland that neither had ever seen but both had imagined in vivid detail.

“No,” Petunia said flatly, interrupting Mariselle’s brief reverie. “I remember us imagining what it might have been like, but I certainly don’t remember any fanciful notions to restore it.”

“Well, fine. Perhaps it was only me. But that’s beside the point! This is our chance, Tunia!”

“ Our chance?” Petunia repeated. “I’m certainly not participating in this madness. ”

“Oh, but I need you, Tunia!” Mariselle said in earnest. “I need your magic. Dreamland needs your magic.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I mean it,” Mariselle insisted. “To be fully operational, Dreamland requires the type of magic that allows visitors to cross from waking reality into dream space while remaining conscious. Otherwise they would simply fall asleep, and then it’s almost impossible to wake them on the other side.

Didn’t you ever pay attention to Grandmother’s stories? ”

“No,” Petunia said, without a shred of remorse.

“Petunia Dawndale!” Mariselle smacked her cousin’s knee, but she was laughing now. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought into your parents’ nonsense that threshold magic is of no use to anyone.”

“You must admit,” Petunia replied with an arched brow, “that until this precise moment, when Dreamland has suddenly become a possibility again, there was precious little practical application for dream threshold magic. Who wants to remain conscious within someone else’s dream? How terribly awkward.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true. Dream sharing is far more enjoyable.”

“Mariselle!”

“So I’ve heard!” Mariselle hastened to clarify. “Naturally I’ve never experienced such a thing myself.”

“I should certainly hope not.” Petunia’s normally composed features betrayed her as a flush of pink swept across her cheeks.

“As I was saying,” Mariselle continued, redirecting the conversation, “if Dreamland is to function as it once did, your threshold magic is absolutely essential. My magic, of course, will take care of everything else relating to the dream space, and that insufferable Rowanwood I’ve now bound myself to will handle the lumyrite networks that stabilize and power everything.

When one considers it properly, the arrangement is rather perfect. ”

Petunia heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Perfect is not the word I would use when contemplating becoming entangled with the Rowanwoods.”

“Rowan wood ,” Mariselle corrected with a theatrical shudder. “Just one, thankfully. And only temporarily.”

“Did you tell him what you can do? The true nature of your manifestation?”

“No. He doesn’t need to know that, and I see no reason to share more than necessary. His contribution is limited to the lumyrite networks. Let him focus on that while I manage everything else. He’ll find out eventually, along with everyone else.”

“You realize you could simply tell your family what magic you actually possess instead of going through this elaborate ruse and then revealing it?”

“And surrender my future to their designs?” Mariselle shook her head firmly.

“If I confessed my abilities now, my magic would become merely another Brightcrest resource to be directed as Father sees fit. He remains convinced that I lack the capacity to manage anything important without supervision. But if I present Dreamland as a completed achievement rather than a mere possibility, then he shall be forced to recognize my worth on my own terms, not as a pawn to be maneuvered but as an equal deserving of respect.”

Petunia slowly consumed another bite of cake, her hazel eyes never leaving Mariselle’s face. “I don’t understand,” she said eventually, “why you’re still so insistent on earning their approval after all these years. You realize both our families are awful, don’t you?”

“They’re not that bad,” Mariselle protested automatically.

“They are merely … misunderstood. Our family’s dream magic empire is truly remarkable, yet we’re continually overshadowed by the Rowanwoods, constantly at a disadvantage in society, so often left on the periphery of circles we rightfully deserve to?—”