Accidental Magic (Myrtlewood Mysteries, #1)

by Iris Beaglehole

Rosemary felt the ache of the fragmentation inside her. She couldn’t remember where it started, but she knew it intuitively. There were two disconnected parts of Rosemary Thorn. This, at least, was how she explained to herself the wide berth between her actions and her inner world. Things could make sense inside her mind, but as soon as she tried to enact them or speak them, they’d scramble and warp and scatter into erratic nonsense. It wasn’t easy to hold down a solid job or parent a teenager under such conditions. It was hard enough just to look after herself.

being here had begun to knit the disconnected parts of her back together like a quilt, or perhaps like a vine, wildly entangling the order with the chaos, creating something that made its own kind of beautiful sense in her inner world, something that might help her become a coherent person, or at least someone who wasn’t objectively a failure in the eyes of the world.

“You know. I really don’t remember any of this from when I was a kid. I wonder if I played with those. I bet I would have loved them.” “I think Granny Thorn kept them as important magical items,” said Athena. “Not children’s playthings.” “Granny wasn’t like that,” Rosemary said. “She let me play with anything – and she never treated me like a silly child – everything was for learning about and exploring the world.”

“Look, here’s the wardrobe,” Athena said, pulling it open and examining the contents. “Lots of black dresses. Did she have lots of funerals to attend?” “Granny just liked wearing black,” Rosemary said, swallowing some of her own bitterness in order to focus on the matters at hand. “She said it goes with everything, so why wear anything else?” “You do realise that second part defeats the purpose of the first part,” Athena pointed out. “I suppose you’re right,” said Rosemary. “Granny also said she liked black because it didn’t stain easily.” “Very pragmatic. Look there are a bunch of other bright colours in here too: red dresses, green dresses, even purple. Lots of solid colour. I gather she wasn’t a fan of prints or pastels.” “She certainly wasn’t,” Rosemary smirked. “Granny said pastels were what happened when colours gave up the will to live.”

After all that, she slept like a newborn baby – which is to say, she slept fitfully and woke several times in the night – but at least, she did get a little sleep.