Page 31 of Watch Me Burn

Elise looks more pained now than she did a moment ago as she says, “Not if you’re a fire witch.”

Well, that seals it, doesn’t it? I need the fire opal to get rid of my magic—and I need it as soon as possible.

As much asI want to, I don’t go in search of the caves tonight.

Since it’s going to be dark no matter what, I figure it doesn’t matter when I take the trip underground. If Conall is snooping around, it’s probably better if I leave the village at night when he should be sleeping.

But it didn’t feel right, running out on Elise after I burned her tongue like that. So she healed quicker than I did. It took hours before her bite marks were gone, while Elise’s tongue was back to normal in minutes. Doesn’t matter. Finding out just how much the fier is pervasive inside of me freaked me out. Discovering that her only chance at blood issn’t going to work made it worse.

So we sprawled out on the couch together, watching television until Elise decided she was ready to head to bed. Only then did I go into the kitchen and make me a sandwich. I scarfed it down, chased it with some water, then decided to turn in myself.

I’m tired. I don’t ask how the magic works here, but so long as I have enough Wi-Fi to work on my commissions, contact my clients, and continue our Supernatural marathon, I don’t care. Tonight we watched seven episodes, and I’m ready to change into my sleep clothes and pass out.

Instead of turning on my light, I feel my way through my room so that I won’t have to get up and turn it off again after changing. And maybe it’s because my eyes are used to the dark, but when I move past the window, pausing to yank the shade down, I notice that there’s someone out there.

My stomach sinks—and my hands spark.

What the…

I can’t see who it is. Their back is to me, legs braced apart, their shadowy form standing out against the glitter of another snowfall. It stopped snowing earlier tonight which makes it easier to see someone is out there, at the back of the house.

It’s dark. In Dyea, the sun’s complete down by four-thirty. By eleven, it seems like it’ll never be light out again.

Who is that?

What are they doing?

And, more importantly, why do I care?

This is a sanctuary. You have to be granted entry.

It can’t be a witch hunter.

Right?

Yellow snow.

I’m looking at yellow snow.

Did Conall piss out here? I see boot prints, too, and I’m pretty sure those tracks belong to a man. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to put two and two together about what I saw out of my window last night.

It wasn’t a witch hunter standing out here. It was Mr. Grump, stopping to take a leak outdoors. Did he know that this was mine and Elise’s house? Duh. Stupid question. Of course he does. He’s the one who got ticked off when I insisted on sharing a house with her in the first place, and even if he forgot about that, he’s the head of security. I’d bet he knows where everyone lives.

He’s not out here now. In fact, I haven’t seen him all morning. Elise and I went to get breakfast at the canteen—where I ate toast and eggs and she sipped coffee while looking wistfulfor blood—and there was no sign of Conall there. Same when we went back to the house.

Maybe he slept in. He doesn’t seem the type, but if he was skulking around the sanctuary as late as I caught him last night, it’s possible.

Figuring that this was as good a time as any to start my search for the fire opal, I grabbed the envelope holding the map that bus driving witch gave to me, said goodbye to Elise, and slipped out the back door.

The house that belongs to Elise and me while we live in Dyea is backed up against the woods. Most of the wooden cottages are. Such a small community, our front doors face each other from opposite sides of the long oval. The back doors come with heavy duty locks in case someone manages to break into the sanctuary—or if one of the wild creatures that live in the woods do.

It isn’t often that happens. I ran into Mayor Lou the other day on my way to the canteen, and after I got past the worst of his renewed odor—black cherry air refresher on top of skunk—I noticed he looked nervous. He tried to downplay any concerns, but I can be pushy when I want to be. I nudged a little until he confessed that, on one of his patrols, Conall got sight of unfamiliar footprints near enough to Dyea to be a worry.

My first paranoid instinct was that the witch hunters found me. It must’ve shown on my face because the kind mayor patted me on the shoulder, assuring me that it looks like one of the wild Alaskan wolves might’ve got curious and padded near our village.

The magic keeps out people. People and supes, I guess, but since this land belongs to the animal and other creatures who are native to the land, the coven’s spell doesn’t affect them. Instead, it’s the markings from the shifters who live in Dyea that warn away some of the more curious predators.

I get it. If an actual wolf caught the scents of a skunk, an opossum, a hedgehog, even a freaking porcupine all in one community, it must think: smorgasboard. It doesn’t have any clue that, in Dyea, our prey animals turn into humans. Their scents are just different enough to make the wild predators hesitant, and with enough territorial markings, they’ll stay away.

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