Page 2 of Wanderer

Hiding magically was much, much harder.

Putting on a front was easy, but each time I tried to go near a witch, male or female, or any sort of magic user, my legs would shake and I often thought I was going to throw up. Warlocks, even though they had the magic I really needed to beat one of their own, were an absolute no go. I hated feeling weak, but I just couldn’t do it. Maybe with a bit more time. Everything was just too fresh.

For a month, I thought I was fine. I’d put a lot of distance between me and Boyce. I’d even checked in on Paxton. Everything was going okay.

Until the curse hit.

The magic around my wrist lit up exactly twenty-eight days after I’d triggered the trap in Boyce’s house. It pulled at me until all I could think of was fleeing. I got behind the wheel of the van, and then woke up, van, trailer, and all my stuff, hundreds of miles in the wrong direction.

My stepfather was a talented, yet warped, warlock. He’d shackled me to him with the outward impression he’d set me free. I was far from free.

Every month I was forced to move on. If I wasn’t with my stuff at the time, it was gone for good. The only way to be sure I wouldn’t be pulled back toward him was to make sure I was moving when it hit. Even then it hurt like hell.

Weeks bled into months, which quickly turned into years. I grew stronger by growing colder. I knew I was nearing my breaking point, where I’d either return with my tail between my legs to my master, or find the courage to end him for good.

Greyhaven was my last stand.

One

Gareth

Five Months Ago

Sounds of the crowd below drifted around me as I wound my way along the hard-packed dirt of the path leading to the viewpoint that overlooked the bustling town center. The further I walked, the more my shoulders relaxed from the relief I felt over breaking away from the people celebrating. The noise was overstimulating in the worst way. Everyone was too happy, too tactile. If one more person hugged me, I was going to scream.

She waited for me to get close before speaking. “Ah, there you are. You held out longer than I thought.” Her voice was warm and teasing.

“Shouldn’t you be down there with the townspeople, Madam Mayor?” Hestia only smirked at my sarcasm. “No, really, why aren’t you down there?” I took a spot at the railing next to her, grateful for the shade of the gazebo. The afternoon sun was baking everything it touched. The grass was all yellowed from the lack of rain.

“I knew you were reaching your limit.” At my questioning glance, she explained. “You flinched when Fynn brushed by you. Besides, I needed to talk to you and knew you would come here. The only place where we can hear ourselves think right now is here.”

Down in the city, Hestia had opened up City Hall for the festival organizers to use as their base. We held town events regularly—something about it bonding the town together—and the summer solstice was an easy excuse for a party. We even had weddings at these things. Usually, I could handle it for longer, but there was a tension in the air that had my magic prickling over my skin.

Away from the crowd, I should have relaxed. Being in nature was a way of soothing my rough edges, yet I still felt on guard. Perhaps it was the way the mayor held herself, all rigid and alert, and the clipped way she spoke that had alarm bells going off in my head. “Everything okay?”

Hestia was silent for a beat, a moment where I had all sorts of doom scenarios building in my head. Finally, she murmured. “Do you feel it? The wind is changing. Our town is about to go through some trials.”

If I wasn’t scared before, I was now. “Trials” sounded so ominous. She was right, though. There was an awareness, a pregnant pause, an expectation of something all around us. As if the world were holding its breath. “Are the wards okay?”

This time her smile was sad. “Most of my power goes toward them. They will hold as they need to.”

“I can help.” I spoke without thinking, hopeful my offer wouldn’t offend the goddess.

She patted my hand with a grateful smile, losing some of the tension she’d held before. “I know, but there’s only so much we can do.” She looked exhausted, worn to her bones tired, not just physically or magically, but to her soul. I always worried that my friend and our mayor was lonely, just like I was.

“You can’t keep doing this alone forever! Can’t you ask him to come home?”

Her eyes closed in a rare show of grief. She never showed this level of vulnerability with others. “Not yet. He has to want to be here, Gareth.”

“But—”

“No,” she cut me off, sounding firm. Her posture straightened as she switched back into our formidable mayor. “With this fresh wind, I feel positive about the future of the town. It won’t be all clear skies… Yes, challenges are ahead, yet we will endure and grow stronger from it.”

Not a sentiment I shared. Hestia knew better than me, though. “Is there anything I can do to help? With the wards, to make it easier on you,” I explained.

Hestia regarded me thoughtfully. “You’ve really grown into yourself since your parents went traveling. I would be grateful for your help, since you’ve freely offered it. This town is about choice, after all.”

“What can I do?”