Page 116 of How to Flirt with a Witch

It’s hard to give her eye contact after what Freddie told me, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s a storm cloud, intent on bringing me to safety.

“I’ll take her to the medical wing,” she tells the others, striding ahead.

“Go. We’ll brief Fiona,” Sky calls after us.

Natalie stomps down a corridor like a raging bull, and we descend into silence except for her rapid breaths and footsteps. With each swing of my leg, the throbbing, searing pain in my ankle flares.

The comfort of being in her arms battles with bubbling anger. Maybe it’d be better to wait until later to confront her about what Freddie said, but all the lies are eating away at me.

“How old were you when you became a witch?” I murmur.

Natalie’s steps falter, but she says nothing.

“Freddie told me witches are made,” I say, lifting my head and staring at the side of her face. “How old were you?”

Her fingers tighten over the back of my knees and around my arm as she adjusts her hold. “Our parents gave us magic when we were seven and ten.”

I try to picture little Natalie being told she’s about to become a witch—how exciting it must have been, and what sort of conversation her parents would’ve had with her. “Is that a common age for it to happen?”

“Give or take. Old enough to keep a secret, but young enough that you go along with it.”

We arrive at a set of wooden double doors, and her fingers flutter on the back of my legs. The doors swing open on their own.

“What do you mean bygo along with it?” I ask. “Would you have chosen otherwise, if you could go back in time?”

She meets my eye. “It’s hard to imagine any other life.”

“Hm. Why would you want to give up this power, right?” My tone is dripping with venom.

Natalie swallows, and her jaw tightens. She’s finally picked up on my mood. “We’ll continue this after.”

She brings me inside, where the sterile, white infirmary is at odds with the rest of the building—the only part not covered in plants and wood. Antiseptic burns my nose rather than the usual warm scent of greenery. It fills me with unease, like it isn’t right to have this sort of room in CSAMM.

“Doctor Sharma?” Natalie calls as she sets me down on a hard, cold bed. “The Madsen dog bit Katie’s ankle.”

“Oh dear.” Footsteps pad closer, and a woman in her fifties in a white lab coat tugs on a pair of gloves, wiggling her fingers. Carefully, she rolls up the blood-spattered hem of my jeans. “Ouch.”

“Ouch,” I repeat, bristling at the understatement.

Natalie drags a chair over. She takes my hand, which earns a glance from Doctor Sharma—and despite my anger over all the secrets and half-truths, my heart softens.

The bed is the first in a row of four. A white curtain is drawn around the one at the far end, but other than that, Doctor Sharma seems to be the only one in the room.

“You’re in good hands,” Natalie tells me. “Doctor Sharma has been our resident physician for nearly thirty years and has seen it all.”

“Then you must know more details about everyone’s life than any other person here,” I say, lying back and covering my eyes with my arm. Between the bright lights and the shooting pains, it’s possible I have a migraine coming on.

“Mm, the emergencies I’ve had to deal with would shock you.” And with that mysterious statement, she gets to work examining and flushing out each tear and puncture—eight, to be exact. Two require stitches.

As she pokes and prods, a cold sweat breaks out across my whole body, even my toes. The room tilts until I have to take deep breaths and count the white bricks in the ceiling.

“Nothing looks broken,” she finally murmurs, “just torn up. No need for a hospital transfer.”

I don’t know whether to celebrate this or not, so I say nothing. Natalie, however, lets out a breath, and her shoulders relax. She stays by my side, holding my hand with a firm grip despite all her warnings about secrecy.

“Why isn’t magic being used to patch me up?” I ask, my voice hollow as I fight to stay conscious.

Natalie and Doctor Sharma exchange a look. Something transpires between them that I don’t understand.