Of Frost & Cinder (Old Version)

A Bitter Taste

Chapter Fifteen

"Sorry about Ollie," Beck says after the long interval of silence that lasts until we're a block from my house. "She's not always like that."

I think back to the first day we met--her standoffish exterior, her violent outburst. Yeah, "I seriously doubt that."

He smirks for a moment, but then his smile falls flat. "Where did you get the spell?"

"Damien," I confess. "He handed it to me after she booted us out of the greenhouse."

He nods as if this information couldn't be less surprising.

"Beck, don't tell her, okay? I—we wouldn't be here without his help and I'd never forgive myself if he—"

"Calm down, drama queen," Beck chuckles. "I'm not going to blab anything to anyone."

"But the blood oath? I thought—"

"What about it?"

I pause, unsure of how much I want to know. I know that technically, we'd only met a few days ago, and though that seems like a short amount of time to feel anything for anyone, somehow since the spell, my connection to Beck feels stranger...deeper almost. Or perhaps I'm crazy, and that's the truth behind my pill consumption?

"Aren't you like, sworn to her or something?"

He glances at me through the corner of his eye and then bursts out laughing. "Are you kidding?"

"Forget it," I groan, sinking further into the passenger seat as his laugh grows heartier.

"No, I'm not sworn to her. Yeah, we've made a blood-bound pact to protect each other, but that's what a blood oath is. Didn't we go over this?"

His snarky tone makes the blood in my face boil. I'm starting to regret letting him drive me home in the first place. Then again, it's not like he gave me a choice when he ripped my keys from my grasp.

"So, can I ask you something?"

He rolls his eyes as we pull up to the curb and park parallel to my house. Everything is dark save the small beam from the porch light illuminating the steps. Mom's spot in the driveway is vacant and the amount of snow piled on the cement confirms my suspicion of her double shift at the hospital. I'm both relieved and saddened by this confirmation. A part of me, the seven-year-old hiding in the shadows of my heart, wants to run to her and be comforted, but then the sting sets in, reminding me that as much as I want to, I can't.

Perhaps they did believe they were doing the right thing in enchanting the pills, but then again, doesn't every villain believe their cause is righteous?

"So, can I ask you something?" He says as he idles the car. The heater hums low between us.

I joke, "I didn't think you were one for formalities."

"Back at the library, you looked disappointed when Ollie said you weren't a witch."

"You think I'm mad I'm not magical?"

"Disappointed. I didn't say mad, though now I'm starting to think you are."

"No, I'm not." I say firmly. "I'm irritated that I could have made my brains explode and she could have totally prevented it."

He doesn't say anything, and it feels like his silence is forcing me to fill the air.

"I swear, it's like she decided she hated me before we even met. Why can't she just help me? What's so difficult about that? Does she realize that the sooner she helps, the faster I'll get out of her life?"