Page 6 of Moth to a Flame

I was running full speed when I hit the glass.

The impact was catastrophic.

Glass exploded inward with a horrible splintering sound. It shattered against my leather jacket as I flew forward, arms up to protect my face. I slammed into a table, and then I was on the ground in a cascade of soil and ceramic shards and the perfume-like smell of crushed flora.

Pain bloomed across my shoulders and face. Something hot and wet—blood, probably mine—trickled down my temple.

But the light. Oh gods, the light. Even sprawled on the ground, bleeding and covered in dirt, I wanted to crawl toward it. My fingers actually twitched, reaching. I lifted my head looking for the candles, the light, but they were scattered all over the cobblestone floor, extinguished. I rolled and my eyes were flooded again with that perfect, radiant light. It was all coming from her.

Her magic, her aura, I didn’t fucking know. It had never been the candles. All I knew was she was glowing and perfect and it had overridden every single thought I had except that I needed to get to her.

Great fucking time to be a mothman.

“No. No, no no no no no⁠—”

The light was immediately extinguished.

The desperation in her voice cut through my lingering haze. I blinked, trying to focus. The witch stood over me, and up close she was even more striking—and absolutely devastated. Her hazel eyes flashed, her chest heaving.

“I—” I tried to form words, but my brain was still swimming. Get to the light. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean⁠—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” She gestured wildly at the surrounding destruction. I looked around to see shattered glass glittering everywhere, pots lying broken with their contents spilled, and an entire shelf of sprouts collapsed. “You just ran full speed through my greenhouse window like a fucking battering ram!”

I pushed myself up to sitting, wincing as glass tinkled off my jacket. My head was clearing, the compulsion fading, replaced by a sharp pain on my forehead and what felt like needles raking over my antennae.

Above me, the purple eyes of a furry, fanged creature peered down from the table. It toyed with my antennae as they twitched instinctively out of its reach.

I scrambled away and planted my palm on another shard of broken glass. Pain lanced through my hand.

A groan escaped me.

“Well, are you going to explain yourself?” came her very unsympathetic response.

She wasn’t even looking at me. She was hunched over something I couldn’t see.

“The light,” I managed. “Your candles.” Yeah, definitely just the candles. “I couldn’t… I didn’t have control.”

She finally looked at me, and her face was soft, her eyes studying my antennae. It didn’t match the anger in what she said next. “Let me guess. A fucking mothman?”

Heat crawled up my neck, and an involuntary squeak escaped me. “Yeah.”

She laughed, and it was cruel, until I was practically burning with embarrassment. “And you thought it was a good idea to make deliveries at night to witches? Who are known to use candle magic?”

“I make deliveries at night because I’m nocturnal,” I shot back, my embarrassment curdling into defensiveness. “And I’ve been doing this for years without incident. It’s not my fault that—” That you called to me on a primordial level and now you are yelling at me.

But she wasn’t listening. “I made those candles for tonight’s ritual, which you just completely destroyed!” Her voice broke. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been…”

She trailed off, turning away from me, back to the thing on the floor, trying to cradle whatever had been inside it.

My gaze swept over the carnage as dread set in. Easily five grand in damage, maybe more. I saw dozens of rare plant species trampled, and I’d taken out what I could see now was clearly an antique window. My insurance was going to love this.

Idiot. Fucking idiot. No wonder she was mad.

“Look, I’m sorry.” I climbed to my feet carefully but still managed to crunch more glass beneath my boots. “I’ll pay for everything. I’ve got insurance, and I’ll cover whatever they don’t⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter! I’ve been—” She cut herself off, jaw clenching. Her fingers curled around what looked like a white—and destroyed—flower.

“You’ve what?” I asked, then immediately regretted it when her glare intensified. But I couldn’t help it. Even if her light had gone out, it was like I could still feel its pull—and I wanted her to look at me.