Wild is the Witch (54)

But for now, I look Pike directly in the eye and say, “No, I’m not keeping anything from you.” The words taste awful on the way out, and guilt burns hot in my throat.

“Okay,” he says, watching me. “I believe you. I’m sorry I walked off like that.” He takes a deep breath. “Are we okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” His apology makes this so much worse. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I can’t form one under the weight of my lies.

“Good,” he says, not seeming to notice. He cocks his head to the side and looks at me. “What did you mean when you said your insides did something weird when I walked away?”

I almost laugh because it’s so Pike Alder to make me say it. And after what he just asked me, all I want is to tell him something true. “You seriously can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I just want to make sure I understand what you’re saying,” he says, and I’m so thankful for the playful tone entering his voice. So thankful that he isn’t completely done with me.

“I like you, okay? That’s what I’m saying.”

He takes a step closer to me and looks down, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I like you, too.”

He leans down and kisses me, and I feel so much relief that I could collapse right here on the soaking wet earth. His mouth is warm against the cold spring rain, and I breathe him in as if he is the solution to all my problems, the only thing that matters.

I reluctantly pull away, memorizing the way his hair is slicked down his forehead, the way his glasses are dotted with raindrops. There are so many things to do, but kissing in the rain is not one of them.

“Please don’t go,” I say, looking at him. “MacGuffin is just as much your owl as he is mine at this point. And we’re close to him.”

Pike frowns, looking down at my pant leg soaked through with blood. “Are you sure? That looks really bad.”

“I can barely feel it,” I say casually, even though my knee is throbbing in pain.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a bad thing,” he says.

“You know what I mean. I’m fine for a while longer.”

“Okay, but if you pass out and die from infection, I can’t be held responsible.”

“Deal,” I say, marveling at how quickly he’s joking with me again. He believed me when I said I wasn’t keeping anything from him, took the words at face value and moved on.

Grudges are a lot to carry—I try to be discerning in the ones I hold.

The words rush into my mind, and I want to cry, knowing the ones he’s holding. Wondering if he will ever be able to get over my deceit when I am the thing he hates most in the world.

I clear my throat and turn around, making my way through the thick of the forest. Pike walks next to me, and we go slowly to account for my leg. It hurts to put weight on it, and each step seems to open it up a little bit more. But we’re getting closer to the owl, and that’s all that matters.

The rain is starting to let up, and I’m thankful for the weather, relieved that no one else is here. Pike and I climb steadily, not stopping for conversation or water or rest breaks. My lungs are heaving with the effort, and I take a puff from my inhaler as I climb.

I can sense how this is shifting, and I know in my gut these are our final hours. Cassandra is on her way, close enough to use her magic on me, and the owl doesn’t have another night left in the absence of care, either medical or magical. It’s almost over, and I will have fixed this or not. There’s no in-between, not with something like this. Not with a curse.

As quickly as I can, I reach for the owl. I know we’re close, but the connection is weak, so much dimmer than it was earlier. I can feel him, but barely. He’s losing a lot of blood and a lot of magic, and his time is running out.

I force myself to concentrate on the steps in front of me, refusing to spiral into all the consequences of what happens if the owl dies.

We’re deep in the forest now. Ferns cover the ground, their leaves heavy with the recent rain, and moss clings to stones and hangs from branches. Shades of green color the woods and remind me of how much life is here. The rain makes everything more lush, more vital, and I wonder at all the magic held in these trees, all the magic that has been absorbed over hundreds of years.

I don’t know who I’ll be if I lose my connection to this. My dad didn’t get it and Pike doesn’t trust it, but magic is the one constant that has made sense to me my entire life. I don’t want to lose it.

“We’re here,” Pike says, looking at his maps. He slips his compass back into his pocket and reaches for his binoculars. I take off my cap and push back my hair, pacing around while Pike begins to search. There isn’t time for me to pretend to look, though, and I’m about to follow the magic when four loud hoots catch on the wind, the middle two closest together. He sounds farther away than expected, and I wish he’d stop moving, stop asking things of his already frail body.

But that’s him. That’s our owl.

“Did you hear that?” I ask.

Pike is looking in the same direction I am, up the mountain. He nods, and we take off toward the sound, my knee begging me to slow down. The scent of metal is so strong it’s hard to breathe, sharp and stinging, magic coating everything, including me. Including Pike.

I jump back when an old spruce tree begins to crackle and spark. Then the whole thing goes up in flames, rain-soaked and vibrant in one moment, engulfed in fire in the next. Trees can absorb an incredible amount of magic, but it’s spread out over time and throughout the entire forest. The owl must have been in this tree, the magic living inside him seeping out onto the bark and branches, creating too much energy in one place. Too much heat. Amplified magic so intense that a single spark could ignite the whole thing.