Outfoxed (The Fox Witch #1) - R.J. Blain Page 0,48

home. What sort of twister had Mother Nature sent on her quest to rid the world of us, who’d done nothing more than wish to survive?

I found no answers. If Peace maintained some of her sentience, she kept herself hidden from me. I wondered what I would do with her—or if she’d use magic to do to me as she’d done to Scabs and anyone else she’d deemed to be a thief or a murderer.

In time, I expected my magic would teach me the truth. Not all objects woke my witch powers, but I’d learned there was a rhyme and reason to everything.

I could only wait for the sword to reveal more of her secrets.

The storm raged long enough I questioned how anyone could possibly survive outside. When the shaking subsided, I placed Peace beside where I would sleep, made my way up the steps of the cellar to the house, and spent a long time staring up in awe that the structure had survived. More debris had fallen around the entry to my cellar, which would make getting in and out a challenge after the next blow. Careful to avoid being seen, I crept to the door and peeked out.

A sea of destruction stretched out as far as I could see in the direction of the wilds beyond the outskirts of Tulsa. My heart sank, and while I debated shifting to a fox, I remained human.

I would need hands if any survived, to help extricate the living from their cellars so their safe havens didn’t become tombs. In the distance behind me, Inner Tulsa’s sirens screamed, warning those within the questionable safety of the city limits they needed to take shelter.

Overhead, the sky dulled in shade, the green falling over Inner Tulsa while early morning sunlight bathed the outskirts. The wall of wind and rain retreated from the neighborhood, and the dark shadows of funnels ravaged everything in their path in the distance.

As always, I wondered what Tulsa had done to deserve Mother Nature’s wrath.

Then, my thoughts returned to Peace, and the evidence the sword had—and could—bend humans to her will. I’d been led to believe magic took specific forms. In the Alley, witches could only look into the past, the present, or the future. In the East, witches manifested their powers in other ways. I could control poisons of all sorts, be it infections in the blood, toxins from plants, or even creating a nasty green fluid capable of killing those who ingested it.

I wondered if my bounty would be changed if anyone discovered I had a serious case of witchcraft to go with my ability to shapeshift. No, worse. When I thought about it, I classified as a quadrant witch, as I was able to adapt my magic anywhere I went. To complicate matters, I could function within the boundaries if needed.

Worrying about what I couldn’t change wouldn’t help anything. The more immediate concern of searching for survivors needed to be addressed. I began with the newest destruction and debris nearby, struggling to remember the locations of the nearby cellars, cursing myself for my failure to have better explored my new home before the storms changed everything.

Using my magic might create more trouble for me, but with few other options, I picked up a small piece of wood, which could have been the splintered ruins of a building or a stick for all I knew, closed my eyes, and hoped my magic took pity on me for a change and shared its secrets with me.

Friday, May 1, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

* * *

In perfect harmony, ten funnels formed in the green-toned, swirling clouds above, descending towards the ground in a deadly dance. I’d never thought trees could think, but I was aware the one my magic fixated on waited, understanding its end neared. Howling winds tore at its branches, stealing away a piece with a crack and sending it flying.

A gust knocked it upwards, where one of the approaching funnels sucked it up, stripped it of leaves and bark, and flung it back to the ground, where it joined the debris scattering the outskirts. It skittered across the ground, took flight again, and crashed down again, over and over at Mother Nature’s whim.

As one, the twisters landed, and they moved in a pattern, swirling towards each other in a spiral, synchronized to a steady beat, swaying as though they listened to some lethal magic only they could hear.

The tree did not blame Mother Nature for its demise as