Tris & Izzie by Mette Ivie Harrison Page B

magic. And I remember feeling so hot I thought I would burst into flames. And Dad—he was hot, too. I thought that was because he had a fever.”
    â€œI let you believe that because it was easier,” said Mom.
    â€œHe didn’t die from a fever?”
    â€œNo, sweetheart.”
    I thought of the slurg, which had been an evil, magical creature sent to destroy me. “That serpent?” I said. “It was real?”
    Mom didn’t say anything. The answer was in her eyes. “When your dad died, you had just used magic for the first time. You didn’t know much about it. You only used it accidentally. I thought telling you the truth would be dangerous. So I told you that you didn’t have magic, and I did every-thing I could to make sure you didn’t realize I was lying. I wanted to make sure your dad’s enemy—and his servants— couldn’t trace your magic scent.”
    I couldn’t believe it. My whole life I had believed that I had no magic, that I would have to live in the regular world. And it was a lie?
    â€œYou have to understand, Izzie. You were five years old. You were so small. I always knew I would have to tell you the truth when you grew up. I was just waiting for the right time. But it never seemed to come, and you seemed so happy thinking you didn’t have magic. I started to wonder if you didn’t want to remember it, after what happened to your dad. Then you made up that love potion, and I began to wonder—”
    â€œSo I used magic to heal myself after the slurg attack?”
    Mom shook her head. “That’s not what your magic does. And besides, you had to use it before the slurg came. That’s how it tracked you, through your magic.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and I wondered how I had healed myself. “But that’s not what we need to think about right now,” Mom said.
    It wasn’t? “What, then?”
    â€œIzzie, the slurg is the least powerful of the minions that the serpent will send after you, now that it knows the scent of your magic.”
    â€œThe least?” I said.
    â€œI need to prepare you as soon as you get out of here. I’ll make some potions for you, and—”
    â€œMom, don’t you think it’s time you taught me how to make my own potions?” I asked.
    â€œOh, Izzie, you can’t make potions,” said Mom.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œYou’re not a witch,” she said. “You never have been.”
    â€œThen what am I?”
    â€œYou’re an elemental sorceress. You take after your father. Your magic is different, more powerful than mine and maybe than his. That’s why they are after you, the slurg and the rest. I will tell you all about it as soon as we get home.”
    I thought about the other confession I had to make. Compared to what Mom just told me, it seemed insignificant. She couldn’t get mad at me about the love philtre, not after what she had done.
    â€œMom, you know that love potion from the Internet that I was working on?”
    â€œYes,” said Mom. “The one you said was for Brangane?”
    â€œIt was for Branna,” I said. “But—it’s complicated. I ended up taking it. And so did Tristan.”
    â€œHmm,” said Mom. “Well, luckily, it was a bogus recipe, especially without a witch to put in her magic.”
    This was the hard part. “Mom, I sort of figured it wasn’t going to work. So I dumped it out: The recipe from the Internet.”
    â€œNothing to worry about, then,” said Mom.
    â€œWell, except that what I drank—and Tristan, too—was your love philtre. The one you left in the cabinet from that wedding. Remember?”
    Mom’s face went white. That seemed like a bad sign. “You took my key, opened my cabinet, and stole one of my potions?”
    I don’t think I had ever seen my mom angry before. I’d seen her crying for Dad, for