Page 88 of Witchy Woman

I vaguely register yelling. Crying. Emotions from Mom, Grandma, and Hazel that I can’t put my time or energy into or I’ll be sucked back.

I have to keep moving forward.

I allow myself to fall just a little further through my window so I can feel the heat, smell the sulfur, and follow what I hope is the trail to my father.

Mom was right, Dad isn’t corporeal enough to be an easy find. I feel like I’m digging through dirt trying to find him in the space Mom used to occupy. He couldn’t have gotten far in the few moments it took to drag her out.

Could he?

Time means nothing anymore. I have no need for time. I’m merely an entity searching and searching for a voice I wouldn’t recognize. With every moment I push a little deeper, hoping I can see. I can do this.

“Dad?” I call into the void. Into space.

And there. A small light. The smallest little light, but it’s something that doesn’t smell like death, so I focus on it. Beckon it closer.

Hold my hands open for it.

The little ball of light isn’t like Mom. She had a body and a voice—everything that made her who she is. This is warmth, energy, and light.

And love. So much love.

Love that overwhelms as it glows and enters my hands. I’m crying. It’s Dad. It must be.

I’m so focused on him I don’t notice theotherlights. I don’t notice that I’m surrounded. That I’ve lost my way out.

That in finding him, I’ve also found countless others. That the lights I was warned of were souls all along, and now they approach like asteroids ready to combust on impact.

Panic consumes me, spurring tears and the knowledge that I’ve gone too far. I’ve delved too deep beyond my little fire mirror, and I don’t know if I can pull myself out. I’m still aware of myself, but for how long?

Suddenly, I’m grabbed by the waist. I lost the touch of my family long ago, but this? This isn’t the souls. It’s not the lights. It’s something else.

I fall limp, using all my energy to keep grasping on to Dad as I’m pulled. Pulled and yanked until everything is too bright.

Too bright. Too real. Sunlight. Birds chirping. Cold, winter air. Yelling. Screaming.

Crying.

Burning.

Burning flesh. It can’t be me. I’m a dragon, I don’t burn.

I crack an eye to see Ash. Ash, my Ash, staring down at me. He’s wrapped around me, his beautiful green eyes full of worry and pain, his hands grasping at me with desperation, and...his beard is aflame.

I open my hands to touch him and see the light of my father float toward the sky. Feel his love and appreciation as he escapes from the scene below.

And I lose consciousness.

Chapter 40

Beardfishing

It’s the yelling that finally drags me from the nothingness of my unconscious mind. There were no dreams, no nightmares.

Just nothing.

Until the yelling.

“You don’t care about a single fucking person but yourself!” It’s Hazel’s voice. Full of anger and bitter tears. “You risked your own daughter’s life and now we have no idea if she’ll ever wake up! It’s been three days, and she hasn’t even blinked!”