Wild is the Witch

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2022 by Rachel Griffin

  Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Liz Dresner and Nicole Hower/Sourcebooks

  Cover images © Jasmine Aurora/Arcangel, NCaan/Shutterstock, and Siwakorn1933/Shutterstock

  Case art © Lisla/Shutterstock and aksol/Shutterstock

  Case design by Liz Dresner/Sourcebooks

  Internal design by Michelle Mayhall/Sourcebooks

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Mir, who walks by my side down every path, no matter how wild

  Prologue

  The wind was starting to build. Iris knew she should focus on the words of the witch in front of her, but instead her attention was on the sound of the trees. She concentrated so intently that the sound replaced everything else, drowning out the blood rushing through her veins and her heart beating wildly in her chest, louder and louder until even the witch’s voice faded to nothing.

  Iris could feel the presence of the animals in the surrounding woods, the way their claws sunk into the forest floor and the way their ears perked up when a twig snapped in the distance. She didn’t have woods like that back home, and it took all her strength not to break into a run and disappear into the trees. They were wild, those animals, and perhaps Iris belonged with them.

  “Ms. Gray?”

  Iris startled at the sound of her name, and she blinked several times, narrowing her focus to Ana and trying to ignore the call of the wilderness around her.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  Iris reached into her memory for the words the witch had spoken, but she couldn’t find them. Her mind was still stuck on that night one month prior, in a quaint blue house that overlooked the lake. The council had asked Iris to recount the events that had taken place that night, and she told them everything exactly as she remembered, every single detail down to the smell of putrid smoke and the sobs of her best friend.

  Human flesh doesn’t burn the same as wood. It doesn’t crackle or spit sparks out in every direction. It isn’t cozy on a frigid night or romantic on a rocky beach. It’s horrifying the whole way through.

  Iris wished she didn’t know that.

  She swallowed and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Ana walked around the large oak table where the rest of the council members sat. Iris stood facing them, her jaw aching from the constant grinding of her teeth. Her fingers worked the fabric on either side of her stiff, gray dress, the color the same as the pebbles that lined the perfectly manicured path leading to the front door of her family’s home.

  When the witch reached her, she held out her hands to Iris. “With your permission, I’ll begin the reading.”

  Iris looked to her right, trying to catch her father’s eyes, but he kept his gaze on the soggy ground. Her mother, however, looked right at her, never one to shy away from her daughter. Not even in anger or sadness or fear. Not ever. She nodded once, and Iris turned to the witch in front of her.

  “You have my permission.”

  Iris felt the magic working on her right away, the heat moving through her bloodstream and neural pathways, sliding through her mind in search of lies and deceit. She kept her eyes open, but the world around her disappeared until all she could see was a blanket of darkness with tiny pinpricks of light shining through, like the stars.

  That was nature’s give, ensuring that every human under the sun would know undoubtedly when magic was being used on them. They would know when all they could see was starlight.

  Ana was one of the most powerful Stellars alive, a witch whose magic was strongest on humans, and she read Iris in seconds.

  Iris blinked as the darkness faded and the world came back into view. Ana watched her carefully, then walked back to the table where the rest of the Witches’ Council sat.

  Iris tried not to think of how her best friend, Amy, had been rid of her ability to perceive magic in the very place Iris stood now, the cruelest of punishments handed down, even though Amy’s oldest sister sat on the council.

  Iris had been sleeping when Amy had done the unthinkable, when she’d pulled her boyfriend to the water’s edge and turned him into a witch, just as he’d asked. Just as he’d wanted. Amy had been sure she’d be able to help him through the moments after, when he could suddenly see the magic of the universe and was desperate to pull it toward him, even though that magic could burn him alive. She’d believed she could stop him from commanding so much that it would incinerate him on the spot. She’d been wrong.

  She’d been wrong, and Iris had been there.

  Iris had woken to the sound of screams, and she’d run toward them. But she’d been too late, and the boy had turned from witch to ash before the moon had fully risen.

  Iris closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the memory. The council stood and took seven turns around the open field as they came to a verdict. Every trial was held outdoors, since a witch’s intuition was strongest when surrounded by the natural world. The day was heavy with fog, and the witches slipped in and out of view as they circled the large expanse of wild grasses and blooming lavender.

