Wild is the Witch (18)

Pike lets out a loud laugh. “You know it could take days, right? And that’s if we’re lucky. Where is he now?”

“Near Cedar Creek, in the Olympics.”

“So you want to backpack with me through the mountains? Just the two of us?”

“Want definitely isn’t the word I’d use.”

The rain is falling hard now, but I need an answer. I put my hands on my hips and look at him, watch the raindrops as they splatter on the lenses of his glasses. He shakes his head.

“I’d love to help you, Gray, I really would, but traipsing through the woods with you on my spring break isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“I don’t love the idea, either, but I thought it might be good experience, given your chosen field of study. Besides, you were going to spend all your days at the refuge anyway.”

“Did it occur to you that I might have evening plans?”

“Not really, no,” I admit. “Do you?”

Pike smiles. “National Geographic is airing a four-part special on birds of prey,” he says excitedly.

“Those are your plans? To watch National Geographic?”

“Yes,” he says, not a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

I sigh. “Come on, Pike, help me out.”

“Why?”

“Because you claim to care about the animals here.”

“I do care about the animals here. I care so much, in fact, that not one of mine has managed to escape,” he says, and I’m so fed up that I almost walk away. Then Pike’s mouth quirks to one side. “I’ll do it.”

I pause. “You will?”

“If Isobel files the paperwork for a summer internship with my university.” He smiles triumphantly, and I groan. So much for using it as a last resort.

“We already talked about it. She’ll do it,” I say.

“Then I believe you have yourself a deal.” He holds out his hand to shake on it. I don’t take it, but that doesn’t seem to faze him. “I still haven’t landed on a project for my final yet, and I’ll be able to use this trip. My professor will love it.”

“Well, as long as your professor loves it,” I say.

Pike rolls his eyes. “You know, Iris, as long as we’re going to be stuck together, I could help you work on your people skills. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that my people skills are fine and it’s you that’s the problem?”

“No,” he says. “Not once.”

I sigh loudly and shake my head. “I’m already regretting asking you.”

“I’m already regretting saying yes.”

Pike’s eyes catch on mine, and something passes in them that I can’t read. He almost looks sad. Then it’s gone. “Just so you know,” he says, leaning in closer, “I would have gone for the owl. But getting the chance to annoy you all summer is a definite bonus.”

I want to be frustrated, to turn around and leave him out here, but instead I’m relieved, and I’m horrified when my eyes start stinging. I blink several times and look away.

“Thank you,” I say. “For coming.”

Maybe this will be one of those wild stories I tell when I’m older, how I almost single-handedly destroyed the Pacific Northwest because of a boy who hurt my feelings. Maybe I’ll even laugh about it.

What’s more likely is that I’ll carry this mistake in my chest for the rest of my life, a physical ache that reminds me of how fleeting happiness is, that it can be taken away with a single choice. And that’s assuming I can fix this, undo the mess I made.

“You know we might not get him, right?” Pike says, interrupting my thoughts. “Even if we know where he is, he’ll be difficult to spot in the trees, and he’ll be most active at night. It’s not like we can just ask him to fly down and step into a cage.”

“I know that,” I say, walking back toward the office.

“You just look so relieved, and I want to make sure you know that we might not be able to bring him back here.”

“I said I know.” The words come out fast and tense, and I push my hand to my chest, trying to ease the tightness that’s beginning to form there. Even if Pike is right and we can’t bring him back, I can try to unbind the curse in the woods if I can get close enough to him. That would entail using magic in front of Pike, though, so it’s an absolute last resort.

Pike doesn’t say anything else, and we walk back into the office and take off our coats and boots in silence. He turns toward the back room when I grab his arm. He looks down at where my fingers are wrapped around his forearm, then slowly brings his eyes to mine.

“Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but I need to have hope. I know it’s unlikely, I know we have a lot working against us and that he’s a wild animal with a mind of his own. I know all that. But I need to have hope.” I pause before speaking again. “Please let me.”

“Okay,” he says, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound gentle. It doesn’t quite fit him, the contrast so stark against his arrogance and sarcasm.

I nod and let go of his arm, but he doesn’t move right away. He keeps his eyes on mine for a moment longer than expected, then he walks into the back room. I slowly let my breath out and bring my fingertips to my temples, trying to rub my headache away.