Page 7 of Magic in the Woods
That had been close.
Too close. How long had I been unconscious before he’d found me?
Catching my breath from the exertion of using my magic, I let myself lean back against the tree behind me. It caught me, the rough bark against my back giving me something to focus on instead of fixating on the way my body felt completely out of control. My chest pushed against the fabric of my dress, trying to take in enough oxygen to replenish my magic. I could sense that I’d used it all up. There was an emptiness in my gut that I’d always attributed to low magic, like I was missing an organ. I needed time to replenish. It took oxygen, rest, and food. All of which I was in short supply of.
My fingers brushed against the top of the ice block that held my mother. It looked frozen and opaque, but I needed to feel it. I needed to feel that she was still confined. Imprisoned. That the world was still safe from her wrath. I could tell that the pail had completely frozen solid from the dry surface of the ice. Relief flooded me.
Only then did I look in front of me at the man I’d pushed away. He was still sitting on the ground. I could see the green of his irises from ten feet away, his eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets.
“Uh…” His voice wavered as he produced several non-words before snapping his lips closed and reopening them, this time without sound.
“Don’t touch my pail,” I said. My knees locked straight beneath me. A breeze from behind me billowed my sundress between my legs, my hair blowing over my shoulders in front of me. The man’s nostrils flared. Could he…smell me? Did I smell bad? I probably did. I’d been out here for who knew how long in the summer heat sweating.
“Got it. Message received. I will not touch your pail.” He lifted one hand in the air in surrender as he used the other to lift himself to a standing position.
Now that he stood farther away, I could see how tall he was—he’d tower over me if we stood side by side. He could easily overwhelm me if I didn’t regain my magic.
“So, you’re…a witch?” he asked with an equal amount of inquiry and observation.
I tilted my head to the side. He wasn’t a witch. If he was, he would have surely retaliated with his own magic when I’d blasted him away. So, he was…human?
“You must be a witch.”
Okay. A human, for sure. My tongue was dry. I kept my words to myself.
“Say, I work for the Coven.” He motioned with his arm to the space beyond the silver house I’d been staring at behind him. “I can help you get back there.”
My chin tucked into my chest as I tried to retreat, my heels only hitting the tree behind me.
If the last several days had shown me anything, it was that I wasn’t ready. I was ill-prepared for this world—a world outside my grandmother’s cottage, outside the protection of the Cedar Moon Pack. I could hardly talk to anyone…especially men. My body went into a panic when I was around them, my muscles tightening and my words vanishing. There would be men in the Coven, men that I was supposed to lead. Right now, I didn’t have the strength or the experience to walk into the Coven and claim my birthright as Prime.
“All right, all right, I won’t bring you to the Coven.”
I lifted my chin, letting my eyes reach his once again.
“But I can’t leave you out here. They’ll…find you.” He glanced around at the invisible threats around us.
I followed his eyes, my chest tightening.
“Just let me help you.” He extended his arm, his fingers uncurling right in front of me, waiting for mine to land in his.
He was close. Too close. One step closer and he could grab me, overwhelm me in my weakened state.
I glanced down at my mother, still frozen in the pail by my feet. How much energy could I spare if I had to use my magic to defend myself from him again? Would it be enough to keep my mother frozen at the same time? Did I even have any to spare?
My wobbling knees doubted me. The sweat on my brow questioned me. Was I strong enough?
As if in answer, I felt a faint tingle deep inside of me—my magic growing.
His fingertips brushed my upper arm.
“No, wait”—he grabbed onto my arm—“stop…” I tried my best to scoot away.
He kept hold of my arm. “I’m just trying to help you—” he said as he attempted to pull me up to standing.
Struggling in his grasp, I looked down at his hand on my arm and flicked my wrist. Pointing at him with my index and middle fingers, I sent him flying away from me, his hands and feet trailing his torso in the air.
I’d overestimated my strength. I didn’t get to hear the satisfying thump of his body landing on the ground—instead I heard the echo in my head of my body hitting the soil.
