Wild is the Witch (61)
“Why can’t you just fix my leg? Why all this go-around?” Pike asks, not turning his head to look at me.
“You want me to use more magic?”
“No. I want to know why you aren’t.”
I sigh, and Pike sinks deeper into me, as if the question took all his energy. “It isn’t like that. Magic is an innate part of the world, an extension of it. It works in tandem with things like medicine and expertise and experience. It honors the natural world by working with it; it can’t create something out of nothing or destroy something that already exists. It works within the parameters of our world.”
At first Pike doesn’t respond, and I wonder if what I said made sense or if he thinks it’s ridiculous. His head tips down. “It can’t destroy something. So cancer, for example. It can’t destroy cancer cells.”
My stomach drops as I realize what he’s asking, a physical pain I feel in my center. I slowly shake my head. “No. It could make someone more comfortable. It could bolster their healthy cells to put up a stronger fight. It could keep them nourished and help protect against the effects of the harsher treatments. But it couldn’t eradicate the disease, no.”
“So Leo never had a chance?” Pike asks through gritted teeth, his voice rough and unsteady. “We were lied to from the start? No amount of magic could have saved him, even if it hadn’t been about the money?”
Tears build up in my eyes and spill over my lashes, and I quickly wipe them away with my free hand. “No,” I say. “Not on its own. It would have to work in tandem with some kind of treatment.”
Pike inhales sharply, and it sounds like a gasp. His shoulders start to shake and he lets out one choking sob. I want to hold him tighter, to take all his weight and let him rest for as long as he needs, but I don’t dare move, scared that even a breath will make him realize who he’s touching, scared that he’ll recoil from me.
And as much as I want to comfort him through this, I know that I can’t. I cursed him. I wrote a curse far crueler than what he deserved and let it get away. Now we’re sitting in a ravine, Pike with a broken leg and the owl with a broken artery, and I’m no closer to fixing this than I was three days ago.
He’s right to lean away from me, to flinch when I get too close and look the other direction when I tell him I care.
We sit in the ravine for a long time, and I watch the fog move overhead and the raindrops sitting on leaves, reflecting the world above them.
“We need to go,” I finally say when I can no longer stand being away from the owl. He’s the same as he was when I ran after Pike, but that could change in an instant, and if I’m halfway down the ravine when it does, I won’t be able to do anything.
Pike grabs his right leg and I loop my arms under his once more, starting our slow climb up the ravine. I count out loud the first few times, but we eventually find a rhythm, and we don’t speak for the rest of the way. By the time we get to the top, we’re both out of breath and drenched in sweat. Pike scoots up against a nearby tree, and my front is flooded with cold air, used to the warmth of his back against my chest. He takes a sip of water, and I pace around with my hands in my hair, trying to figure out what’s next.
The owl. I need to get to the owl.
My magic is buying him minutes, nothing near long enough to get him to our campsite, let alone the refuge. And any extra time I did get him was spent going after Pike. Every single thing that could go wrong in the past several days has, and I want to scream and cry and yell and blame Pike for falling down a ravine, but I can’t.
This is my fault, and I will have to live with that knowledge for the rest of my life.
“I’m going back for the owl,” I say, walking over to Pike. “Once I get him back here, we can try to head to camp.”
“Here, take the boxes out of my pack,” he says, leaning forward. “The makeshift nest will be more comfortable for him.”
“Thank you,” I say, grabbing what I need. “Let me check your leg before I go.”
Pike braces himself against the tree, avoiding my eyes the whole time. I pull up his pant leg and check on the splint. The bleeding has stopped, and the splint is holding up well.
“How’s your pain level?” I ask, gently sticking my hand between his leg and the sticks, making sure the splint hasn’t gotten too tight with the swelling.
“Fine,” he says, looking up at the fog.
“You don’t have to say that, you know. I can help with the pain if you need it.”
“I said it’s fine.” He rubs the top of his thigh with his free hand, and when he finally looks at me, I wish he wouldn’t have. Even in the absence of the curse and the owl, Pike never would have accepted me for who I am. It’s written all over his face and in the depths of his eyes, a hatred so strong not even love could overcome it.
The line between the two is paper thin and razor sharp, and we ended up on the wrong side of it. Maybe it was always inevitable, but if that were true, it wouldn’t feel like losing something.
“You should eat while I’m gone,” I say, digging into my bag and pulling out a KIND bar. At first I don’t think anything of it, the joke so far away by now. But the way he looks at it brings it all back, and it makes the ache in my chest get stronger. I roll my eyes so he can’t see the way it hurts.