Wild is the Witch (71)

A tremor runs through MacGuffin, as if he’s cold, and I wrap the towel tighter around him. He stills in my lap, and I feel the way his body relaxes.

“You don’t have to fight anymore,” I whisper.

Pike is watching MacGuffin, his jaw still tense, his eyes rimmed in red. I remember the story he told me when I bound the curse to him, about him and Leo thinking magic was the greatest thing in the world. I’m not foolish enough to think his sense can solve his hurt, his grief, or his anger, but maybe it can help. Pike is a Stellar—that’s why his magic was drawn to me. One of the most common jobs of Stellars is pain management, helping sick children and adults get through their treatments more comfortably than with medicine alone.

Leo didn’t get the help he needed, and that’s unforgivable. It’s tragic and gut-wrenching. But Pike could give to others what Leo should have gotten. Maybe that will help, in some way.

Or maybe I’m trying to justify an outcome that never should have happened, and Pike will hate magic and me for the rest of his life.

But I can’t shake the feeling that both of us needed this journey, for vastly different reasons, and that the owl recognized that need in each of us.

Owls are sacred to witches, after all. It isn’t so outrageous to think he’d help me along. It could all be meaningless, of course, wild coincidences that happened one after the other, but after living with my grandmother for seventeen years, I’m inclined to believe otherwise.

What is coincidence if not a subtle form of magic?

Dad would roll his eyes when my grandmother would say it, but that never bothered her. She was confident in herself and confident in her beliefs, and eventually my dad cut the word coincidence from his vocabulary so he wouldn’t have to hear her ask the question. But Mom and I knew, and we’d nod along every time she spoke the words.

MacGuffin shifts in my lap, and I pull him closer, cradling him in my arms. His breaths are spaced too far apart, and his heartbeat is getting harder to feel.

“I’m here,” I say, and for the first time in too long, he looks at me with wide, alert eyes, watching me the way he has since he first got to the refuge. He burrows into my lap and turns his attention to Pike before coming back to me. He holds my gaze for several moments, then slowly lets his eyelids fall.

I hold him close as he takes his last breath, feel his magic as it leaves his body and enters the forest, scattering among the windswept trees that will take it up and hold it for centuries to come.

Nothing is ever truly lost.

Tears run down my cheeks and drop into his feathers, and I rock back and forth, holding him in my lap, not wanting to let go. And when I can’t hold him anymore, when the pain is too great, I do the only thing I can do: I bury him among the old-growth trees that he loved so much, surrounding him in fern leaves and moss and centuries-old magic.

I whisper a prayer for him, thank him for watching over me, and give him to the earth.

I stay over his grave for a long time, then find my way back to Pike. But as I do, the pain in my skin gets worse and the world around me spins. I reach out for something, anything, to catch my fall, but there’s only air.

My eyes roll back and I collapse to the ground.

The last thing I hear is Pike calling my name, and the last thing I see is a witch rushing toward me who looks a lot like Amy.

***

“Iris? Iris, can you hear me?”

I struggle to open my eyes, and when I finally do, the world is still spinning. Cassandra is leaning over me, brushing the hair out of my face, but her features are blurry. I’m vaguely aware of Pike asking her who she is, but I can’t see him. I try to look past her, find Pike, but I can’t lift my head.

“Cassandra,” she says without taking her eyes off me. “From the Witches’ Council.”

I close my eyes again, my head slipping to the side, but Cassandra keeps talking. I feel her tug at my shirt, lift up my sleeves before moving to my pant legs. I want to push her away, beg her to stop moving the fabric up and down over my skin, but I can’t make the words come out.

I wish my mom was here.

“My God,” Cassandra says as she looks over me, lifting up the torn hem of my shirt. “How is she even alive?”

Then I hear Pike from somewhere behind her, his voice shaking and upset. I open my eyes, try to see his face, but I can’t. “I didn’t know it was this bad,” he says, looking over my burns. “I didn’t know.”

“We have to get her to a hospital,” Cassandra says, her voice even and cool, just like I remember. “You too.”

Then my vision goes dark and bright-white dots appear, twinkling in the vast emptiness. I sigh as the pain in my body eases, as the stinging of my skin lessens and the burning recedes.

“Thank you,” I say, trying to focus on Cassandra’s face. I take a breath and let her magic move through me, let the muscles in my body relax with relief. Then I meet her eyes. “Him too.”

She nods and moves away from me. I hear her make a call, reporting our injuries to whoever is on the other end of the line. I exhale as I realize we’ll be off this mountain soon. Someone will tend to my burns and to Pike’s broken leg, and I’ll see my mom and Sarah.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Cassandra says when she gets back to my side. “I was held up by an animal attack.”

“I couldn’t save him.” My voice breaks, and I’m unsure of if I’m referring to Pike or the owl.