no doubt we’d cross paths eventually. Especially if Henry ran off to tattle on me and the witch decided to land on my head the next morning.
I pushed away the thought and turned my attention back to the knitting. Soothing and calm and confident—a perfect washcloth to give as a gift for someone who needed a little boost when they washed their face. The magic spooled out in soft threads, the very opposite of what I’d thrown at those wolves, and wound around the needles like just another strand of yarn.
Some of the tension eased out of my shoulders. Everything would look different after a good night’s sleep and a bit of perspective. I’d left the car behind but survived an attack by a bunch of coyotes and wolves. I peered past my knitting at my legs, where a few bites had grown puffy and red, and wished I still had the first aid kit from the trunk. At least I’d washed everything out as soon as I got to the room, and took the hottest shower on record to try and scrub away any memory of the day.
I went back to taking stock of my situation. I’d found a safe place to sleep at least for the night, though I wasn’t sure how safe I felt staying there long-term, what with Henry knowing where to find me and everyone who worked at the shelter believing in witches. For the night, at least, I could sleep. I didn’t know where Rocko was nor how closely he followed me, but I had some breathing room to recharge my magical batteries and come up with a better plan. I couldn’t keep running forever. Eventually I had to face him.
But not tonight, and hopefully not the next, either.
I dragged my thoughts back to the knitting so I didn’t end up with a washcloth that plunged its user into an anxiety attack. It didn’t last long though, and eventually I gave up on the knitting. I stared up at the ceiling as I lay back in bed. How the hell had I ended up here in a strange city, being chased by animals and confronting a handsome stranger who asked about my coven?
If they knew half of what I’d done, they wouldn’t let me stay in their city another second. I pulled the covers over my head to try and hide from the persistent guilt and fear. My old coven ended up injured and maimed, all because I couldn’t control my magic. Even when I could, the magic didn’t behave the right way and spiraled out of control. No matter what I did, I caused problems.
I’d thought the coven would help calm things down, that they would know how to manage a slightly unpredictable and uncontrolled witch’s magic, but instead… instead it just compounded things and made my problems so much worse. Instead of their magic helping to control mine, the opposite happened—my magic sparked chaos in theirs.
I groaned and rolled over again, wishing I had some kind of magic go-to-sleep spell. With my luck, if I tried anything of the sort, I’d either permanently blind myself or end up in a coma forever. The coven had been right to banish me—after they recovered from that disastrous spell. I’d run away, too horrified to face them, and kept running until Rocko found me.
Clenching my teeth didn’t help me sleep or deal with the reality of what I was: a monster. A defective witch. A danger to myself and others. What I’d done to those coyotes and wolves—and to Henry—just reinforced it. I could have killed him by accident, when it seemed like all he’d been trying to do was help me. Maybe. I’d touched him and nearly hexed him into oblivion.
Witches weren’t supposed to go around killing things. What we put into the world came back to us times three, and since all I ever did was create trouble for others… I sighed and covered my face. All I got back was trouble. Times three.
Which explained Rocko, after all. He’d promised to fix what was wrong with me, to help my magic work the right way, to protect me from the covens that wanted to lock me up and strip away my magic forever. He’d made a lot of promises. Most seemed to be based in lies, although I didn’t know for sure what had actually been a lie. I hadn’t waited around long enough to find out, since the price of his help