10
The steady hum of tires against a smoothly paved road serenades me as I languidly rise to the surface of consciousness. My face breaches the dark pool of oblivion as though I’m lazily coming up for air, and I’m all at once aware that I’m strapped in a car with my face pressed against a cool window. There’s a seat belt cutting across my chest, and a trickle of drool making its way from the corner of my mouth down my chin.
I sit up, wiping at the evidence of the deep sleep state I was just in and try to get my bearings. I’m in a car, a nice car if the leather front console and fancy dim lighting are anything to go by. I look to my left. And yep, Rogan’s driving. Snoring rises up from the back, and I look behind me to find Hoot, who has made himself at home and is out for the count.
“What happened?” I ask groggily, looking around outside of the sleek car, but it’s too dark to really make out much. “Did you knock me out again?” I accuse, my tone too sleepy to communicate the annoyance I feel at that possibility.
“No, you and Hoot passed out when I pulled us out of the line. It’s normal. It can take time to get used to fragmenting and coming back together.”
My stomach roils at that thought, and I try not to picture my parts scattering to the wind and then getting sucked back together. There are just some things that a person doesn’t need to imagine, and this is going on that list. I pat myself just to be sure everything ended up back where it’s supposed to be, and breathe out a relieved exhale when it feels like I’m just as I was before. My chest constricts in an uncomfortable way for a moment, and I observe the feeling, dismissing it when nothing worse happens. It’ll probably take time to feel all the way normal again.
“Where are we?” I question as we pass a streetlight that’s illuminating wild grass and some mystery expanse of land that stretches past the light, far out into the darkness.
“We’re about forty minutes from my home,” he tells me, and I nod even though I’m unsure how I feel about that. He buckled my unconscious body into his car, and we’ve been driving for who knows how long. Seems like a weird thing to do. Then again, he’s a witch, and I’m discovering that weird is just part and parcel.
“The biggest ley line near me is two hours away in Gallywough. I would have waited for you to wake up, but it was getting late and we would have been vulnerable just sitting there so close to a line,” he offers, obviously picking up on my discomfort.
My chest tightens again, and I’m not sure if it’s a warning of something or some residual effect of what my body just went through. I rub at my sternum and wince at the strange sensation.
“Do you need some water or something? I have a couple bottles stashed behind the seat.”
“No, I’m…” I trail off as we pass another streetlight that’s illuminating a sign for an exit that’s forty miles away. “I’m fine, I think, I just feel...off,” I explain, not sure how to put into words what’s happening with me.
“That’s normal,” Rogan explains as he shoots me a sympathetic look. “Ley lines can act like chargers; you might feel like every cell in your body is lit up with a shit ton of magic for a while.”
I take stock of myself. Is that what I’m feeling? Is it adrenaline and a surplus of magic and energy that’s creating this anxious undercurrent that’s running just below my skin? It’s hard to say since I’ve never ridden a ley line before, and I’m not sure what recovery is supposed to be like, but whatever is happening, I’m not a fan. I feel almost itchy with anticipation, and it sucks.
“So I’m strung out on magic, no biggie,” I announce with a shrug, but my voice is pitched higher than normal, meaning this is absolutely a biggie, and I just might be starting to freak out about it.
“Breathe, Lennox,” Rogan commands as he shoots me concerned looks while still trying to pay attention to the road.
I can feel panic scratching through my body like it’s some terrifying monster that’s ready to rip me to shreds. “Distract me,” I pant out as I try not to claw at my throat and the seat belt that suddenly seems too tight against my chest. The window next to me rolls down a little, and cool, moisture-heavy air caresses my face and tries to calm me. “Just talk, tell me what a day in the life of a Blood Witch looks like. Or...whatever...just tell me something,” I plead, desperate to think about anything else other than how I feel and all of the crazy things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Concern laces his green gaze, but he listens. “Uh, well, my day varies, depending on what clients I have scheduled,” he starts, his deep voice filling the car. “Some are sick and need weekly healings or potions delivered regularly to help with various things from ailments to beauty treatments to health regimens.
“I work monthly with a blood donation center to weed out possible issues with donations and apply blessings on what they’re delivering. Some doctors refer patients to me if there’s a struggle to pinpoint an issue. I also work with a local coven here and there. We like to combine our resources and create more potent brews and talismans.
“It all really just depends. Elon and I work together for some clients, but he runs a separate business as well. We try to do Tincture Tuesday where we get together and sort out what we need to make for the following week,” he explains with a quiet chuckle that morphs into a sad sigh, his voice and this information exactly the distraction I needed.
“Hmmm, what else?” he hums, checking on me out of the corner of his eye as the road curves to the right. I lay my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes and reveling in the feel of the cool air from the window. The weird feeling is there still, but it’s not nearly as overwhelming as it was.
“There’s also clients who hire me specifically for the other side of our abilities...” he goes on, the change in direction intriguing. “You know, curses and things of that nature, or maybe you don’t know,” he corrects himself.
“I know that magic and what we do as witches isn’t all sunshine and rainbows,” I tell him as I settle into the steady rhythm of the moving car. “I did just watch my cousin get hexed,” I remind him, and he nods in understanding.
“I work by referral only, so new clients have to be vetted, especially if they’re requesting help like that. I don’t take any of it lightly, so a lot goes into making sure that the darker side of things is done correctly and only on the deserving.”
“You talk like you’re worried you’re going to scare me away,” I point out. “Dark magic is just as important as the light. I at least paid attention to that lesson as a kid.”
“So then your grandmother did try to teach you?” he presses.
“Of course she did. Like you said, she was one of the best. She would get all of us together for lessons. I bought into all of it until I was eighteen, and then I…” I pause as that constricting feeling in my chest tightens even more. I sit up, opening my eyes, and look around me.
“And you what?” Rogan presses.
An off-ramp is coming up, and an exit sign indicates that we’re approaching Sweet Lips, Tennessee. I chuckle at the town’s name, but my chest gets even tighter, and I practically choke on it.
“What’s wrong?” Rogan asks, reaching out to push curls out of my face.
