Wild is the Witch (66)

I go through everything I know about the curse and the owl, about amplified magic and bound curses, and that’s when I realize why it isn’t working.

Binding the curse to the owl made it stronger, more powerful. The owl’s magic amplified that of the curse, nurturing it with the blood in his veins and the beating of his heart. The curse grew while wrapped in life, and now I can’t bind it to anything without a life of its own.

It needs a heartbeat to attach to.

A kindred home, just like the book said.

I breathe out, a cross between a choke and a cry, and my legs feel weak. This is so much bigger than me, and I don’t know if I can handle it on my own. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.

The fog is starting to burn off for the day, revealing golden streaks of light that reach through the trees, unafraid of the curse that lives here. Unafraid of the unimaginable consequences if I can’t figure this out. Sunlight touches my face, and I close my eyes and, for just a moment, let myself bask in the feeling of warmth.

Then it comes to me as suddenly as the sun broke through the clouds. I can bind the curse to myself. It’s not common, but back before the Witches’ Council was established and there wasn’t any formal process for governance, witches who committed crimes were often cursed as punishment. The curses were written to fit the crimes, and they were handed out by the most powerful witches in their communities.

It’s been generations since that kind of punishment was seen as acceptable, but I remember reading about it in our old family texts. Cursing a witch is possible, and that’s what matters right now.

It isn’t a permanent fix—I don’t want Pike living his life terrified of what happens to me—but it’s a fix for now. If I can bind the curse to myself, I can get back to the refuge and find help.

I rush back to the owl and drop to my knees. I choke back a cry as pain shoots up my leg, grinding my teeth and forcing myself to ignore it. MacGuffin slowly opens his eyes and looks at me, and I want more than anything to heal his injuries and get him back to the refuge, to give him a long and comfortable life where he can watch whomever he wants and hoot into the night and follow me around to his heart’s content.

But right now, the best I can hope to give him is a peaceful death, slipping into whatever comes after without a curse attached to him.

I wrap more magic around his nerves, making him as comfortable as I can, then I get to work.

The curse is tightly clinging to the owl’s center, burrowing in, contentedly living in an amplifier that could turn it into a disaster, a curse that could be written about in books and whispered about at night. A curse that could inspire eerie children’s songs and lilting rhymes meant to warn others of the power of magic.

A curse so terrible it wouldn’t even need a name.

I unwind the curse from the owl’s insides, gently pulling it out until it finally lets go and hovers in the air in front of me, a heavy, dreadful thing. I breathe through my mouth to avoid the biting metallic scent and open the magic inside me, ready to take on the curse.

More particles rush toward me, the old trees in this ancient forest giving up some of their magic to help, and my skin heats up with the feeling of it. Even with the curse hovering in the air before me, even with the boy that I like absolutely terrified next to me, this is home. This is me.

My body hollows out, magic pushing things out of the way, making room for the curse to live alongside organs and muscles and bones. A kindred home. It feels as if the wind has been knocked out of me, as if I’ve left parts of myself behind to give room to this thing I never wanted.

I inhale and let the air of the forest settle deep in my lungs. Then I breathe out, shoving the curse into all my empty spaces. I gasp as it enters my body and tries to grab hold of me, fighting for purchase in a new home. It rushes through me, grasping at my insides as if it’s falling off a cliffside, but it can’t hold on.

It falls and falls and falls, and when it has made it through my whole body without something secure to grab hold of, it rushes out of me entirely and settles back in the owl.

“No!” I yell, hitting the ground with my fists, screaming into the silence.

I don’t understand.

“What’s happening?” Pike demands, his eyes moving frantically between me and the bird.

“It still isn’t working. It needs a living thing to bind to, and I’m trying to bind it to me, but it won’t take.”

Something seems to shift in Pike, and I watch as all the hope leaves him, as the lighthouse crumbles into the ocean and he’s left in total darkness. He looks defeated, but more than anything, he looks sad. Not angry or afraid or even hurt. Sad. “So that’s it, then?”

I look up at him, his shape blurry through my tears. “No,” I say, determined to figure this out. “No, I’m going to keep trying.”

I wipe my face and sit up straight. Then I try again. The curse is agitated, fighting to stay in the owl, upset that it keeps being disturbed. I yank it out and shove it hard, using all the magic inside me to grip the curse and keep it here.

It stays for one second, tumbling through me, then flies back out. I keep trying, again and again, forcing the curse into my body, then feeling it rush back out.

I’m shaking and heaving on the ground as I repeatedly beat the curse into me, losing strength as I do. There’s so much magic in the air. My skin is on fire, hissing from all the particles I’ve called over, but I keep at it because I don’t know what else to do.