Page 48 of The Blood Witch
Instead of figuring out what might make this entire shit show a skosh less depressing, I focus on that annoying little piece of me that’s connected to someone who isn’t currently trapped in a cage and counting down the hours until it all might be over.
Night has settled in all around me, and with it came more soul-tiring cold. Luckily, I figured out how to make my bones warm, and so far, the magic hasn’t offended the demon symbols all around me and caused me to get shocked. Now, if only I could conjure up some more food or, better yet, some water. Although maybe it’s better that I don’t. I’m sure pissing and shitting in a bucket in front of a practical stranger is considered a bonding ritual somewhere in the world, but this isn’t an episode ofNaked and Afraid, or at least not yet—thank fuck for that.
I close my eyes, shutting Elon and this shitty church out, and focus on the tether. I take a deep breath, knowing that what I’m about to do could fuck with my magic for eternity. Then again, it’s not just my magic anymore. Plus, being permanently tied to Rogan has to be a hell of a lot better than being tied to an altar and murdered. I’m aware that once I do this, there’s probably no going back, because I’m about to make this tether as strong as I possibly can from my end. I’m going to make this connection as clear and herculean as I can, because I don’t want to die and I don’t want Elon to either.
I don’t know if it will work like I’m hoping, but it’s the only thing I can think to do outside of getting out of this cell and hunting a crazy bitch down. I cross everything I have to cross that Rogan will feel me. That he can somehow figure out how to find us.
I’ve debated the best way to go about this, gone back and forth with whether or not it’s possible to use this connection like a can and string telephone. I really hope that wherever he is right now, he can pay attention to this and that it won’t be a distraction that could get him hurt or killed.
Here goes nothing.
Softly, I wrap my intention around the tether, and then I give it a solid yank. I pull on the connection, hard, and work to syphon Rogan’s magic to me. I don’t take it all, not like I did that day when the Order first interrogated me, but I take enough to get his attention. After a moment, I thenpushon the tether instead of pull, feeding Rogan’s magic back into him and adding an extra boost of some of my own.
Slowly, methodically, I repeat the process two more times, and then I wait.
I lean my head back against the cold wall and think about that day Rogan pleaded with me for his magic. I contemplate the finality I felt as I gave him what he was asking for, and I felt our souls say goodbye. This didn’t happen that long ago, but in typical Osteomancer Osseous fashion, a shit ton has happened since then, and it’s making me reexamine things. Maybe it’s the impending death talking, but some of what happened doesn’t feel as dire as it did before, it doesn’t feel as finite as what’s happened within the four walls of the church I’m trapped in.
Rogan was wrong.
Rogan was also very sorry.
And perhaps, contrary to my previous beliefs, some things are worth fighting for.
I’ve spent a long time looking at what my father did to me through a lens of abandonment and hurt. But as I sit here trapped in a cage that may be the last place I ever see, I realize that I haven’t spent enough time looking at what he did through the eyes of someone who really understood love. He loved my mother. He wanted to be with her. Yes, I suffered because of that choice, but I know he suffered without her for a very long time too. It’s just one of those things that sucks, but maybe it’s not all so unforgivable as I’ve always thought.
When nothing happens, I start pulling and pushing with the tether again. I think of Tad and my Aunt Hillen as I go. I ruminate on how blessed I’ve been to have them, and realize I need to tell them more. The rest of my family pops into my mind, all my aunts and uncles spread across the country, and how amazing it is when we’re all together sharing stories and laughing. If I get out of here, a family reunion is definitely in order, maybe I’ll even invite Gwen and Magda.
Nah, they’re still greedy bitches. I’m reminiscing, not losing my mind. No case of the Jamies here.
I feel a tug on my soul that makes me sit up and pay attention. I hold my breath, willing the feeling to come again.
One second.
Two.
Three.
It happens again, and tears prick my eyes as a warm burst of Rogan’s magic fills me. I scramble to grasp the tether and shove an overload of magic his way to confirm that I feel him.
More magic is shoved at me, and I gasp with excitement, suddenly wishing I read a book about morse code or something, because I have no idea how to communicate with him other than to show him that I’m still here. I don’t know if he can track me somehow. I thought he mentioned once that some tethered witches can, but I don’t know how it all works.
I knew I should have slept with him before.
Maybe our connection would have been stronger then. Tad’s going to love it if I ever get the chance to tell him he was right.
Lesson learned, always hop on that dick first, ask questions second.
I do the best I can wrapping my thoughts in magic. I focus on where I am and what it looks like. I think about Elon being here and show Rogan Jamie’s face. I coat all of it with magic and then send that magic through the tether. I don’t know if it will work, but it’s worth a shot. I send him images of anything and everything that could help him find us. I even send him magic-laced visuals of what I will do for him if he gets us out of here.
You know, a little extra motivation.
I don’t know how long I sit, trading power back and forth, but eventually it starts to taper and then stops completely. A strange emptiness swells inside of me at the loss of contact, and all I can do is hope with every fiber of my being that it’s enough. That somehow I did something that will bring him and the Order here in time.
My stomach growls angrily, and I glare at it. “Fuck, I’d kill for a Sloppy Joe right now,” I grumble, my voice slicing through the baleful silence.
I look over to Elon. His legs are now stretched out in front of him, and his head is hanging as though he might be asleep. I’m sure sleep is hard to come by in this place, so I should leave him to it, but now that I’ve filled the grim quiet with noise, I find it oddly comforting, and I don’t want to stop.
“You know that sandwich is named after a legit dude?” I ask no one, as though no one and I are having a legit conversation. “He was a cook or something, and he took the loose meat sandwich to the next level with some kickin’ sauce, and boom, the Sloppy Joe was born.”
