Page 42 of Witchlore
“Calm down,” the doctor says. “You’re in the military hospital in St. Annes. You’re home.”
“Count backward from ten.” Someone fits a mask over my face and then all I can see are red circles, a deep pool dragging me down into nothing.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
“Lando, fucking hell, not again!”
Someone is pumping up and down on my ribs. My chest is sore and aching, different and yet familiar. No boobs and my jeans don’t fit right. Even before I wake up, I know what’s happened. I’ve shifted again. There is an inexplicable warm whooshing feeling in my chest, surging up my windpipe. I cough out salt water, turning my head to throw up a bit, feeling harsh sand prickling against my eyelids and catching the corners of my lips. A hand is rubbing my back and there’s a faint blue glow around me, a telltale smell on the air that makes me think someone has lit a barbecue in the dunes. I realize Bastian must have put some magic into his CPR and I sit up groggily. He’s kneeling next to me, also soaked to the skin, and glaring furiously.
“What in the pissing hell do you think you’re doing?” Bastian yells.
“I’m fine,” I cough out. I feel like my insides are waterlogged, like the sponge of my lungs has absorbed the entire ocean.
“You drowned!” Bastian glares at me. “I saw the light, I saw you go frigid, I saw you go under and then I pulled you out and you weren’t bloodybreathing—”
“It was a shift, I couldn’t help it.”
“This isn’t a normal shift—”
“What the hell do you know about shifting?” I demand between gasps, the cold rain stinging my face and my muscles trembling uncontrollably. He’s right, none of this is normal, but I don’t want to tell him that. I don’t want to see the look on his face when I admit that I’m not just shapeshifting but havingvisionsabout a past I know nothing about.
“I’ve read books!” Bastian yells. “You can’t just walk into the sea and try to drown yourself!”
I hate that he’s shouting at me; I can feel shocked tears welling up, but I push them down. I got the bone, that’s all that matters.
“Where is it?” I scramble, patting my clothes, and look up. Bastian is holding it in his hand.
“The selkie brought you closer to shore, it was caught under your T-shirt.” He drops it on the sand beside me with a wet, emphaticthunkof rebuke. “Great plan, Lando, really well thought out!”
“I got it, didn’t I?” I hold up the bone, my teeth chattering. “My plan worked, so why are you being so fucking mean?”
“Because you’re so fucking reckless!” Bastian is shaking, too. The sun has started to set behind the town and the beach is entirely shaded and freezing cold. His face is pinched and livid, his hair sticking to his forehead like seaweed.
“Yeah, I’m reckless, I’m suicidal!” I stagger to my feet, wobbly again, and instantly sink back down to my knees, words spilling out of my mouth. “None of this should be a surprise to you. We started this whole thing on the premise that it’s dangerous and I’m not afraid to do anything to get Elizabeth back!”
“I don’t want you to die, is that so much to ask?” Bastianexplodes. I feel breathless at his words and it’s not the weight of my sodden binder, cold and pressed against my chest.
“You don’t want me to die, or you don’t want me to die before the spell is over?” I sneer. “Don’t act like this is some incredibly selfless act on your part!”
“Oh my god, you’re SO ridiculous!” Bastian yells to the sky, and I think I might hate him. I don’t know why, but in a lifetime of being called ridiculous for being too emotional, for being nonbinary, for being myself, this is the one that tips me over the edge.
“I’m ridiculous?Of courseI’m ridiculous!” I scream at him, my words snatched away on the howling wind, managing to launch to my feet, swaying. “My fucking girlfrienddied!”
“You’re not the only one with problems!” Bastian screams back. We stare at one another, both violently shaking in the cold. The edge of the waves is lapping around Bastian’s wet shoes. He shakes his head and starts twisting his fingers, his blue sapphire ring glowing, casting uncanny reflections against the wet sand.
“What the hell are you doing?” I stammer out, my teeth chattering.
“The heating spell,” he grunts. “So you don’t die of hypothermia.”
“I don’t need your bloody help!” I snap, but I immediately crumple back down onto the sand. His fingers are shaking and the light around his ring is stuttering, dimming. He grits his teeth and growls in annoyance as he presses his shaking fingertips in the Logi’s Spear position against my wet top. It heats up slightly, so now it is sopping wet and warm rather than just sopping wet, but then Bastian shakes out his trembling hands in frustration.
“Shit, I don’t have enough power. I’m too tired from dragging you out of the sea and the goddamned spell I used to unblock yourairway.” He runs a shaking hand through his hair. The heating spell is no match for the cold wind off the Irish Sea and I’m still shivering, starting to feel tired and sleepy with it. I list toward him and he swears again.
“Come on.” I let him pull me upward and immediately stagger. My legs are wooden and completely out of my control. Bastian quickly pulls my wet arm over his shoulder, half dragging me back up to where my coat, jumper, and boots are.
“We need to get you somewhere to get warm.” Bastian shivers, pulling on his denim jacket and throwing my coat over my shoulders as I stuff my sodden socks with sand stuck to them back in my boots. “You said you grew up around here?”
“I’m not going there, let’s just drive back—” I stutter.
