Page 47 of Wolves & Watercolors
Aurora stands by the dresser with her hand holding onto the drawer. An oversized shirt drapes over her frame, and she’s holding a pair of bike shorts. I look at the wall while she pulls them on. The bed creaks when she sits back down.
“So, um, that was weird,” she says, her voice sounding hoarse.
“Yeah.” I scratch the back of my head, ignoring how the room seems to sway.
“Did I just hallucinate, or did the house plants attack me during my shower?”
“Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“I don’t know what to do with that information.” She laughs dryly and presses her fingertips to the bridge of her nose.
Swallowing, I approach her bed and sit on the end, leaving a couple of feet between us.
“I think you should go talk to Hazel and Slate about it,” I offer.
When her amber eyes meet mine, they’re glittering with unshed tears. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing is wrong with you,” I say, louder than I intended.
“Seriously?” She waves her hand toward the door.
Her chest shakes as she fights tears. Wiping at her face, she sniffs and looks up at me. “She’s going to think I’m nuts.”
“Come on, I promise she will be understanding.”
Aurora takes my hand. She pauses to shove her feet into sandals, but allows me to guide her out of the cabin and down the steps. Her steps are shaky, and my vision narrows to her bright eyes and the feel of her hand in mine.
“So nothing is wrong with me, but you have to take me to see my big sister?” she asks with a sarcastic edge. The fingers curled around mine tighten. “That sure sounds like a problem to me.”
There’s no convincing her without offering some truth. I can’t share the pack’s secrets, but I can point out her truths.
“Do you remember the first day you helped me in the garden? Those radishes and carrots are almost ready to harvest. They look like they are several weeks old, not several days.”
“That can’t be right,” she mutters, shaking her head. Her eyes cast around the ground as if the plants near us might spring up to capture her at any moment.
“And did you see that a plant fell off the window ledge in Hazel’s room when she was having the baby?”
“Yeah, that was freaky.”
“The plant grew, like tripled in size, and that’s what pushed it off. All the plants in that room at least doubled.”
The quiet, “No,” she gives in protest sounds less confident.
“I noticed the wildflowers growing around my dad’s cheese kitchen and around Heath’s house have gotten massive in the last few days.”
She spins and looks over the cabin. “Looks the same to me.”
“After Hazel had the baby, she asked Sable about the house plant falling. She thinks you are a witch.”
Even her breathing stops. Aurora is a statue. Her hand pulls me to a stop so I turn and put an arm around her. Her eyes stare straight ahead. I take a loud, slow breath, trying to encourage her to breathe. Finally she does, sucking in air to say, “Are you kidding me?”
I can feel her pulse in her fingers and where our wrists touch. Shaking my head to clear my focus, I try to explain. “No. Apparently there are some green witches in your family line way back generations ago.”
Aurora shudders as she lets out a hysterical laugh. “I’m, what, flinging around plant magic? I’m sorry, I’m not that delusional.”
“Vines just trapped you in the shower and I had to cut you out with a butcher’s knife.”
“That was a chef’s knife,” she corrects, her voice going up an octave.
