by Raven Snow
Ducking like my life depended on it— because it did— I hit the ground and army crawled toward the cops. Probably for the first time in my life, I ran toward the police. A shot rang out through the night while I was hunched over, and I guessed it was Wyatt who'd pulled the trigger.
I looked up to see the entire police force staring in terror at a bullet suspended in midair. Alicia's hand was held out, stopping the bullet. Her expression was the same one that had made me fear for my life, but this time, it wasn't directed at me.
It was directed at Wyatt.
I was up on my feet in a millisecond, a hoarse "no!" torn from my throat as I ran for him. In one of those weird witchy moments, I could hear the bullet moving backward, back toward the shooter. My limbs were pumping faster than I could believe, but I wasn't going to make it. I was always going to be a few seconds too slow.
The bullet hit Wyatt just as I heard tires squealing as they pulled out of the parking lot. The love of my life stood there for a second, looking down at his chest in surprise. Then, like time starting up again, the color left him as he collapsed onto the ground, his body hitting the pavement with a dull thud.
My hands were on his chest a moment later, pressing as hard as I dared. Even with the pressure, blood seeped past my hands, like sand through the hourglass. I screamed at his fellow officers to do something—anything. What the hell were they standing around for?
Like they'd been waiting for my permission, the men sprang into action. Kosher limped over to me, helping me apply pressure. His face was grim, and I didn't want to look in his eyes, afraid I'd find pity. If I found pity...
Wyatt's fingers traced the track of a tear rolling down my cheek, far too pale and far too weak. "So witches do cry."
I shook my head. "I never cry."
There was a ghost of a smile on his face. "Of course."
When he opened his mouth to say more, I stopped him. "Save your strength."
"I love you."
Sirens were wailing in the distance. "I know. And I want you to keep doing it for a couple more decades, so shut up and stop bleeding."
I helped load him into the ambulance, but I had to keep the pressure on his chest. Wyatt's eyes never left me— not even blinking— though I knew he had to be in a lot of pain, and the paramedics were poking and prodding at him.
Kosher was barking orders from my side, refusing to be looked at. I barely heard or saw him, because my gazed was pretty fixed too.
"Stay with Cooper," Wyatt said, gasping slightly. "He loves you almost as much as I do."
"You stay with Cooper, and I'll stay with you."
But I could see him leaving, see the light fading from his eyes. The sparkle, that little bit of compassion mixed with laughter that was so essentially Wyatt, was draining away. I didn't know how to stop it.
The cat I hadn't even realized was on the bench next to me purred, brushing up against me. I looked over at Whale for a second, and his eyes were anything but animalistic. There was human-like intelligence there— no, more than human intelligence. There was something other in his eyes that should've scared me, but I welcomed it.
"No limits," I said.
Reaching out with my magic, Whale met me halfway, his own brand of power older and far more twisted than mine. Like two ropes binding together, the edges of our magic wrapped around each other, becoming stronger than either could've been on their own.
Then, I looked at Wyatt. His chest was a mess of broken strings and tangles. It was eerily like a time I'd undone a spell done by another wizard. Copying my actions from that day based on nothing more than gut instinct, I untangled the strings.
Under Whale and my combined power, the knotted strings fell apart like overcooked pasta. With my magical "hand," I grabbed the broken threads and fused them together with the newly untangled. They burned brighter for a moment, like I was setting them ablaze, cauterizing the wound.
Wyatt's breathing eased out as soon as I was done with the last string. But my magic was still intermingled with Whale's, though; I couldn't seem to tug free. The harder I tried, the more my magic seemed to tangle, and before long, I couldn't tell the difference between Whale and I.
With one last mighty tug, my magic vision faded, the lines leaving my sight. The black dots made their return, blotting out everything I so desperately wanted to see. I fought for a second to hold on to this reality, but then there was nothing to hold onto anymore, and I was adrift in a sea of obsidian.
