Page 75 of Captured in Love
Raphaël clears his throat and pulls a phone from his pocket. Nora’s phone in its flowery case.
“I took it from her just before we came out into the parking lot.”
I lift my eyebrows in question.
“She wanted to call your father,” he explains. “To help the woman in the hospital.”
His words jolt me back to the real reason we came to this town in the first place.
“Shit. My father won’t be of any use, that’s for sure.” I pocket my phone, staring toward the hospital entrance. “We can’t leave that witch here, though. Once the humans lower her sedation and try therapy, they’ll realize she’s magical soon enough.”
Raphaël lets out an impatient huff. “We need to find Nora first. The witch can wait.”
I know that. I do. But something tells me this will be the easier problem to solve. If Nora wants to remain hidden, which she has every reason to, there won’t be much we can do.
“We need to call someone,” I insist. “Nora wanted this, and if I fucked up everything else, I can at least make sure this woman is safe.”
Raphaël sends me a pitying look but finally nods. “All right. If we can’t call your father, who can help us?”
I mentally scroll through my list of acquaintances and sigh. There’s one person we can contact who would absolutely help us. But this conversation will be far from pleasant.
“What?” asks Raphaël.
I take out my phone again and climb into the car. “We need to call Nora’s father.”
Twenty-Nine
Levi
The phone rings and rings,the tinny sound warbling from my phone’s speaker. Raphaël gets in on the driver’s side, leans closer, and stares down at the name written on the screen. Thomas Moss is the last person I want to talk to right now but also the only one who might know what to do.
Then the call finally connects.
“Hello, Levi.”
I clear my throat. “Hi, Mr. Moss.”
Something clatters in the background, and he cusses quietly. I imagine him puttering around the Moss Shop, a cramped little apothecary where witches and humans alike get their herbs, oils, and other natural ingredients for teas and spells. Mr. Moss is what is traditionally called a green witch, and he’s incredibly gifted at it.
“Hello, hello,” he says distractedly. “How can I help you today?”
For a moment, I’m not sure whether he’s talking to me or a customer, but Raphaël, who doesn’t know him like I do, nudges my shoulder, so I stutter, “We, uh, need your help. We’re in Iceland, and there’s a witch in a human hospital who needs to be, uh, rescued.”
All sound stops on the other side, then Nora’s father says, “Tell me everything.”
I lay out the basics of our problem: the witch was found by humans before we could intervene, she’s being sedated because of her trauma, but we’re worried she might accidentally reveal her powers. There’s no one else to help her because we don’t even know her name.
“Right,” Mr. Moss says when I’m done. “Did Nora try to get through to her? Nora, honey, are you there?”
The knot in my throat grows larger, making it hard for me to breathe. “No, Mr. Moss. She’s not.”
I can almost sense him drawing his shoulders back, straightening as he realizes I haven’t told him the whole story.
“Hmm,” he says. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” I admit. “We, uh, had a fight, and she left.” I close my eyes, because I can’t stand the pity in Raphaël’s gaze as I add, “I hid something from her, and she took it badly. She hexed us so she could get away, and she doesn’t even have her phone with her, so we have no way of reaching her.”
A beat of silence, then he says, “I see.”
