Wild is the Witch (19)
I’ve already shown him too much, made him aware of how much this matters to me. And now it’s time to get back to normal, to try as best I can to hide my fear. Because the way I cope with it, the way I anchor myself to this world is through magic, and if I’m going to be alone with Pike, I have to ensure that every second of every day is spent with that switch turned off.
He can never see it, not even for a moment, not even one so fleeting that he questions if he saw anything at all. Because once someone suspects, they never really forget. That’s the thing about magic: people want to see it and feel it almost as much as they want to dismiss it entirely.
It’s an echo of something just out of reach, a whisper that says there’s more to this life than what meets the eye.
Everything about this trip will pull at the edges of Pike’s mind, hinting at magic. He’ll be in a forest that’s been growing wild for hundreds of years, trees so giant and old they’re covered in it. He’ll be following a bird bound by a curse that was written for him. And he’ll be doing it all alongside a witch who will be tracking the bird on instinct.
He will be surrounded by magic in a way he’s never been before, and I will have to protect myself every single second, keep my guard up as high as it will go, hiding my secret as if my entire life depends on it. Because it does.
“Hey,” Pike says, emerging from the back room. He pulls on his coat and looks at me. “You look terrified.”
“Oh,” I say, waving a hand through the air as if it’s nothing. “I was just thinking about the sheer terror of spending several days in the woods with you.” I’m thankful when my voice is even again, easy and light.
Pike smirks and grabs his coat. “There’s nothing more terrifying than backpacking with an experienced hiker who is always prepared and has a vast array of bird knowledge.”
“I was factoring your personality into the equation as well,” I point out.
He laughs at that, a genuine laugh that surprises me. “You’re no picnic yourself,” he says.
“Yeah, but the difference is I don’t think I am.”
He shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “I’m going home to pack, and you should do the same. Let’s plan for two nights to start and hope it doesn’t take any longer than that. Meet me back here in two hours.”
We haven’t even left yet and he’s already telling me what to do. Two nights sounds unbearable, but I know it’s small compared to the crisis we’re trying to avert. I know it will be worth it if we can get the owl back here safely.
“Two hours,” I say, heading for the door. “Don’t be late.”
Eight
Mom and Sarah help me get ready. Mom fills my backpack with the necessities, and Sarah makes sure I have enough homemade granola to last me a week. Neither of them seems worried, and if anything, they almost seem excited.
What I really want is to grab my mother’s hands and tell her what an awful situation this is, how badly I messed things up. I want to tell her this isn’t a game, that it isn’t funny. That I’m scared Pike will somehow see through me, and I’ll give our secret away.
But what I want more than anything is to not be terrified of showing who I am, to not care if Pike finds out in the first place. There would be so much freedom in not caring, so much comfort. Amy used to tell me that I care too much about people who care too little. I can only imagine what she’d have to say about Pike.
Once I double-check that I have everything I need, I secure my tent to the bottom of my pack and check the time. I have twenty more minutes until I meet up with Pike.
“All set?” Mom asks.
“I think so,” I say, grabbing a fleece from my closet and throwing it on over my T-shirt. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay managing the refuge for the next few days?”
“I’ll be fine. Sarah’s going to help me in the afternoons, and we don’t have another tour scheduled until the weekend.”
Mom is sitting on my bed, and I sit down next to her. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“We’ll be fine,” she says again. “Just be careful and do your best with the owl.”
“I will,” I promise.
We’re quiet for a few moments, then Mom shifts and pulls out something from her pocket, keeping her hand around the object so I can’t see what it is. Then she looks at me apologetically, and an embarrassed smile tugs at her mouth. “I know you hate him, but be safe,” she finally says.
I look down at her closed hand and back to her face in horror.
“That better not be what I think it is,” I say, mortified, sure my skin has turned a bright shade of red.
“Just in case,” she says defensively.
I stand up and grab my backpack from the floor, sliding it onto my shoulders. “I can guarantee you that won’t be necessary.”
Mom stands too and adjusts my straps, then moves behind me and opens one of my pockets. “Just take it. You won’t even notice it’s there,” she says, tucking it inside. Then she laughs. “Ha! Isn’t that one of their marketing slogans?”
At this point, I might actually die before getting a chance to find the owl. “Okay, great, thanks so much,” I say, leaving my room and hurrying down the stairs.