Chapter 12 – Carina
Twelve
CARINA
Ryder heads back to his father’s cabin while I palm the apple and consider—albeit with a racing heart—all I’ve learned.
Black magick. Here. Shifters are the last people who should be dragged into Twilight Grove’s bullshit. No matter what Ryder decides, I have to get home. Mom needs to understand why they brought me here, and how desperate Twilight Grove apparently is to get me to be using them.
Doesn’t explain why they want me.
Sparks fly from the fire a few feet away and land by my feet, extinguished by the dirt that’s been scraped away in preparation for the large pit. Everything in the camp seems well thought-out for outdoors living, and while this wouldn’t be my personal first choice, a part of me admires the pack.
When my stomach groans, I’m reminded by the apple in my hand. It’s crisp, cool, and clearly freshly picked. Smaller than the ones bought in grocery stores, and if I wasn’t concerned about all the other revelations this place brings, I might be interested in asking.
While eating, I lift my gaze to the nearby group, whom I’ve been doing my darndest to ignore.
A female shifter openly observes me with an intensity that makes my skin itch; I can’t determine if it’s hatred or not in her expression.
A group of children play around her, which seems harmless enough, until one breaks away and heads my direction.
Long, dark hair falling nearly to her waist frames wide blue eyes and open curiosity. Past her, the other two boys hover nearby, unsure how close to get. The woman doesn’t appear bothered by the children’s proximity.
“Hi!” The little girl clenches her hands together. “Are you really a witch?”
Her bold personality reminds me of some of the kids at home, and with a pang to my heart, I find myself hoping to return to them soon.
“That’s what they tell me.”
Doing magick probably won’t make anyone feel safer, but the friendliness and curiosity of the child wins.
Killing a child’s curiosity is the worst thing a person can do, which is why I twist my wrist until my half-eaten apple balances on the tips of three fingers.
With a silent spell that may get me later slaughtered by Ryder, the apple hovers two inches into the air, earning the gasps of all three children.
The boys, entranced by the floating fruit, rush closer. Amused by their enthusiasm, I flip the apple into the air and my other hand shoots as if to catch it, knowing it won’t be my skin that will. The fruit lands, hovering again, above my palm, earning the whoops from them.
“Can you do anything else?” one of them shouts, bouncing on his bare feet.
With my free hand, I suspend it between us, palm facing the ground.
With a minor pull of elemental magick, raindrops drip from my palm the same way they would the sky.
The children explode in excitement and all but clamour over one another to step beneath my hand and feel my manufactured rain on their faces.
“Whoa, it’s real!” the second boy exclaims. “I thought it was a trick.”
The girl glances at the fire and back. “Can you make fire too?”
“Yes, although my friend Harlow is much better at it.” It’s been a while since performing fire magick, but for the sake of the children, I focus on a different pull inside me.
This one buried further away; the one that controls other elements when needed.
Three chords intermingle in a knot so rarely unwound, but I find the hottest one, yank on it, and power emits from my hand until the fire roars a few feet taller.
It’s unnatural, wanting immediately to be sucked back inside and cooled by my mist.
The roar of the flames gains more attention from nearby adults, so before anyone reports me to Ryder, I lower my arm, killing the fire back to its normal height.
“More, more!” they yell, and soon I find myself also smiling, forgetting why I’m in this camp.
I twirl my finger and create a small wind vortex that wraps around them. Nothing big or dangerous, since my abilities with air only extend to essentially this much. It makes it challenging for them to catch the water balls I also toss at them.
After a few more moments, I lower all magick before any of the many observers has reason to believe I’m corrupting kids. Once the wind dies down, all three are panting. The boys run off with a wave, but the girl lingers, fiddling with the ends of her hair.
“I thought witches are scary. You don’t seem scary.”
“Depends on your definition of scary, I suppose. I thought shifters were dangerous, but you don’t seem dangerous.”
It’s a joke the girl highly takes offence at by scrunching her nose and stomping her foot dramatically. “I’m very dangerous! At least, I will be when I’m grown-up. My name’s Claire. What’s yours?”
“Carina.”
“Both our names start with Cs!” She spins towards the woman observing this whole time. “Mommy, guess what? Her name also starts with a C.”
Mommy. Oh shit.
“I saw. Carina’s powers seem pretty cool.” Her eyes, judgement-free, slide towards me. She smiles tentatively, making me believe she isn’t lying for her daughter’s sake. “Sorry ’bout her.”
“It’s fine.”
The woman gets up to shuffles closer. Claire kisses her mother’s cheek, waves to me, and then takes off towards the far end of the camp.
“You’re good with them. You have any?” She leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
At twenty-four, I barely manage to get myself ready in the morning. A child would break me.
“Nope. We just have quite a few in the coven, and I often stay behind from gatherings to watch them. Kids of any species seems easily amused by magick, so it’s a go-to for entertainment.”
She sits a bit straighter, tipping her head slightly. “Don’t they have their own? Sorry, until seeing you, I didn’t realize how little about your kind I know.”
Ditto. “Witches don’t come into their powers until puberty. Since our powers are closely tied into emotions, we get slammed with all that hell at the same time.” Humans believe their teenagers are hormonal, but they have nothing on us.
“Same with shifters. With puberty comes our first shift.” Her gaze drops from me to the ground, distant, probably recalling hers. After another few seconds, she blinks and twists more my way, offering her hand. “I’m Leah.”
Her act of kindness throws me for so long, it takes a moment to realize what exactly I need to do in response.
“Carina. Though you probably know that already.”
“Yeah, you’ve been quite the topic of conversation since last night.”
“I imagine.”
She glances around the camp at the various observers who’ve returned to work. “No one’s been mean, I hope? Mention it to Ryder, if so. He’ll take care of it.”
Yell at one of his own to save the feelings of an enemy? I’m sure. Not wanting to insult her confidence in her leader, I simply nod. “Being mean would involve talking to me. Anyone I’ve come into contact with looks the other way.”
“They’re nervous.”
Her use of ‘they’ separates herself from it. “You’re not?”
She shrugs, tanned skin darkening with her blush. “Not everyone looks like their outward appearances.”
Silence settles between us, but it’s comfortable, despite only recently meeting her. Minutes pass before she muses, “Alpha’s cabin. Ryder doesn’t share his space. Surprised he didn’t tie you to a tree or something.”
“Me too.”
“Slept in a chair or the floor?”
Her prodding sends warning signals. Who is Leah? If she’s his girlfriend, or whatever shifters have, is she wondering for other reasons? If she’s interested in Ryder, is she seeing me as a threat? It seems laughable because being a captive witch doesn’t exactly shout sexy times.
Not knowing which way to take the conversation, I go with the truth and can only hope that if she plans on making me breakfast after this, someone will intercept. I have to believe after seeing Alaric’s issue, Ryder will be pissed if I’m murdered by his packmate.
“No, uh…his bed-thing. It’s round-ish and—”
She coughs. “He did what?”
Leah doesn’t seem pissed, just shocked as she breathes through whatever lung problems this conversation afflicts her with. “I would have loved to see his face when you climbed in it.”
Her confidence that I’m that brave astounds me. “No, I fell asleep on one of his chairs. He moved me there himself.”
Her mouth falls open. “That’s…wow. So, what you’re calling a ‘bed-thing’ is—”
When a shadow suddenly falls over us, Leah jerks herself upright and into silence. Given the size of the intruder’s shape, it only takes one guess to determine who’s approached.
Leah dips her head in greeting before twisting her face away, dark blonde hair falling to cover her face. Before it’s hidden from view, I catch her smirk.