  Iris kept her eyes on the rain-soaked earth and the dozens of dandelions growing in the field. She looked to her parents once more but was again met only by her mother. As the council
completed their seventh turn, Iris pushed her palm to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

  The five witches reclaimed their seats at the long oak table and watched Iris, their facial expressions giving nothing away. Ana, the head of the council, stood as all the air fled Iris’s lungs.

  Ana folded her hands in front of her. The wind picked up, sending strands of her black hair over her face, but she did not tuck them back.

  She looked Iris right in the eyes as she spoke. “You’re free to go.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. You don’t bear any responsibility for what happened that night. We will file our verdict with the state this afternoon. Seeing as Mr. Newport’s family declined to press charges against you, the court will accept our verdict as final.”

  Iris breathed out. The council was being too lenient. Iris had known something had been going on with her best friend, could feel in her bones she’d been planning something that Iris would never approve of. Iris should have stayed awake, should have been there to stop it.

  But instead, she’d gone to sleep, and Alex Newport had burned.

  “Thank you,” Iris managed to say.

  She wanted to move, to run to her parents and be taken home, but she stayed where she was, watching Ana and the rest of the council leave. Amy’s older sister was last to stand, staring at the space Iris occupied but not truly seeing her. If only Amy’s verdict had been as kind.

  Free to go.

  A light rain began to fall as Iris reached for her mother and clutched her as tight as she could. But her father held back. There was an inexplicable sadness in his eyes that didn’t make sense given the verdict she’d received.

  When they turned to leave, a gust of wind carried a single feather right past Iris, dropping it directly in front of her. She bent to pick it up and held onto the dark-brown feather dappled with white the whole way home.

  One

  Two years later

  The owl is watching me again. Most owls have vibrant eyes the color of fire, reds and yellows and oranges, but not the northern spotted owl. The northern spotted owl has eyes dark as pitch, and while he’s supposedly nocturnal, he knows where I am day and night.

  He took an interest in me as soon as we brought him into our wildlife refuge. Mom says it’s a sign of good things to come—northern spotted owls are sacred to witches, after all.

  But I can’t help the way a chill runs down my spine when I feel his eyes on me, as if he’s a harbinger instead.

  He sits on the branch of an old fir tree, and we stare at each other for several moments. I finally turn away when my unease finds its way to my stomach. A wet nose collides with my fingertips, and I look down at Winter. She has been my loyal protector since Mom and I moved here two years ago, and she watches the owl with wary eyes.

  “That wolf would die for you,” Pike says from behind me. He says it as if it’s an accusation, as if I charmed Winter into loving me, and I turn and fake a smile.

  Pike Alder doesn’t know what I am, and even if he did, I would never use magic to force affection.

  Winter loves me because she can sense in her bones that I am worthy of her trust.

  “I know.” I pet Winter on the top of her head, and her eyes close. I would die for her, too, even though she would never allow it.

  Pike frowns, the same frown that tightens his jaw and pulls at his lips whenever there’s something he doesn’t fully understand. I can feel him trying to figure me out, studying me through the lenses of his tortoise shell glasses, so I speak to halt his thoughts.

  “Is there something you wanted?”

  He cocks his head to the side, and I know I’m going to hate whatever it is he’s about to say. “I just thought you’d like to know that I was once again rated higher than you on our feedback forms.” He says it casually, but his chest inflates as he speaks.

  I try to keep my expression neutral and hope Pike can’t see the heat rising up my neck. I’ve worked hard to get comfortable speaking in front of the groups that tour our refuge, but it comes naturally to Pike. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s good at it. Great, even.

  And he knows it.

  “Congratulations,” I say, keeping my voice free of the embarrassment I feel.

  I give Winter a final scratch before stepping around Pike and heading back to the visitor’s office. It’s overcast out, a heavy blanket of gray covering the trees, the air dense with the promise of rain. I follow the trail through the forest of Sitka spruces, brown cones littering the path and crunching underneath me.

  “I can sit in on your next tour and give you pointers,” Pike says, falling in step beside me. “You know, take notes, speak up when you get something wrong, give you feedback after. Spring break is next week, so I have the time.”

  “How generous of you,” I say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Is it really spring break already?”

  “Yep. An entire week of eight-hour days together.”

  “Great.”

  “You know you love it when I’m here.”

