Wild is the Witch (21)

“If we end up in a situation where we’re relying on your KIND bars for our sustained nutritional needs, things have gone very wrong.”

“Look, you’re prepared in your ways, and I’m prepared in mine. And I never said I’d share them with you.”

“Already arguing and you haven’t even left yet? You guys are off to a great start,” Mom says from the door of the office.

“Hey, Isobel,” Pike says, shoving a hand through his hair. “Just sticking with what we know.”

“Why don’t you branch out a little? You never know, it might be fun.”

Fun. There’s that word again.

I sigh and give my mom a hug. “Thanks for seeing us off.”

“Of course. Good luck out there.”

Pike leaves the office first, and I give my mom an exasperated look and roll my eyes. He really is so obnoxious. She laughs, and I wave before following Pike to his car.

He throws open the hatch of the old Subaru, and it’s filled with more gear. Coolers and expanding chairs, hiking poles and gallon jugs of water.

“How long did you say you were packing for again?” I ask, sliding my backpack into the trunk.

“Two nights,” Pike says, missing the sarcasm in my voice. He watches me pile my things into his car and sighs. “You’re doing it wrong.”

He pulls out my pack from the trunk, then rearranges things before putting it back in. “I didn’t realize there was a wrong way to load a car,” I say.

“There’s a wrong way to do most things.”

He spends a few more minutes arranging everything in the trunk, then we get into the car and Pike starts the engine. I watch out the window as we make our way down the gravel road, putting my fingers to the glass when we pass the woods where Winter is, her snout still through the fence, watching the car as we drive away.

If this entire thing fails and the Witches’ Council comes after me, if they turn off my ability to perceive magic, will Winter still feel our connection? Will she still know me at the deepest level, even if my magic is gone?

The thought is too much to bear. Pike turns on some music, and I almost ask him to turn it off, sure that whatever he’s chosen will be as awful as he is, but it isn’t awful at all. It’s nice.

“What is this?” I ask, the first words I’ve spoken since we left the refuge.

“The Album Leaf,” he says, looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Do you like it?” He asks it as if it’s a test and if I say the wrong thing he’ll kick me out of his car.

I don’t answer right away, and instead, I listen. It’s gentle and calming, the way a rushing river might sound if it were music. It fills the car with slow notes, taking its time, and for just a moment, it transports me to a place where there is no curse and no Witches’ Council and no fear. It makes me feel as if I’m safe.

“I love it,” I say, and the hint of a smile pulls at Pike’s mouth. He doesn’t respond, but he reaches out and turns up the volume. I rest my head against the cold glass window and close my eyes, picturing the owl and the way it will feel when we bring him home.

I replay the events of the morning over and over in my mind, trying to figure out where I went wrong, how something that was supposed to make things better made them so much worse. And the thing that makes goose bumps rise along my arms is the way the owl seemed to do it with intention, swooping down from the trees at the exact right second to steal the curse.

Like he knew what I was doing.

The owl has been inaccessible to me. I can track the curse inside him, know when he’s watching me, but I can’t get to his center, can’t feel what he wants or needs the way I can with Winter and most of the other animals at the refuge. He’s a mystery to me, and yet I have this gnawing suspicion that I’m totally exposed to him.

“Would you check and see if the owl is still in the same place?” Pike asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Why?” I ask, too quickly, and instantly reprimand myself. If I don’t want Pike to pick up on anything suspicious, I have to stop acting this way. “I’m just trying to save my battery,” I add, hoping the explanation makes sense.

He raises an eyebrow and gives me a quick glance before looking back at the road. “Our exit is coming up, and I want to make sure we’re still headed to the right place,” he says. “And I brought power banks for charging.”

Of course he did. “Because you’re very prepared.”

“Exactly.”

I pull out my phone and go to the tracking app, silently thanking the gods that I have the app at all. We’ve tagged animals in the past and had some come to us with one already in place, and I open the app and pretend to search for the northern spotted owl.

As I’m doing that, I find my connection to the bird and feel the particles of magic align between us, a steady stream that extends from the curse in his chest all the way back to me. I’m amazed by how strong it is, by the power of the magic within him. Many animals live in old-growth forests, but the spotted owl is the only true amplifier.

It’s an extraordinary creature, one I’m both in awe of and terrified of.

“He’s still there,” I say.

“Good. Hopefully he found an old nest or hollow he likes. I was looking at the maps earlier, and there’s a logging road that winds up in that direction. We can probably keep the car fairly close to where we camp, depending on the owl’s exact location.”