Wild is the Witch (32)

I don’t respond right away, caught between the present moment and the ghosts of my losses, reminding me of how much more I stand to lose. I wonder what kind of conversations Amy and Alex had leading up to that night, if they talked about loss or if all their words spoke of magic.

“Water helps, too. Rivers and lakes and rain. Even listening to water rush out of a faucet can help in a pinch,” I say. I’m suddenly self-conscious, and I look down, not wanting to see Pike’s face. I’m scared he’ll make a joke of it, of this thing I’ve never told anyone I do.

I feel him studying me, and heat blooms in my neck, fighting against the cool spring night. He takes a breath. Then: “You’re a remarkable person.”

My reaction is so visceral that I feel the words more than hear them. That’s not an ordinary thing to say to someone, not a you’re cool or even an I like you. And the way he says it, as if it’s a fact, something entirely undeserving of the weight I’m giving it, makes it hit me even harder.

“That almost sounds like a compliment,” I tell him, keeping my voice light, trying to restore some balance.

“You know unusual is a synonym for remarkable, right?” he says, cocking his head to the side.

That gets a laugh out of me, and I’m suddenly thankful for Pike’s easy demeanor, for the way he followed me from heavy to light in the span of a breath.

“Are you up for some s’mores?” he asks. “We’ve got ingredients left for a few more.”

“Sure,” I say. “Just let me change first.”

I stand and head toward my tent, but Pike stops me. “Iris.”

He steps closer, so close I can feel his breath on my skin. Goose bumps rise along my arms, and I stay where I am, stuck in place by the nearness of him.

“I meant it as a compliment,” he says, his voice quiet. We’re far enough from the fire that I can only see the shadow of him, the whisper of his body in front of mine. And maybe it’s better that way, better that I can’t see if the words touched his eyes or if his gaze fell to my lips as he said it.

Better that he couldn’t see the way I searched for his face, aching to see what he looked like in that moment.

Better.

I keep walking, unsure of what to say or if I trust my voice to remain steady. When I’m in the safety of my tent, I replay his words in my mind, trying to figure out when Pike went from someone who delighted in giving me a hard time to someone who searches for me in the woods.

The familiar pang of guilt enters my chest, thinking about the curse that set this whole thing in motion. Pike makes me food and comes after me in the woods and thinks I’m remarkable. And I cursed him.

Dread stirs in my stomach, and I reach for the owl once more, making sure my curse is tucked safely beneath his wings. His magic rushes toward me, and I breathe out, telling myself to enjoy a s’more, get a good night’s sleep, and start again tomorrow.

I change into my sweats and put my hair up in a topknot, then I grab my blanket and meet Pike on the tarp. Heat pours from the fire, and Pike roasts a marshmallow on the end of a stick.

“Perfect timing,” he says, pulling the marshmallow from the fire and placing it between two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate. “This one looks good.”

He hands it to me, and I devour it immediately, not realizing how hungry I was.

Pike makes one for himself, giving me an apologetic look once he’s finished. “I wish I had more for us.”

“We can get the ingredients when we stop for supplies tomorrow,” I say, pulling the blanket up so it’s covering my lap, wrapping my hands in the fabric to keep warm.

“You still want me to go with you?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

It strikes me that I assumed he would, that I didn’t even consider going alone. “Sure,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “If you want to.”

“I do,” he says.

“Then it’s settled.”

I lie down on my back and look up at the stars, thousands of white lights in a sea of darkness. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by it all, the vastness of this life, the absolute miracle it is that I exist in this moment in time. How much magic is out in the universe, stretching beyond what the eye can see, reaching distances the mind can’t even comprehend?

The tarp crinkles as Pike lies down, too, mere inches from me. Without a word, I pull the corner of my blanket over to him, and he takes it, covering his legs. The fire crackles beside us, but the night is otherwise quiet. Still.

“Did you know that it’s completely silent in space?” he asks, staring up at the sky. “There’s no atmosphere, so sound has no way to travel.” He pauses before speaking again. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like, to be surrounded by that kind of silence.”

I’m surprised that Pike would ever want to be surrounded by silence, and it feels as if I’m seeing a totally different side of him.

“Perfect,” we say at the same time.

I slowly turn my head to look at him, and he does the same. Firelight dances off his glasses, casting shadows over his features.

His eyes find mine. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he says.

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gone off the way I did.”

“I didn’t really give you much of a choice,” he says, looking down as if he’s trying to decide if he wants to say something more. He chooses not to, and silence fills the space between us.