Chapter Thirteen
I woke up in a hospital bed and was thoroughly displeased with myself. There are only so many times a person could wake up in this position and still feel panicked and worried. Instead, I was left with a "been there, done that" sense.
Kosher appeared at the door, and since the lighting was good, I didn't think it was Wyatt. But my heart still did an unhappy flip that anyone besides Wyatt would be visiting. He was the only one I wanted at my bedside, except, perhaps, for Cooper. But Cooper would have too many questions.
"Is he going to be okay?"
Kosher's face gave nothing away. "I don't think so. Looks fatal to me."
That sucked the wind right out of my sails and the air right out of my lungs. The room seemed to get very small, and my eyes burned. He had to be okay. I'd healed him.
"The damage was too great?"
God, even saying that out loud made it too real. I could feel a hollow space opened up in my chest, a place that had been empty for years and that Wyatt had filled. I’d almost forgotten how much it hurt to be so empty.
And what was worse was the pain of words unspoken. I should’ve told him I loved him— if only because a truer statement had never been said. Why did I have so many hang-ups? And, more importantly, how could I have let them get in the way of my most important relationship?
Kosher raised his eyebrows, bringing me back into the hospital room. "The gunshot didn't slow him down any. I was talking about you; you're the one that's gonna bring that boy to his untimely end." Kosher kicked at the door. "Keep saying that, but no one listens to me."
All the blood rushed to my ears, and I barely heard what he was saying. Picking up a vase on my bedside table, I chucked it at his head. It shattered just a foot shy of its target, and the awful man had the gall to grin.
"I'm gonna cause your untimely end! You let me think Wyatt was dying."
"Not yet," he said, leaving me alone before I could find something else to throw.
Wyatt was right on his heels. He was wearing a hospital gown— open back and all— and carrying around a rolling IV pouch. His color wasn't great, but at least he was up and walking. God, I was so happy to see him walking. A warm flood of emotions hit me, and my eyes burned with traitorous tears. But if I cried, he’d know what a mess I was, and there were other things to focus on at the moment.
"Did you hear any of that?" I asked. "Still think Kosher's a good man?"
He smiled. "Peter's not as bad as you think."
Wyatt came over and seated himself on the bed with me. During the process, I caught a delicious flash of something. "Nice butt, Bennett."
"I like to think so."
I gripped his elbow, relieved to feel his heat under my fingertips again. Thinking that the sensation might've been lost to me forever, I talked to take my mind off of it. "What about Alicia?"
His brow furrowed. "Why can't I get one good partner out of the bunch? State troopers caught her at the county line. Her prints weren't in the system, but there was a slew of outstanding warrants for a few of her aliases. She's going away for a long time."
"Warrants for what?"
"All kinds of good stuff: stealing corpses, trespassing, murder..."
"Witch stuff, then."
"Seems like it," he said. "Oliver wants to see you."
"No."
"I think−"
"No, Wyatt. Just no."
They let us out a couple hours later, though nobody but Wyatt and I were happy about it. He wasn't in any condition to drive, so it
was me behind the wheel for a change. I made sure he knew just how overdue this dynamic shift was, which only served to sour his mood further.
When he told me to head over to his parents' house to pick up Cooper, I stopped the car in the middle of the street. Wyatt's hand flew out to brace himself on the dashboard, and he shot me a dirty look. Since there were cars behind me, I pulled over to the shoulder instead of holding everyone up.
Turning to him, I said, "I need to tell you something."
"If it's about my mother, I already talked to her−"
I groaned, cutting him off. "You shouldn't have done that!"
"I shouldn't have?"
"No. Now she thinks I can't fight my own battles."
"Oh."
He looked so forlorn at this that I had to smile. Possibly, Wyatt wanted his mother to like me more than I did. He knew all about my childhood, and the little part of me that was still that girl who was desperate for exception, for a big, happy family. He wanted to give me those things, and it melted my heart into a big pile of goo.
