My Sorcerer

Chapter 17

The night passed slowly as sleep refused to take her away. Her mind was so full of all the new information that part of her wished she could go back to being clueless about this whole new world. It was all too confusing and hard. “Fang, what should I do?” she muttered as she looked over at her Irish wolfhound.

Fang nuzzled her, pushing her nose under her hand in an attempt to get her to pet her. “Would it be weird?” she muttered as she absent-mindedly began to pet Fang. “What if I just accepted everything? I mean, in this world, this is partially normal,” she tried to reason.

Groaning in frustration, she sat up. She went to the bathroom to wash her face, hoping cold water would help her think more clearly. “I wish I had someone to talk to,” she mumbled to her reflection in the mirror. Her mind drifted back to her friends at school, but they would never understand. They would think she had lost her mind... Her friends at school... She was never going to be able to see them again. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t like them anymore... no, she was never like them.

Before she realized it, she was crying. “Everything changed too fast,” she cried out. “How could I not have noticed...” she whimpered. “I want to go back...” She wanted to say home, but she didn’t have a home that she knew, not anymore.

“What did I do to deserve this?” she cried as she slid down onto the bathroom floor. “I just want to be normal...”

As she cried, she suddenly felt Fang wrap around her as though she were attempting to hug her. “Thank you,” she hiccuped. “What should I do?” she asked Fang, although she knew she wouldn’t be able to respond.

“Stay.” It was as though she was hearing an inner voice, but the tone didn’t feel familiar. Maybe she was really losing her mind.

"I really must be going crazy," Cora said out loud. Cora glanced around again, listening. She heard nothing—no one else in the house. Just her and Fang.

"You're not crazy," she heard another voice, though it sounded as if it was inside her head.

"But only crazy people hear voices in their heads," she responded.

"Considering you're not a person, you couldn't be a crazy person," the voice seemed to joke.

"Okay, if I'm not crazy, then who or what are you?" she asked.

"I'm next to you."

She looked down at Fang, very confused, thinking there was no way she was hearing her dog talk to her.

"That’s right. It’s me." Fang looked up at her with knowing eyes. Her mouth didn’t move. There was no way to know if it was truly Fang.

"Okay, if it really is you talking, Fang, then do something only you would do." Cora felt confused, even about what to ask, since Fang could hear her aloud, but Fang’s voice was in her mind.

Cora thought for a moment, trying to think of something Fang normally wouldn’t do.

"Okay, if it’s really you talking in my mind, you should understand what I ask and do it," she spoke aloud.

"Go into the shower and pull the curtain closed." That was what Cora decided Fang should do to prove it was truly her talking.

Cora watched as Fang got up from beside her, walked over to the shower, stepped inside, and pulled the curtain closed—just as she had asked. For a moment, she wanted to believe her dog was simply that clever and understood her perfectly, yet she knew she had never taught Fang such a thing—and Fang had never done anything like that before.

"You really can talk, can’t you?" she whispered. Fang poked her head out from behind the shower curtain, a gleam in her eye.

"So, what do you think I should do?" Cora finally asked. At least now she had someone to talk to—whether it made her crazy or not.

"Stay," the voice responded.

"But why?" Cora asked. She couldn’t understand this whole bizarre world—or how it wasn’t absolutely insane to stay with a man at least a couple of centuries older than she was.

Fang came out of the shower and lay down beside her. "If you want to go, go, and I’ll go too. But I think you should stay."

Cora let out a long, exasperated sigh. "You still haven’t answered why," she said.

"Because you’re not human," Fang replied. "And so, human rules don’t apply to you."

What Fang said made sense, but it still felt overwhelming. This was her world now, but she had only just stepped into it. How could she wrap her mind around it all? How could she accept that her fate-spelled partner was 200 years older? He had been around for what felt like forever, while she was still a baby in comparison.

Even with someone to talk to, she felt she needed time to come to terms with everything—to at least try to grasp it. Yet part of her just wanted to call Peirceton back and forget all these details, both minor and major, that she didn’t yet understand—because, perhaps, the bond was pulling her closer to him.

Cora picked herself up from the bathroom floor, opened the door, and stepped back into the main area of the house. Fang followed behind, wagging her tail.

Cora spent the better part of the day on the sofa, taking books off the bookshelf and flipping through them. Before she knew it, night had fallen, and hunger crept in. The realization struck—she hadn’t eaten all day.

"Are you hungry?" she asked Fang as she stood up from the sofa.

She walked to the kitchen, opening cabinets and the refrigerator, only to realize that since Peirceton was a sorcerer, physical food didn’t seem to be kept in the house. Just as she was about to give up and call his name to bring him back, food suddenly appeared on the table—and in Fang’s dish on the floor.

At first, she thought Peirceton had heard her, but then she remembered: the house provided. Even knowing he had enchanted it, there was a pang. He hadn’t known her need in that moment—he wasn’t there, and she just wanted him to be.

She had told him she needed time to adjust, and she knew that logically, but there was still a longing. The longer they were apart, the harder it felt. Before dwelling on it, she sat to eat, deciding it was better to fill her stomach and rest before considering calling him back. And that’s exactly what she did—she ate, then went to bed. The next morning, she woke from a restless sleep, ready to call him back—until a book on the shelf caught her eye. She walked over, took it down, and read the title. It was about a werewolf and a sorcerer, but it felt more like history than fiction.

Inside, it was addressed to someone named Samantha, with a message calling her the love of the writer’s life. Cora assumed Samantha was this person’s love. As she skimmed the pages, some deeply, she saw the story felt eerily familiar. Like her, Samantha had been raised human, unaware of the world she was now in. She, too, was fate-spelled to a sorcerer, even older than Peirceton. In a strange way, that comforted Cora—someone else had faced this, and with an even larger age gap.

But when she reached the final page, there was no happy ending—no comfort. Reading as though it were her own future, she found that Samantha had left, and the sorcerer was alone. His words were full of longing. Cora had assumed Peirceton could move on without her—but now, she wondered if that was true.

The writing was part letter, part fact. It described werewolves and sorcerers, how they could manage life together, and the challenges they’d face. It felt as if the sorcerer had researched it all, intending to convince Samantha that they’d be all right—that they could overcome it together.

Now Cora wished she knew how Samantha had responded—if she’d received the book at all. She wanted to know what kept her away, what made her leave. Cora wanted to ask—but from how it was written, years had passed.