Page 23 of The Witch & the Tiger

Deeper they went, to forty feet, then fifty. The deeper they went, the calmer the water became, and she idly watched some of the marine life bobbing in the dark waters, seemingly unaware of the turmoil above.

“Good,” Z’Hana said, floating beside her, arms out, legs poised to kick. “Do you find this challenging?”

“It’s easier when we go deeper. Nearer the surface, there’s more going on.” She expanded their bubbles to merge since they weren’t moving, balancing the surface tension, so they now stood on the bottom of the bubble. Moving in this state was a little like being in a hamster ball.

“The undertow is the main issue with water in a compressed space. But you’ve managed to deal with the undertow by the rocks well enough.”

“Yeah.” She focused on her magic, eyes closed. “I can continue this for a good twenty minutes.” She pushed out, creating more individual bubbles, pretending someone might be in each of them. Five bubbles, ten. “Like this, five minutes.”

“Let’s go up to the riptide and see how you maintain the focus there.”

It didn’t go well. Twice, Willow lost the thread, and both she and Z’Hana were consumed by the rush of icy, cold water – but at least she was able to flare up the bubbles while in the water, even with the shock of cold. Z’Hana made her keep practicing until she became somewhat proficient with concentrating on multiple pockets within the riptide.

All the same, it was clearly a risk that something might go wrong in an instant. They left the water shivering, and she used the last of her energy to separate the water from their skin and clothing, forming a little curtain against the rain.

“Ready or not,” Z’Hana said, grasping Willow’s shoulder, “in a few days, we’re going to try. But right now, I’m extremely hungry. How do you feel about steak?”

Sure. Willow followed the professor, spending the rest of her last day there in contemplative silence, hoping that she knew enough to protect everyone when the time came.

Chapter Seven – Martin

One day before they were all scheduled to breach the location on the Beaver Moon, several professors went to test out the summoning spell.

But not him. He was still enchanted, they said and might end up feeling an overwhelming urge to enter the water prematurely. That was fair, though it made his skin itch to imagine them stepping into the woodland outside Oakwend, testing if the fae realm would be unveiled before them.

Instead of hurtling into the woods, he waited by the edge of Oakwend for a special guest to appear. Sunday meant the villagers would be at the church, while some of the farmers focused on concocting Sunday lunches and dinners for guests and relatives.

Willow arrived, looking radiant and beautiful, and he watched her approach, drinking in every facet of her, from her warm brown hair and eyes, lovely smile, the neat black jacket she wore with its puffy fur lining the hood, the high boots, and jeans that seemed to disappear into the boots – everything was immaculate. But not only her looks attracted him. He truly wanted to spend time with her beyond the arrangement brokered by the professors and the people they planned to take on the mission with them.

He patted down his jacket and combed his fingers through his hair, hoping he didn’t look a fright.

“Preening yourself already?” she asked, grinning as she went in for a hug. He enveloped her in his arms, and her hair tickled his nose as she leaned against him. “You look great, in case you were worried.”

He hugged her a little tighter. “Thank you. I was hoping we’d get some time to spend with each other before everything goes to hell.”

“Assuming that our theory about the fae realm is correct. For all we know, it won’t work, and we’ll be chilling here for longer.” She let go of him. “So, you said you wanted to show me around? I’ve never been to the village before. It’s a little small and out of the way for us students.”

“True, the village doesn’t have much going for it – but you’ve got to check out Bessie’s Watermill Surprise.” He beckoned for her to follow. They crossed a small bridge over a tiny stream, which led to an old, converted watermill perched astride the water, with a water wheel on either side and the more traditional sails of a windmill spread out in front. A large willow tree hung over one of the wheels. Inside was a restaurant with a menu of sandwiches, meat pies, and baked goods, including a lovely frothy coffee that Martin said was the best in the village. Of course, there was only one other place in the village that served food, and it was a bar.

The proprietor, wearing an apron with the name Bessie embroidered on it but with a nametag that said Eliza, happily herded them over to a corner so that they could order from the menu and grab some coffee while waiting.

“Quaint,” Willow said, “and there’s even a willow tree.”

“Only the best for you,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “It’s not crowded at this time of day because most of the people in the village are at church or cooking Sunday dinner. It closes at two, so we’re in the sweet spot.”

Eliza, who looked like she was in her sixties, smiled and asked what they’d like to have. They ordered sandwiches and coffee, which Eliza quickly brought them and which they took to a table to drink while they waited for their food.

“I missed you while you were away practicing,” he said as they sipped their coffees. “I was also worried we wouldn’t get to see each other before attempting the summon spell.”

“We’ll have plenty of time afterward,” Willow said, smiling and stretching out a hand toward him. He grasped it softly, thumb rubbing against the top of her hand.

“I hope so, but I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. The last time I visited, it wasn’t… great.”

Her eyes clouded over in understanding. “Right. Of course. It would be tough for you, for sure. Here’s hoping it’ll all work out. It should be fine. We’re bringing a very capable army this time.”

“True.” He relaxed and smiled at Eliza as she brought their sandwiches.

Willow dug right in, and he watched her eat, sometimes making eye contact with her, sometimes lingering a little longer than he should. It was like they were playing a waiting game, seeing who would be the one to make the first move.

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