"It's alright," I said lightly, pulling back onto the road. "I love you anyway."
His head snapped toward me so fast, I wondered if we’d have to go back to the hospital. Keeping my gaze steadily on the road, I tried to stop squeezing the life out of the steering wheel. I was sweaty, too. That was attractive.
“You didn’t have to say it,” he said softly. “I knew you felt it.”
“Yeah, well, I did. Deal with it.”
He told me to pull over, and we spent a good, long while kissing the smiles off the other’s face. By the time we could bear to pry our hands off each other, the windows were fogging up, and we were getting scandalous looks from passersby on the highway.
“I love you, too,” he said, right as we pulled up to his parents’ house, a huge grin taking over his whole expression.
The Bennett men all looked the same, so when I walked through the front door, I was greeted by an older Wyatt. After giving me a warm, albeit distracted, greeting, he went back to the football game. Wyatt immediately joined his father, asking a bunch of questions that made no sense to me.
At least, I knew where I stood with Wyatt’s dad. He liked me, but not as much as he liked football. And really, I could live with that, because I wasn’t sure his dad liked anyone as much as he liked football.
Nancy called my name from the kitchen, and I looked around mutely, wondering if there was another Harper in the house— one she didn’t talk to with open distain.
Their home could have been described in one word: homey. A lifetime of knickknacks covered all available spaces. The country furniture was of good quality and worn, like a family actually lived here. It was a lot like our house, to be honest, and that gave me the urge to put my feet up and relax.
But this wasn’t our house, I reminded myself as I went into the bright kitchen. This was enemy territory, and I had to watch my step for fear I might uncover a landmine.
Nancy was wearing an apron and had a bit of flour in her hair. For some reason, this didn't make her look messy at all. Instead, she radiated competence and maternal vibes. It was a little disgusting, to be honest.
She'd set Cooper to work in the dining room, putting cookies onto pans. He was bent over and didn't notice me come in. I didn't hold it against him; cookies stole the show for me, too.
Putting her hands on her hips, she motioned me over so Cooper couldn't hear our conversation. I figured that meant I was going to get yelled at. Little did she know, I got yelled at by a lady in an apron all the time. And as scary as Nancy was, she had nothing on Gran.
"I spoke to Wyatt on the phone," she said. "He told me everything."
"He's got a bad habit of doing that."
She pursed her lips. "That's because I raised my boys to be honest young men."
It went unsaid, but not unheard that my mother had raised a compulsive liar and a criminal. Maybe she had, but Nancy's son seemed pretty taken with that lying criminal.
Instead of what I wanted to say, I had one of those rare moments of discretion, and said dully, "That's nice." Sassy, but still respectful to the outside observer.
She turned back to the counter and started rolling dough. Before I could think I might have been dismissed, she said, "When I heard Wyatt had been shot, it was like a mother's worst nightmare come to life."
I studiously ignored the moisture in her eyes.
"But before my husband and I could even rush down to the hospital to see him, I get a call from Wyatt saying he's just fine. He told me there wouldn't even be a scar."
I hadn't had the chance to inspect Wyatt's wound, so I couldn't judge the validity of this claim. The effort of healing him had made me pass out, but if I could fix a potentially deadly shot to the chest, what else was I capable of? The thought sent shivers down my spine, and I immediately pictured Alicia. What if what she had said was true? What if there were no limits?
Nancy looked at me then, pinning me with her uncomfortably wet gaze. "He told me you healed him."
I shifted from side to side. "I was also the reason he was in danger in the first place."
"He said you used magic."
She tackled me in the next moment, and I thought she was going to finish what Alicia started, but her arms wrapped around me— hugging, not hurting. I stood there, frozen, trying to remember the last time I'd been hugged by a parental figure. I was half afraid I was doing it wrong and unsure whether I wanted it to stop or go on forever.
