Wild is the Witch (60)

“Yeah, well I wish I could take mine back, because you definitely didn’t earn it.”

“And you’re doing such a good job of earning mine?” The words sound more aggressive than I mean, and when Pike doesn’t answer, I let out a long breath. Rainwater rushes over the edge of the ravine, carving its own stream through the brambles and tree trunks. I wish I could lie back and listen, let the sound calm me, but there’s no time. “I didn’t come all the way down here just to fight,” I finally say. “Let me help you.”

He doesn’t respond, and I take that as an invitation to continue. “First, can you feel your foot? Can you move it?”

He flexes it and lets out a sound between a bark and a cough. “Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to rinse off your injury and make you a splint, then we’ll get you out of here.”

I scour the area for two large sticks, then pull my fleece out of my pack. I wrap it around his leg, avoiding the bone, then set the two sticks on either side. I grab my pocket knife and cut the hem of my shirt off, using the fabric strips to tie the splint in place.

“Your leg is going to swell, so let me know if this starts to feel too tight at any point.”

Pike nods. His breathing gets faster and his eyelids start to close.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” I say, scooting up to his face, touching his cheek with my hand. He opens his eyes and looks at me. The right lens of his glasses is cracked and caked with dirt, and I take them off his face. I wipe them clean and gently put them back, Pike watching me with angry eyes and a tense jaw.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

“What are you going to do?” Even when he’s delirious with pain, he manages to sound disgusted at the prospect of magic.

“I’m going to send enough magic to your nerves to ease the pain. Your leg will feel a little warm, and you’ll notice the pain lessen right away. I’ll move behind you and hook my arms under yours, and I’ll drag you up as you use your good leg to help.”

“You can’t make us fly or some shit?” Pike asks, and I roll my eyes.

“No, I can’t make us fly or ‘some shit.’ Magic works with the universe, it doesn’t defy it.” I look at him. “Are you okay with that plan?”

“I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Fine,” I say. I close my eyes and concentrate on the magic around me, so many millions of particles living in this old forest, witnessing this place before the trees were ever even here.

I draw enough magic to direct into Pike’s leg, wrapping his nerves in tiny flecks that will feel better than any medicine he could take. There are areas of human magic that I’m unskilled at, but this isn’t one of them; humans are built remarkably similar to animals. We break the same bones and feel the same pain. I can help him with those things.

Pike sighs next to me and his eyelids get heavy. “That feels better.”

“Good,” I say, moving behind him, “because we’re going to get you up the ravine now.” I try to ignore the way he flinches at my touch, telling myself he’s just in pain. But I know better.

When he meets my eyes, it isn’t relief or exhaustion or even fear that I see.

It’s fury. Intense, searing fury.





Twenty-Three


I position myself behind Pike, looping my arms under his. He tenses, his back rigid and straight, and I move closer to him to get a better hold. I can see the sweat on the back of his neck and the way goose bumps appear when my breath meets his skin.

“Relax into me,” I say, ignoring the way the cut on my knee feels as if it’s ripping open, wider and wider. It’s nothing compared to Pike’s leg, and it’ll feel better once I can straighten it out again.

He doesn’t move at first, then I feel him take a deep breath. On his exhale, he relaxes into me, his back getting heavy against my chest, his head leaning into the crook of my neck. His skin feels warm against mine, and I close my eyes for a single moment, committing the way he feels to memory.

I’m about to start pulling him up when he speaks. “Wait,” he says, his voice quiet and strained. “Tell me something real.”

“Something real?”

He nods, his head moving up and down against my neck.

Something real. I think for several seconds, with Pike’s full weight resting against me, and something about the way I can’t see his face makes me feel brave. “I want to be known by you,” I finally say. “And I’d rather you know all of me and hate me than only know parts of me and like me.”

He’s quiet for several moments, his breathing labored and unsteady. “Let’s go,” he says.

I nod and grip him tighter, letting my words drift away on the cool mountain air. The rain is light now, drops falling on nearby leaves and stones, the gentle tapping the only sound. “On my count, I’m going to pull you back. Hold your right leg up and plant your left foot firmly on the ground and push. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“One, two, three,” I say, pulling him up as he pushes off the ground. I swallow a cry of pain, the gash on my knee splitting open, warm blood crawling down my leg. But we moved; we made progress. It will be slow, but we can get up the ravine this way.

Pike’s weight gets heavier on me the longer we go, and I grip him tighter, making sure he doesn’t fall back or slip. He’s so close to me that I feel his labored breaths and tensing muscles, and after several more rounds, he asks for a break. I welcome it and sit behind him, extending my leg to ease the strain in my knee. Even when I sit, he doesn’t move his weight from me. I tell myself it’s because his leg is broken, because he’s weak and doesn’t have the energy to sit up straight. But whatever the reason, I like the feeling of him against me.