Wild is the Witch (47)

“I’ll start back up first thing in the morning,” I say, giving her our exact location. She’s farther out, so she’ll be a few hours behind us, but she’s coming. She’ll help.

I thought I’d be scared, terrified of what Cassandra might do to me when she arrives and feels the curse that’s lodged in the owl. And I am. But more than anything, I’m relieved. Cassandra will help, and Pike will be safe.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, then she hangs up before I can reply.

I clutch the phone in my hand for several seconds as raindrops roll down my face, and I take a deep breath. This is my last night before Cassandra arrives and finds the curse—she’s too far from the owl to sense it now, even with her spell, but it will be impossible to miss once she’s closer.

It’s my last night knowing my mom will sleep soundly, mercifully unaware of what I’ve done.

It’s my last night with Pike before he learns more than I ever wanted him to know.

I walk back to where Pike is standing and hand him his phone. He was nice enough to haul my stuff up to the new campsite, and I reach for my pack, knocking it over instead. The pockets are all still open from when I searched for my herbs, and I’m horrified when the condom falls out onto the dirt, directly in front of Pike.

“I’ll get that!” I say, dropping to the ground to pick it up. But I’m too late, and Pike holds it out to me, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s not what it looks like,” I say, grabbing it from him and shoving it back into my pack. I might never forgive my mom for this, for the way Pike watches me with a tight expression, as if he’s trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. My skin must be a million shades of red, and I look behind me and down and up, anywhere to avoid his face.

“It isn’t?” he asks, amusement dancing on his lips.

“I mean, it is, but it isn’t mine,” I say, stumbling over my words. I’ve never really been in a relationship before, save for a few crushes, a few dates here and there, and this moment might ensure I never am, since I’m fairly certain I’m about to die from embarrassment.

“Whose is it?” He barely makes it through the question without laughing.

“Can we not talk about it anymore? That would be great,” I say, zipping my pack closed and shoving it aside.

“Whatever you want.” He shakes his head and laughs, and I’m tempted to get his sat phone back and call my mom, just so I can express my extreme dissatisfaction over the situation she created for me. But that will have to wait.

“Thank you,” I manage to get out.

Pike moved our campsite far enough up the incline to avoid the rising river, and he clears a new spot for a small fire under his makeshift shelter. It’s relatively dry, a large boulder leaning against the trunk of a tree that’s shielding the ground from much of the rain, and there’s a small circle of rocks he found that reminds me of my stone circle back home.

Pike is completely soaked. His hair rests flat against his head, and I watch as raindrops fall from the ends. He looks up at the sky and shakes his head.

“We’re not going to have enough light to get the owl back here,” he says, and I’m so thankful we’re moving on to a new topic.

“I know.”

We look at each other, and I wonder why my stomach feels too light when Pike’s expression turns serious, why my heart beats faster when his eyes linger on mine for a breath longer than I’m expecting.

“I’ve got another night in me if you do,” he says.

“You’re not missing your National Geographic special too much?” I ask, getting us back to normal, letting the routine soothe all my worries and what-ifs.

But he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t come back with a sarcastic comment or a witty retort. Instead, he holds my gaze.

“No,” he says. “I’m not missing anything.”

And just like that, I no longer want our normal. I no longer want our routine. As his words slide through me, all my frayed edges and empty spaces wake with the sound, coming alive in a way I don’t expect.

It isn’t magic, per se.

But then again, maybe it is.





Eighteen


The rain has stopped, and the wind is dying down, the constant roar of it dulling into a gentle rustling that will be perfect to sleep to. The fire is almost out, and I watch the deep amber flames as they crackle and spit in the night. I’ve checked on the owl close to a dozen times, and each time he’s in the same place. His heartbeat is even. The curse is waiting.

I tell myself over and over that I have no reason to believe he won’t survive. Cassandra’s magic is powerful—far more than mine—and she cast a spell that will keep him safe through the night. Even still, I reach for him, and like every other time this evening, he’s stable, just as Cassandra promised.

I feel a gentle tug in the magic between me and the owl, as if he knows I’m here, as if he believes that I’ll come for him as soon as I can. He’s waiting for me.

“Iris?” Pike asks, sending my magic scattering into the night, my connection to the owl broken.

“Sorry, what?”

“Where were you just now? You looked like you were in a trance or something.”

“I must have been lost in thought,” I say, bringing my focus back to the present. To the boy sitting next to me.