Wild is the Witch (6)

So that’s what I do. All at once, the particles of magic in the area make themselves known, and I pull them closer. They hover in the space between me and the stone circle, and I silently speak the words, magic morphing in front of me as I do.

A sharp, metallic scent tinges the air, too faint for anyone but a witch to sense. But it’s there, the undeniable scent of magic, the spell I’ve crafted for Amy overcoming my senses.

In one quick motion, I release it to the herbs, binding them together as one. The spell clings to them, a living thing I could send to Amy if I wanted. But magic is regulated, and casting a spell to make myself feel better isn’t an acceptable use.

This is just for me, a spell that won’t do anything other than be absorbed into the earth. A letter left unsent. But the ritual of it is enough, and my shoulders relax as I go through the motions my grandmother taught me.

I take the remaining magic and send it directly over the herbs, the particles heating up as they collide into each other. I send them around and around until so much heat is produced that a small spark jumps to the ground and the herbs go up in flames, taking the spell with them.

Smoke rises into the cool morning air, the remnants of magic caught on the wind and burned into ash. It, and all my feelings surrounding Amy, belongs to the earth now, and even though my spell will never reach her, I feel better.

I stand and wipe the dirt from my jeans, then walk to the office. The wind is strong this morning, and the tops of the trees sway back and forth against the overcast sky. My hair blows out behind me, and the cool air feels good against my warm skin. The calm of this place moves through me, and by the time I reach the office, some of the knots that had formed in my stomach have loosened.

Pike is already there when I walk inside, hanging his coat in the back room. I run my fingers over the engraved logo in the wooden desk, the way I do every morning. I trace the wolf howling at the full moon and the outline of mountains behind it, the letters that spell out the dream that Mom turned into reality.

“Feel better?” Mom asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

She never took to my grandmother’s ritual the way I did, and she doesn’t approve of me writing spells that aren’t technically legal, even though they’re never put to use. She believes all magic should have a purpose, that crafting spells that aren’t used for anything is wasteful.

I’ve tried to explain the way it calms me, the way it helps me work through my feelings and release the things I can’t change, but she doesn’t get it. Still, she’s never told me not to do it—even though she doesn’t understand, she knows it matters to me.

“I do,” I say, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Mom looks at the clock. “Three minutes is hardly late. Pike doesn’t apologize until he’s at least ten minutes late,” she says, loud enough for him to hear.

“Hey, that’s unfair,” Pike says, walking out from the back room. “That’s only happened a few times, when I’ve been enthralled by my coursework. Some would say you’re lucky to have such a studious intern.”

“A studious intern who stops for coffee regardless of how late he’s running,” I say, and Mom laughs, shaking her head. Her cell rings, and she steps into the back to answer it.

“Wow, way to throw me under the bus,” Pike says. “You’re not still worked up over the sloths, are you?”

“You mean am I still worked up over you purposefully leaving your chores for me because you decided your time is more valuable than mine?” I ask, moving behind the desk and pulling a jar of vitamin D drops from the drawer. “No, I’d forgotten all about it.”

I make sure Mom isn’t looking, then I take off the lid to her mug and put a drop in her coffee. Her doctor told her to start taking it, but she never remembers, so I remember for her. I don’t think she’d care if she knew I put vitamin D in her coffee, but she already thinks I worry about her too much, so I try to be subtle.

“Well, it sounds kind of rude when you put it like that,” Pike says.

“It was rude.” I push the lid back on Mom’s mug and put the vitamin D away just as she walks out, interrupting Pike’s reply.

“That was Dan. Animal rescue is going to be here in a few minutes with a wolf they found on the ridge. It’s pretty bad, from what it sounds like, and I’ll need your help bringing it in. Pike, can you handle the ten o’clock tour?”

“Sure thing,” he says. He gets the office ready for the first group, and Mom takes a quick sip of coffee before grabbing her coat. I follow her out of the office without giving Pike another glance.

“How bad is it?” I ask. It’s a cold spring day, the kind that feels as if it’s still touching winter, and I wrap my arms around my chest. Mom and I are both wearing Foggy Mountain baseball caps, and our boots trudge through the mud as we make our way through the trees.

“I don’t have many details,” she says.

The treetops sway in the breeze, and several pine cones drop to the ground when a larger gust blows through the branches. Raindrops from the night before glisten on the ferns and moss, and amber sap clings to the bark of the nearby pines. I hear tires over gravel in the distance, and Dan’s truck comes into view just as we leave the cover of the trees.

“Hi, Isobel,” Dan calls from the driver’s side. He turns off the engine and steps out, pulling on his jacket as he does. “Iris,” he says, nodding.