Effy knew what he meant: that truth and magic were two different things, irreconcilable. It was precisely what Effy had been told all her life—by the physicians who had treated her, by the mother who had despaired of her, by the schoolteachers and priests and professors who had never, ever believed her. Effy had put her faith in magic. Preston held nothing more sacred than truth. Theirs was not a natural alliance.
