Witcha Gonna Do? (Witchington #1)(61)
“Tilda!” Erik hollers as he sprints from the museum door, flanked by a dozen mercenaries. “Stop!”
There’s no time for explanations, no matter how much she deserves one—not if I’m going to get her out of here. Rushing forward, I grab Birdie’s hand. Her eyes go wide, but she keeps up with the spell casting as best as she can. Around us the air thickens, a fog gathering out of the magic, trying to build up enough density to shield us from view but evaporating within seconds as another sneeze fit hits Birdie.
Turning to Tilda, I ask the one question that should definitely be answered with a no. “Do you trust me?”
Tilda nods, and it’s the best-worst thing to ever happen to me. I may love her, but I sure as hell don’t deserve her, not with the lies I’ve told and the secrets I’ve kept from her. But that’s for later. Right now the only thing that’s important is keeping her safe, and I can’t do that without her help.
“We all have to hold hands.” I take her hand, already feeling the sizzle of magic just under the surface. “Whatever happens next, just don’t let go.”
I add my voice to Birdie’s as she takes Tilda’s hand. The moment the circle closes, the wind whirls up out of nowhere as the spell gains power. Thunder cracks. Lightning flashes. Rain pours down. It’s as if there is so much magic crackling around us that the earth has to shed some of it or we’ll all explode.
Then Tilda adds her voice to the spell and the ground shifts under my feet. It’s quiet, and I can barely hear her above the whipping winds, but it’s there, calm and centered. Her eyes are closed and there’s such an ethereal vibe to her in that moment that I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it.
But the magic does.
I can smell it in the air building up to a gale, feel it zipping along my skin, see it in the soft glow around Tilda that’s visible between the flashes of lightning. The extra-buttery popcorn I’m used to when my magic mixes with Tilda’s is amped up by the honey and cinnamon sugar that must be Birdie’s and Eli’s. Together, we’re powering the cloaking spell, overwhelming Erik and his mercenaries, who are fighting against the gusts to get to us before the fog fills the space completely.
Suddenly, Erik jerks to a stop. I can see his lips moving, but the crash of thunder temporarily steals my focus from whatever spell he’s spinning with enough power even by himself to make every pale yellow piece of gravel lining the paths of the formal garden go airborne as he throws up his arms.
“Tilda,” I holler over the cacophony of the storm. “Finish it.”
Her eyes snap open, a confused look on her face.
“The spell, really mean it.” I squeeze her hand. “Trust me.”
She hesitates for the briefest of moments, but then her demeanor changes. Her shoulders straighten. She stands taller. Her gaze sharpens. She lets out a deep, cleansing breath and begins to purposely chant with Birdie, Eli, and I.
“Tuere. Celare. Liberate.”
The fog thickens, forming a fluffy barrier between us and Erik. It’s good, but not enough to stop a million pieces of gravel that will be flying straight for us at any moment.
“Tuere. Celare. Liberate.”
I squeeze Tilda’s hand. We lock eyes. A wall of blue-flame-level heat slams into me as she straight up starts levitating a few feet up off the ground.
“Tuere. Celare. Liberate.”
The rain picks up, slashing at us as the wind tears at our clothes. It takes everything I have to hold on to her as her power tries to take her higher.
“Tuere. Celare. Liberate.”
A huge boom of thunder crashes against us, a tangible sound wave that blows my hair back half a second before a bright flash of lightning nearly blinds us all, and then we’re flying, rocketing through the night air. We’re high enough that ice crystals form on my eyelashes. I sneak a glance over at Tilda. Her red hair flies behind her like flames, her glasses are askew, and she has the most excited-but-unsure smile on her face.
It’s fucking adorable. I couldn’t possibly love her more—not because she’s a spellbinder or because she can do anything for me but because she’s Tilda.
What I wouldn’t give to think that it could work out between us, but you don’t get to survive The Beyond by believing in the impossible.
The realization has my chest aching as the magic does a controlled burn, slowing us down as we approach the train yard. It lets us down on the platform on the last car of our train.
We’re all soaked from the rain, but we’re alive. In a matter of minutes we’ll be on our way back to Wrightsville on the least likely form of witch transportation that anyone can think of so Tilda can use the novis spell to unfreeze her family. We’re not home free yet—no doubt Erik is already looking for us—but we’re a helluva lot closer than we were an hour ago, and in this world I’ll take that as a win. In this life, you have to take the Ws when you can. Arm in arm, Tilda and I follow Eli and Birdie inside the lounge car.
As soon as we step inside, Vance looks up from the bowl of Lucky Charms he’s eating at the bar and lets out a sigh that all but screams “what did you fuck up now.” “I take it things did not go according to plan.”
Yeah, that’s putting it mildly.
“We gotta go,” Tilda says. “Now.”