Chapter 4

I’m watching TV in a rainy day when I hear a knock at the door. I wonder who that could be—my mother isn’t due until next week, and it would surprise me if she came early given her schedule.

I head over to the small wooden door and look through the peephole to see who it is.

I recognize the man standing outside. It’s Ben, the firefighter who saved me from myself the other night.

I open the door and I am greeted by the sound of the pouring rain. Ben is in regular clothes—jeans and a t-shirt that really shows the definition of his very trimmed chest. Without his heavy turnout gear on, I can see how much muscle he has in his arms. Stop thinking about his arms before you set something on fire again.

I wondered what he’s doing here.

“Hello,” I greet him.

“Hello. I’m sorry to intrude,” Ben begins, “but I was worried about you out here all alone, especially after the fire. I just wanted to see how you were making out with everything.”

It’s been a while since anyone’s come to visit me. “Do you want to come in?” I ask.

“I would love to,” he says, his green eyes lighting up a bit.

I think it’s sweet that he’s been thinking about me.

I step aside to let him through the doorway. My place only has two rooms. The main area is split into a small living space with a couch and TV, while the other half holds a small kitchen with a table and cooking appliances. The second room is a decent sized bedroom with an attached bathroom, and beneath it all is a hidden basement where we keep our witchy stuff.

“This is cozy,” he says, looking around. Mortals aren’t usually allowed in here.

“Yeah, it’s alright.” It took me a while to appreciate this place. “So, what brings you over here?”

“You’ve made me curious,” he admits.

“About what?” I ask, feeling a sudden flare of nervousness.

“I don’t believe your story about how the fire started the other night,” he begins. “That wasn’t an electrical fire.”

“How do you know?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve put out a lot of fires—including real electrical ones,” he says. “That’s not what they look like.”

He’s staring at me so intently it makes my skin burn.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you the truth,” I say, looking away. Not like I could tell him, anyway.

“Try me,” he answers, taking a step closer.

I’ve never told anyone outside my family about my secret, my mother forbids it. I am not sure what’s gotten into me. Maybe it’s because I’ve been isolated for months, or maybe it’s just the lingering smoke inhalation, but I suddenly feel like I can trust him. I decide to tell him the truth about me.

“I started it by accident, and this is going to sound crazy,” I begin. “I have powers. I can light fires, but I haven’t learned how to control it yet.”

For a long moment, Ben just stares blankly at me. I can’t tell if he believes me or thinks I’m a total lunatic.

“Really?” he finally says.

He’s impossible to read.

“Yes, it’s why I’m out here,” I continue. “I’m dangerous, and I have to stay away from people.”

“You don’t look very dangerous to me,” he says.

“Well, that fire was caused by me, and that was dangerous,” I press. “Do you believe me?”

“I believe you’re either telling the truth, or you’re completely insane,” he jokes.

“Which one is it?” I ask. He’s starting to make me tense.

“Are you a witch?” he asks, dodging my question entirely.

“Yes,” I answer, instantly wondering if that was a smart move.

“And your power is controlling fire?”

“You don’t seem very alarmed,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. Did he already know about witches? Was he a witch himself?

“What if I told you that you aren’t the first witch I’ve met?” he reveals.

That explains the questions. That explains why he was suspicious from the start. He already knew witches existed, which meant another witch had trusted him enough to tell him their secret.

Or what if Ben is a witch too, and he’s holding back? Or worse what if he’s a hunter pretending to be a witch.

“Who else have you met?” I ask. The witch community is small; it’s possible I know them.

“I can’t tell you that. It’s not my secret to share,” he says. “Come on, I have something for you in my truck.”

In a strange way, hearing him guard someone else’s secret makes me feel better. It’s always a red flag when someone freely gossips about others, especially your friends—it usually means they won't keep your secrets, either.

We head outside into the rain, and Ben pauses to look at the shed, which is tilting so far sideways it looks like it’s ready to collapse.

“That doesn’t look good,” he says.

“No, it’s not. Someone is supposed to come fix it eventually.”

“I can help you fix it,” Ben says, walking over to his truck.

“Really?” I ask, following behind him. “A fireman and a carpenter. What other secrets to you have up your sleeve.”

“You know everything about me now. I’ll order the supplies I’ll need, and you call me when they come in,” he tells me.

I hand him my phone, and he types his number into my contacts. Then he leans towards me his face comes close to mine as he reaches in the open truck window, pulls out a glass jar, and hands it to me.

“What is this?” I ask a bit flustered by the thiught of his mouth that close me mine.

Inside the jar is lavender, sage, and a smooth black rock. It looks like a spell jar.

“This will help you control your powers,” he says.

“How do you know about power-controlling spells?” I ask, my eyes narrowing. Who is this guy?

“I can’t tell you all my secrets at once,” he smiles.

“So far, you’ve told me zero secrets,” I shoot back sarcastically.

“You have to be patient.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” I ask, suddenly wondering if coming clean was going to be a life threatening mistake. Great. Another thing for my mother to be disappointed in me for.

“You don’t have much of a choice now, do you?” He offers a faint smile.

“I guess you’re right,” I roll my eyes. He’s right—I’m locked in now.

“Where are you from originally?” he asks.

“A small town called Pembroke. What about you?”

“A small town called Vulcan, out in Alberta,” he says.

“Wow. You’re a long way from home.”

“Sometimes not far enough,” he says, his gaze drifting away for a second.

“What brought you all the way out here?” I ask.

“It’s a long story, and I really should get going,” he says.

Of course. Just as I start getting answers, he decides to leave.

“I’ll call you when the supplies get here,” I say.

“Perfect. I can’t wait,” he replies, stepping into the cab of his truck. Before pulling away, he gives me one last smile, a smile that makes my heart feel hot.