It did finally stop, and Nancy pulled back, looking at me with tears running down her face. "You saved my baby's life— after I was nothing but rude to you."
"Well, yeah," I stammered, eyeing my feet. "He's my baby, too."
She considered me for a moment, and in all my years of show business, I’d never felt more like a circus act— and a bad one, at that.
“Yes,” she said finally, “I guess he is.”
“Harper!” Cooper squealed, barreling into me. “I’ve had like a billion cookies— so many cookies— so good. I love cookies.”
His words all ran together, and Nancy frowned. “Oh, dear, perhaps I gave him too many.”
That seemed like an understatement since he was running in circles around me, speaking in tongues. If the local priest could’ve seen my kid just then, we’d have had to sit through an exorcism. Lord knows those could take all day.
My phone rang while I was busy being amused by Cooper. I answered it with my usual lack of fanfare.
“I have that cat of yours,” was all they said before hanging up with a decisive click.
Sighing, I said, “Wyatt, we’ve got to make a pit stop at Grandma’s.”
Nancy made the sign against evil at the mention of Gran, and it made me smile. Maybe the woman was human, after all.
When the three of us pulled up at the plantation-style house, my cat was waiting on the front porch, shedding up a storm. He plopped down from his perch in a flare of orange, giving me and Cooper an affectionate purr and giving Wyatt a look I could only classify as smug.
Before I could grab him, though, he darted toward my grandma’s front door, which opened for him as if it’d been waiting for a command. It slammed shut behind him, and when Whale didn’t appear after a minute or two, I shrugged.
“Maybe he wants us to go inside.”
Grandma was waiting for us in the foyer, rocking in a wooden chair and looking very much like a large bird of prey. I had the urge to shove Cooper behind me, least she swoop in and devour him whole.
Unlike the rest of us, however, Cooper had didn’t have a healthy fear of Gran, so he bounced right up to her. Before I could stop him, he was chattering her ear off about a myriad of different subjects— never in lineal order— at breakneck speed. When she didn’t bite his head off right away, I figured he was safe.
“I didn’t invite you in,” was the greeting she gave me, and I made sure she saw me roll my eyes at that.
To Wyatt, she said, “Flower beds could use some wo
rk.”
"We just came for the cat." I looked around, but didn't see Whale.
She pointed her finger at me, and I flinched. "You lost that cat when I specifically told you not to. What makes you think I'll be giving him back?"
"He's my cat," I said in exasperation. "And I'm a grown woman. You can't just take away my cat privileges."
I went into the living room, conscious of Grandma's eyes on me the entire time. Whale was perched on a coffee table next to a very large, very old book. It looked eerily familiar, and I squinted my eyes at it. While I was thinking, Whale bent down and licked the book.
"That tickles!"
I jumped back, grasping my chest and waiting for my heart to give out. Now, I recognized the book. Some months ago, I'd run across a talking book in Grandma's library while trying to find a cure to a magical poison. Unless she had a plethora of talking texts— possible— this was probably that book.
Unable to stop myself, I went over and picked it up. The thing was massive and I had to use both hands. Apart from its size, there was a knowledge to the pages, a kind of energy that hummed against my own and that of Whale. That book was definitely alive.
Now that I had the book, Whale seemed more than happy to follow me wherever I went, brushing up against my legs happily. I carried the book back out to my grandma, who raised her eyebrows at the sight of my holding it.
"In the old fables, little girls who touched what wasn't theirs regretted it," she said.
I wondered— not for the first time— if she was the cause of some of those fables. It was easy to picture her baking a couple of kids in her oven who had dared trespass on her land. She was touchy about her privacy, though she didn't give anybody else any.
I set the book down, and Whale immediately went for it. When Gran noticed my puzzled expression, she smiled. "Like things are attracted to like things. It's why so many witches reside in this town."
I blinked. "Wait, are you saying that book is a familiar? I thought you said they were cats."
