Our W.I.C.K.E.D Fate (The W.I.C.K.E.D Girl sequel)

13

As soon as Emily came to her senses, she was looking through the group sleeping all around her. At last, she found what she'd been looking for—Thomas's lips were parted, his head propped up on his backpack, but what had Emily gasping was the black eye he was now sporting.

"Quite a brawl," Isabelle said. Emily's head snapped to her right, where Isabelle was carefully regarding her nails, a sly smirk plastered to her mouth. "Apparently, Newt's got some serious"—she drawled out the 'e'—"anger issues."

"How is he?" asked Emily, realising she hadn't spotted him lying among the group. 

"Minho decided he needed a breather. He took him away for the night." Isabelle paused. "If it's even night, that is." She shrugged, and a mischevious glint lit up her eyes. "Nobody seems to know why the fight broke out, but I'm sure they just haven't asked the right person. So?"

Emily's memories came back to her—Newt's strong arms carrying her, Thomas's palm cradling her cheek, the furious shout, Thomas being hauled away from her. Emily rubbed at her face and said, "Boys will be boys, I suppose."

"Oh, come on!" Isabelle sounded more than disappointed. "Don't leave me hanging like that. Wasn't Thomas with you when the tussle started?"

Yeah, he was, Emily thought. About to kiss me, that is. "He'd just gotten up to leave. I don't know."

Though she didn't seem too glad about it, Isabelle dropped the subject, asking Emily instead how she felt. "Better," Emily answered, and it was the truth. Her migraine had miraculously loosened its grip, and the fever seemed to have broken while she'd been unconscious. Emily involuntarily peered down at her wounded wrist—and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she saw, peeking from underneath her long sleeve, the edge of a white bandage. Her glance flitted to Isabelle, who appeared to be positively bored. Emily knew for a fact that, had the girl been aware of Emily's injury, she would've already inquired about it. 

But that only meant somebody else knew. 

And that somebody must have figured out that Emily only had a few days left before she turned.

All of a sudden, Emily felt very, very sick. She twisted to the side and dry-heaved, her stomach too empty to conjure something to retch. When Emily straightened, pushing her hair out of her face, Isabelle offered her a deep frown. "What's wrong with you?" asked Isabelle.

Emily only remained silent, going over the ways she wished to maim and murder the ones who had done this to them—the whole fucking cooperative calling themselves W.I.C.K.E.D.

* * *

Emily had fallen back asleep before anyone else in the group had the chance to rouse. However, when her eyes cracked open for the second time, there was nobody in sight. 

And then Emily heard the whispers. 

"We can't go any further," Newt said through gritted teeth. Fury and frustration mingled in his low voice. "Don't you see the state she's in?" 

"She seemed fine to me when I spoke to her," Isabelle retorted. "We've got to get a move on. Emily herself claimed we were sent here with a purpose."

"She can't even walk on her own, are you insane?" Thomas said, bewildered. 

Unbearable silence trailed after his words.

Something inside Emily's chest wrenched, but it wasn't a kind of physical pain. She was a burden to them, one they'd have to bear the weight of until she turned.