Witch (Supernatural #2)

4: Into the Woods

Fire, noun.

1. a state, process, or instance of combustion in which fuel or other material is ignited and combined with oxygen, giving off light, heat and flame.
2. a burning mass of material, as on a hearth or in a furnace.
3. the destructive burning of a building, town, forest, etc.; conflagration.

***

Time meant nothing to me as I followed the path among the trees. The silence of the natural world made it appear timeless; the music blasting through my headphones made it all disappear. I was unsure of how long I had been outside. Most of the afternoon already, after a morning spent sleeping and basically meditating. Which hadn't been much of a success.

Grandma had been in the living room with a cup of tea and a book when I had come home the day before. I hadn't really expected to be able to keep it from her that I was already ditching school, but I had hoped to, at least, take off my coat before she cornered me. No such luck; I had been closing the door when she had appeared in front of me. So, I had told her the truth; there was no point in lying. I could have spun her an incredible tale and I would have gotten nowhere. Besides, she was a witch with a lot of years worth of experience; if anyone ought to be able to help me, or point in the direction of a solution, it would be her.

"I am a danger to everyone in that school; I thought it best to stay home and work on my anger."

She had stood in front of me with her arms crossed and an icy stare. This woman probably could have gotten God to confess all his sins. This woman could have sent the Devil to his room like a naughty boy. In a way, I admired her already. Grandma had herself together and was a powerful woman. Not only magically; her presence was so strong I could not imagine how anyone would not bow down to her will. This was the kind of woman I could only hope to grow up to be. Or maybe a little softer.

Then she had softened. "Your father had anger issues to when he was younger." Like that was supposed to explain everything. "Come with me." And she had turned and gone to the kitchen.

I had followed her without a word, not knowing what to expect. Would she pour me a cup of tea? And indeed she did. I had taken a seat at the breakfast table and watched her move around. She had made chamomile tea; not one of my favorites, but I took the cup anyway. I took a sip, finding it needed sugar. I put sugar in everything, even in hot chocolate though more out of habit than out of necessity.

"I suppose your mother never said much about your father, did she?" Grandma had asked. There was a hint of something in her words. Not quite dislike, but it wasn't fondness either.

I had shaken my head. "She chose not to. You can't miss what you don't know. But the subject wasn't taboo or anything."

My parents' relationship had been complicated. They had never been married and thus never needed to get a divorce. Dad had never been around but never missed a birthday or a Christmas; he always sent a card. The reason why he and Mom hadn't stayed together after Noah and I had been born was simple; it was too dangerous. Half-magical families with one magic-user as a parent and maybe one child as magic-user was one thing. However, a family that consisted of four magic-users, witches and warlocks cozily together, was quite something else. And thus, for the safety of their children, my parents had decided to not be a part of each other lives.

Oh, how that plan backfired.

"Then I shall tell you about a trait you appear to have inherited," Grandma had decided. I had been about to protest; I didn't have anger issues. I had had a lot on my plate and simply hadn't found an outlet yet. That didn't mean I had anger issues. One look from her had caused the words to die on my tongue. "Ron was rarely angry to a degree that it became dangerous; however, it happened. When he was a teenager, there were a few times when he did blow the glass out off the windows. He would get angry and would be unable to deal with it. He would bottle it up until it exploded, taking everything breakable around him with it." Her tone had implied it had happened more than once; it implied that, to her, it had been nothing but a bad habit. She had taken a sip of her tea, a wry smile on her face as though reminiscing.