  “Interesting word choice,” I say, turning on the outdoor faucet and rinsing the mud from my boots. Pike does the same, then follows me into the small wooden building that serves as our office. It somehow still smells of the pine it was built from, and the wood floor groans when I enter.

  “Come on, Iris, you’d be bored if it weren’t for me. Besides, a little friendly competition is good for you—you’d hate for anyone to think you didn’t actually earn your job here.” He winks at me then and heads into the back office before I can respond.

  Pike gives me a hard time because it’s my mother’s nonprofit, but he knows I’m better with the animals than anyone else. He’s in school to become an ornithologist, dedicating his entire life to the study of birds. But his textbooks and binoculars are nothing compared to my magic.

  Not that he can ever know that.

  It’s his arrogance that bothers me. Nature is all about balance, but Pike walks around as if the whole world is his. He doesn’t understand humility or reverence, doesn’t respect the chain beneath him because he’s at the top.

  Just once I’d like to show him all the things he doesn’t know, all the facets of the universe he’s missing by not having magic, but there’s nothing that could make me foolish enough to share my secrets with another person. Not even an insurmountable dislike of Pike Alder.

  I take a deep breath and begin cleaning up for the day, gathering all the visitor forms from the last tour group and putting away the unclaimed brochures. I wipe down the glass display case where our Foggy Mountain Wildlife Refuge merchandise is kept and ignore Pike when he walks out and turns on the television hanging on the wall.

  We typically only use it to show our tours a quick video explaining the mission of the refuge, but Pike prefers background noise to silence. I usually tune it out, but the word witch comes through the speakers loud and clear, followed by a name—a name that sits heavy on my chest as if it’s a physical thing, cumbersome and painful.

  Images from that night on the lake invade my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish them. But they continue to play, over and over as if they’re the only movie in a twenty-four-hour theater. I force myself to go about my chores, making sure Pike can’t see the way I’m hanging on every word from the news anchor’s mouth.

  But it’s no use. My hands slow as I listen carefully to the report, and I turn my gaze to the screen. “…early release has been granted. Amy Meadows was convicted of involuntary manslaughter by the courts and rid of her ability to use magic by the Witches’ Council…”

  I exhale, a piece of that night breaking off my insides, not quite as heavy now. Early release has been granted. Amy’s going home.

  “Bad call,” Pike says under his breath, shaking his head at the screen.

  The glass cleaner slips from my fingers
and drops to the floor, and I quickly pick it back up, trying to fight the knot forming in my chest. I spray more liquid on the case and wipe it up in fast circles, then do it again.

  “They can’t be trusted,” Pike says. Then after a moment, his voice comes again, right behind me. “I think you got that spot.”

  I jump at his nearness and almost drop the bottle again. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that there was a time I trusted Amy with everything. But it’s dangerous, letting him see me worked up over a witch, so instead I stand and say, “I once again find myself doing more chores because you can’t manage to do yours well.”

  “I think I know how to clean glass,” Pike says.

  I point to the upper corner of the case, where Pike likes to steady himself while cleaning. “Your handprint is so well defined I could cut it out and give it to your mother as a Christmas ornament.”

  Pike laughs, but my focus is back on the television. The broadcast continues, and Pike’s words echo in my mind as if they were spoken in a canyon.

  Bad call.

  They can’t be trusted.

  The door swings open and Mom walks inside, ensuring I don’t say anything I’ll regret later.

  “Honestly, Pike, you know how much I hate finishing my day with the news.” Mom swats his arm before turning off the television, but she gives me a meaningful look as she does.

  “Sorry, Isobel,” he says. “I was just leaving.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Mom says before heading into the back room.

  Pike is almost out the door when he stops and turns. “Shoot, I forgot to clean the sloth enclosure,” he says, giving me an overly apologetic look that’s anything but sincere. He checks the time and shakes his head. “I have plans tonight, and I’m already running late. You don’t mind doing it, do you, Gray?” His expression slips, and the right side of his mouth pulls up into a smirk.

  “I’d believe you just a little more if it weren’t the third time this month you’d ‘forgotten,’” I say. “And yes, I do mind.”

  “Why, do you have someplace you need to be?”

  I grind my teeth and don’t say anything. He knows I don’t, that I never do, and his smirk gets bigger. “Didn’t think so,” he says. With that, he hops out of the office and lets the door shut behind him, sending a burst of cold spring air into the small space.