Wild is the Witch (28)

Still, I listen to Pike’s breaths against the sounds of the forest, and for just a moment, pretend I’m on a hike with a boy that I like instead of a boy that I cursed.

“We should name him,” Pike says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Name him?” I ask.

“The owl. We didn’t name him when he came to the refuge, but now that we’re traipsing through the forest trying to find him, it feels like a good time.”

A low branch is blocking our path, and I push it aside and wait for Pike to pass before letting it snap back into place.

“I like that idea,” I say. “Have any suggestions?” I get in front of Pike once more and keep climbing, the air getting colder as I do.

“I’ve always been partial to the name Alfred,” he says.

“He doesn’t look like an Alfred.” I press my palm into a nearby Douglas fir, taking a quick breather. The thick gray bark is ragged and feels rough against my skin, with deep furrows that run the length of the tree. Pike stops next to me and takes a sip of his water.

“Got anything better?”

Omen. Harbinger. Carrier of the Curse. But I can’t say those, so instead I suggest Twilight.

“Like the book?” he asks.

“I was more thinking the time of night, but I’m delighted you thought of the book first.” I unclip the hydration tube from my pack and take a long sip of water.

“It wasn’t bad,” he says, and I almost choke.

“You’ve read Twilight?”

“I have. I grew up not far from Forks, so I figured I’d see what all the hype was about.”

“And?”

“I thought it was earned.” He shrugs and takes another sip of water. My mind runs away with images of Pike reading, pushing his glasses up his nose, enthralled in a love story between a human and vampire. I wonder if he reads in his matching pajamas, the thought smoothing out the rough edges I so often see with him.

I clear my throat and look away. This is Pike. Witch-hating, arrogant, sarcastic Pike. But for the first time, it isn’t totally clear to me why I cursed him, as if this trip is covering our past interactions in a softer light.

“You’re full of surprises,” I finally say. Once I’ve had a chance to catch my breath, I start hiking again.

“Will you check the compass? Are we still going northeast?”

“Remarkably, yes,” Pike says. “You weren’t kidding when you said you studied the map.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s prepared.”

The sound of the river is getting more distant, and I walk faster, realizing how close we are to the owl.

“Okay, back to the name,” Pike says. “How about MacGuffin?”

“MacGuffin? As in the plot device?”

“Exactly. The owl flying away is what prompted us to go on this trip. He’s a quintessential MacGuffin.”

“Wow,” I say, exaggerating the word. “That’s exceptionally nerdy, even for you.”

“It’s an amazing name and you’re just angry you didn’t come up with it yourself.”

“I don’t think he’ll like it,” I say, forcing out the words between rapid breaths. My chest is getting tighter the higher we climb, and I slow my pace. “He has a serious look to him.”

I hear Pike trip behind me, but by the time I look back, he’s righted himself.

“Nothing to see here,” he says. “He can be a serious MacGuffin. It totally works.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “Fine. MacGuffin it is.”

Sticker bushes scratch at my ankles, and my chest burns with the effort of breathing. Finally, I stop and swing my pack to my front, digging in the pocket for my inhaler.

“You have asthma?” Pike asks.

“Yes,” I say, taking two slow puffs from my inhaler before putting it back.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Why would you?” I ask, realizing how little we know of the other. Trivial work competitions and bickering don’t add up to any kind of real connection, and sometimes it feels as if all his joking and all my silence are really just shields meant to keep the other out. But I know there’s a real person there, with fears and hopes and aches and wants, and I think it might be nice to see those things.

But he has no reason to show them, and I can’t blame him. I cursed him, after all.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, his voice quiet and unsure.

Before I start walking again, I check on my connection to the owl, and the magic reaches me instantly, strong and bold and vibrating with excitement. I pull out my phone and bring up the maps I downloaded on the way here, zooming in to show Pike the coordinates.

“We’re here,” I say.

“Damn, Gray, I’m impressed. You didn’t take a wrong turn once.”

I take a small bow, then turn my eyes to the trees. “Now all we have to do is find him.”

“Okay, look for cavities or old nests. Platforms, too. Those are the likeliest areas for him to be.”

“Got it.”

We spread out, and I watch as Pike pulls out his binoculars and slowly walks through the trees, looking for the owl. I want to tell him he’s getting warmer when he walks in the right direction, but I keep my mouth shut and give him time to find the owl on his own.