Wild is the Witch (23)

I instinctively follow the trail of magic, stepping out of the clearing and into the dense woods.

“Where are you going?” Pike asks.

“To look for the owl.”

“It’s almost dark,” he says, unrolling his tent. “We need to set up camp.”

“But he’s close,” I say.

“It doesn’t matter how close he is. There’s no way we can get that owl down the mountain in the dark, and we need a place to sleep. Owls are creatures of habit—if he found a place he likes, that’s where he’ll stay.”

I stand at the edge of the clearing, every part of my body wanting to race toward the owl. Pike is right, though. The responsible thing to do is get set up and make sure we’re ready for the owl when the time comes.

I walk back into the clearing and slip out of my pack, taking a quick sip of water before I get started. I set up my tent a few feet from Pike’s, and dozens of memories run through my mind as the smell of nylon fills the air. My dad used to love camping, and it was something we did every summer for as long as I can remember.

I’m not sure if I even liked camping at first or if it was the way being in nature seemed to turn back the clock on my dad. The way it made his eyes brighten and the tension in his shoulders loosen. He taught me how to fish and cast a line, how to filter water and start a fire. He taught me how satisfying it could be to use my hands instead of magic.

Now I wonder if he taught me that because he resented magic. That’s one of the worst casualties of being hurt by someone who was never supposed to hurt you: you start to question all the beautiful things that led up to the ugliness, start to wonder if some of the moments you thought were perfect were actually painted with a dirty brush.

The wind picks up, blowing the scent of nylon far away, clearing my head of the memories. By the time my tent is set up, Pike has already started a fire.

There’s a large lighter by the circle of rocks, and I raise an eyebrow. “That’s cheating,” I say.

“That’s being efficient,” he counters.

He grabs a tarp from his pack and spreads it out over the ground, then he motions for me to sit down. He opens the cooler and starts on dinner, and I’m amazed at how prepared he is. I will never tell him that I was ready to spend the next several days eating only Sarah’s granola and KIND bars.

“Can I ask you something?”

Pike looks up from what he’s doing, his eyes meeting mine from over his glasses. He nods.

“Why don’t you like me?”

His hands slow over the sandwiches he’s preparing, and when he speaks, he keeps his eyes on the food. “Because you act as if the whole world is your enemy. You’re slow to trust and quick to spurn. You don’t give anyone the benefit of the doubt, and you’re so preoccupied with what might go wrong in the future that you never stop to enjoy what’s happening in the present.” He grabs a bag of chips and carefully places several on top of each sandwich.

The words have a weird effect on me, the opposite of what I would have thought. Instead of feeling insulted or upset, I feel exposed. It’s uncomfortable and my skin prickles, every part of me wanting to turn in on itself and hide.

If he can see those things so clearly, what else can he see?

“That’s a long list,” I finally say.

“Is it an unfair one?” He looks up at me then, holding my gaze for several seconds. The firelight dances off his glasses, and a wave of hair falls in his face.

“No.”

He nods and gets back to work on our dinner. I need to clear the air of his words, so I ask the only thing I can think of while watching him prepare our food. “Are you putting chips in our sandwiches?”

“I am,” he says, pushing the top piece of bread over the layer of chips. “Please don’t tell me you’ve never had chips in your sandwich before.”

I watch him, and I must look unconvinced because he hands me the sandwich and says, “This is about to change your life.”

“Doubtful,” I say.

“Just try it.”

I take a bite while Pike watches, and I’m delighted by what a difference they make. “Okay, that’s actually pretty good.”

Pike looks pleased with himself, and he settles onto the tarp next to me. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Most people don’t recognize the near-perfection of a cold cheese sandwich,” I say.

“I think this is the first time I’ve had one. I’ve never seen you eat meat, so I tried to come up with something that was vegetarian and easy. And chips work on everything.” He takes a bite and leans back, so casual, and for a moment I can’t respond.

Pike noticed that I’m a vegetarian, and not only did he notice, but he brought me food to accommodate it. This new piece of him doesn’t fit with all the other pieces I have, and I study him in the fading twilight.

“Thank you,” I say. His eyes meet mine, and I blink, bringing my focus back to the food in front of me.

The fire crackles as we eat, and the wind is blowing in the perfect direction, sending the smoke away from us. I look up into the trees and check on my connection to the owl, and sure enough, he’s in the same place.

I breathe out in relief and eat my dinner as quickly as possible. Once I’m finished, I stand and clean up, then stop in front of Pike. “Okay, time to go,” I say.