CHAPTER TWELVE
Islowly wake from the dregs of sleep to the sounds of birds. They’re so loud that it sounds like they’re right outside. I blink my eyes open against the rays of morning light streaming through the window. It takes my sleep-addled mind a moment to catch up and recognize that it’s already morning.
I jack-knife up in bed, my hand flying to cover my mouth on a gasp.
The bedroom door flies open a heartbeat later and Bastian is stood in the doorway looking frantic. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I shake my head slowly as I let my gaze wander the room, confirming the time. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry I worried you. It’s… last night was the first time I didn’t have the nightmare.”
I watch as my words sink in, his eyebrows rising in intrigue. He closes the distance, sitting himself at the end of the bed.
My eyes widen as a realization settles over me. “Do you think it was the boggart? You said the banshee foretells a tragedy. Do you think that tragedy was my near-death incident with the boggart, and they’re gone now?” I can’t help the hope in my voice.
His face takes on a thoughtful expression as he hums. “Could be,” he says simply. He looks at me for another few moments, but I can’t read his face so I’m not entirely sure what he’s thinking now. Bastian stands abruptly and clears his throat. “I picked up some new clothing for you this morning. Didn’t think your tattered ones would be much good on the journey.” He gestures to the small stack of folded clothes on the dresser that I hadn’t noticed before. “How’s your hand feeling?” His gaze fixates on my wrapped-up appendage.
I attempt to wiggle my fingers, the combination of the wooden board and tight wrap severely restricting the movement but… what little movement Icanmake is noticeably pain-free. “Good, I think?”
He gives a curt nod. “Meet me at the kitchen table and I’ll take a look at it. Get dressed in the meantime. We need to head out soon if we want to make some good progress today.” With that he sweeps out of the room, leaving the door open.
Rolling my eyes, I climb from the bed and shut the door behind him for some privacy. I start to sift through the stack of clothes he acquired for me. There’s plenty more than I need for a simple two-day journey back home. Several pairs of leggings in varying dark hues, a handful of fitted tunics in similar shades. It’s the item on top of the stack that truly captures my attention. It’s a fitted leather jacket lined with some sort of fur-like interior that I can tell is intended to keep its wearer warm. It’s not my style but incredibly badass. A grin spreads across my face as I inspect it. I opt for a pair of black leggings that have a matching warm lining and a deep aubergine purple tunic. Pulling the clothing on I notice that they fit me like a glove. I can’t even begin to imagine how he could match my size so perfectly… I suppose it could also be magic. The concept of magic is still so new that I’m not totally used to it. But I suppose I’ll have to get used to it if I choose to stay…
I find a new pair of black leather boots in the spot near the door where I had left my old, worn-out pair that have mysteriously gone missing. I tug on a pair of warm woolen socks before stuffing my feet into boots that—surprise, surprise—fit me perfectly. Once I get the jacket buttoned into place, I take a look at myself in the mirror.
My hair is a tangled mess since I couldn’t properly comb through it with my hand in its current condition. But aside from that, I look almoststrong. Formidable. The leather makes me look entirely more intimidating than I actually am. The slashes across my cheek from the boggart’s claws have completely healed and faded that I can’t even tell where they used to be. My newly violet eyes are bright, glittering in my reflection. The dark circles under my eyes have considerably lessened after my first full night of uninterrupted sleep. And my ears… Those still startle me with every glimpse. I lookgood. Somehow still feeling like me even this far out of my comfort zone. The me I never knew I could be. Maybe the me I was always supposed to be.
I find Bastian sitting at the kitchen table waiting on me. I drop into the seat across from him and he pushes a plate of bread and fruit in my direction. “Eat this while I work.”
I roll my eyes at his command but acquiesce as my stomach loudly rumbles. I place my injured hand in his and pick at the breakfast with my free hand. He makes quick work of unraveling the bandage he had wrapped around the splint the night before. I make an attempt to wiggle my fingers, testing the joints, but his firm grip holds my hand in place.
“Wait a moment. I want to make sure everything’s healed properly before you try to use it.” I hold the hand steady as he begins to tentatively poke and prod his way across my knuckles. I wince slightly as he hits a particularly tender spot. “Does that hurt?” His face looks to me like a borderline glare, almost as if he’s mad at my pain.
It would delay us further so I’m willing to bet he’s hoping I’m healed enough to get moving.
“Not quite hurt, it feels a bit funny. Is that normal?”
“I suspect it’s the healing. But be careful with it.” He pokes around more but there’s no pain at his motions. “Okay, wiggle your fingers for me. Gently.”
I make the smallest twitches, bracing for pain, but when none flares through my hand at the movements, I increase the action. I suck in a sharp inhale. “They feel like normal,” I whisper in shock.
“Did you not trust they would?” Bastian asks with furrowed brows.
“It’s not that… this whole concept of magic is so new to me. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that my hand was a shattered mess twelve hours ago and now it’s good as new.”
He gives me a soft nod that tells me he understands. He rises from the table and quickly tidies up the discarded splint. “Grab a change of clothes and bring it to me so I can pack it away.”
I scramble to shove the remainder of my breakfast into my mouth and do as he requested. Well,commanded, but I’m beginning to understand that’s just how he is. He doesn’t talk around things. Doesn’t make requests or ask. He tells. Commands. Demands. It grated at first for this male to be telling me what to do, but I’m starting to see he means well.
Does he actually, though?
Yes, another part of me hisses back.
I grab another outfit from the stack but leave the rest on the dresser. I won’t be needing it.
I find Bastian fumbling around the inside of a rucksack. He looks up at my approach, holding his hand out for the clothes.
“Are those going to fit?” I ask as he works his hand in the bag, shifting things around.
“Yes,” he answers without looking at me.
